Vantaire Simulation Room 9
Time: 13:42
Status: Classified
The room was pitch dark when she stepped in.
No screens. No projectors. No instructors. Just one chrome chair bolted to the center of the floor, surrounded by concentric rings of silver lines carved into the black tiles—like a spell circle designed by an engineer on too much caffeine.
Alia squinted.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice bouncing off the walls like it didn't belong.
Then the door behind her sealed. No beep. No hiss. Just shut.
A voice crackled overhead. Male. Filtered. Maybe Vos, maybe a machine.
"Sit down."
She did. Slowly. Warily. The moment her back touched the chair, something clicked.
A faint hum built beneath her spine. The metallic threads on the floor began to glow dimly—neon blue, faint but alive. The light ran in a slow pulse like a heartbeat.
Then everything… blinked.
---
THE STIMULATION
Objective Unknown.
Environment: Simulated Reality.
She was in a hallway now. Familiar—but not quite. A mash of memories, like her brain had been broken into and stitched back together wrong.
Her old house, the Noctis dorm, the library—all overlapped into one surreal dreamscape.
In the distance, she heard crying.
Footsteps.
A scream.
And then she was running. Or falling. Or chasing someone—herself? Carmen? Her brother?
Her mind kept shifting what was real.
A hand reached out from the dark and dragged her into a memory. Not one she remembered—but one that felt like hers.
"If they ask what you saw, lie."
She blinked.
The light snapped. And she was back in the chair.
---
Her breath was shallow. Her palms sweaty. Her mouth tasted like copper.
Vos stood a few feet away with a datapad in hand. Callum leaned against the wall, unreadable as ever.
"That was…" she exhaled. "What the hell was that stimulation?"
Vos didn't answer. He just clicked his pen.
Callum pushed off the wall. Hands in his pockets. Calm like always.
"You passed."
"Passed what? That wasn't tech. That wasn't even training. That was—what was that?"
Callum only shrugged slightly.
"Everything's tech if you push it far enough."
And with that, he turned and left. Vos followed.
Alia stayed in the chair a few seconds longer, spine still humming from the charge. Her thoughts were fuzzy. Her heartbeat too slow.
And somewhere deep in her subconscious, a tiny command had been buried.
Something she wouldn't remember until it was time.
---
18:23 — Vantaire Sublevel 2, Recovery Pod Chamber
Alia's body buzzed with static. She sat cross-legged on the cold ceramic floor of the observation chamber, back pressed to the wall, sweat prickling at her temples. She could still feel the synthetic hum of the simulation in her teeth. Like her mind had been plugged into something too big for it.
She wasn't even sure what she'd seen.
It had all felt like her own memories, just… twisted. Or borrowed.
A flicker of someone else's grief. Her brother's anger. Carmen's voice in the dark. An image of herself staring at her own reflection, only it wasn't her.
"I passed," she whispered to herself.
Like saying it out loud would help her believe it.
The door hissed open.
Callum walked in, not with the crispness of a Sovereign but with that half-there expression he wore like armor—brain clearly operating on five different firewalls.
"You should eat," he said simply.
"What was that?" Alia asked, hoarse.
"Simulation."
"That wasn't stimulation. That was—emotional terrorism."
Callum tilted his head.
"It was calibration," he corrected. "We needed to know what you'd do under fabricated emotional chaos."
"I'm not even sure what was real."
"That's the point."
She stood up shakily, walking over to him. Her eyes didn't blink, didn't waver.
"How is this connected to the Vantaire program?"
"You'll understand later."
"You keep saying that."
He looked at her then—truly looked.
"Because you're not supposed to understand yet."
And that silence... said too much.
---
19:08 — Northwest girls' Housing Hallway
The air was cold. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe it was just her—mind hazy, skin clammy, bones heavy with fatigue.
Alia walked like she wasn't in her body. Like her steps belonged to someone else. Her limbs moved, but her thoughts trailed behind. The walls of St. Bernard's, usually so sharp and geometric, felt like they were breathing beside her—too quiet, too tall.
Her ears were still ringing.
Not from sound, but the absence of it.
That strange, suffocating silence the stimulation left in its wake—like her brain had been wrung out and hung to dry.
Then—
A shadow curved around the corner ahead.
She blinked.
Carmen.
That coat wasn't on her shoulders tonight. Instead, she wore just the school shirt—sleeves rolled, buttons undone halfway down her collarbone. Casual. Cool. Careless.
Alia's heart beat once—stupidly—and she quickened her pace.
But as soon as she got close—
Carmen turned around.
Right in front of her.
Alia nearly stumbled.
Their faces were only a breath apart.
Carmen's eyes narrowed.
"Why are you following me?"
Alia's throat tightened.
Words knotted, tangled, turned to static.
"I—I wasn't… following—well, I mean, not really. I just…"
Her voice trailed. She sounded unsure. No—she was unsure.
Carmen's head tilted slightly, but her expression wasn't cruel. Not entirely.
Alia exhaled sharply and looked down at her boots.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "About the… sparring. And the drinks. And whatever else."
Her voice cracked—not dramatically, but enough that someone like Carmen would hear it.
She looked up again, but not all the way. Not directly.
There was something off in her posture—like the version of herself that normally stood in front of Carmen had folded in half. Like whatever she'd seen down in Vantaire had hollowed her out a little more than she expected.
Carmen didn't reply at first.
She just… watched her.
Like she was trying to read through static.
Finally—
"I'm not mad," she said, voice lower than usual. "Yet."
Alia blinked.
"Yet?"
"Well, I haven't heard all the details." Her tone tried to be light. It didn't quite land.
A pause stretched between them. Not awkward. Just… suspended.
Then Carmen's brows pulled ever-so-slightly inward.
"You alright?"
Alia's lips parted, but nothing came out.
Carmen could see it now—the way her hands trembled just a little. The bags under her eyes. The dazed way she blinked too slow, like her mind was five seconds behind her mouth.
She looked like someone who'd been somewhere she shouldn't have gone.
Carmen didn't ask again.
Didn't press.
Instead, she just shifted her weight and said,
"Go to bed."
Not cold. Not warm. Just conflicted.
And with that, she turned and walked off down the hall, fingers briefly adjusting the hem of her sleeve—like she needed something to do with her hands.
Alia stood there.
Still.
Alone.
Her ears were still ringing.
But this time, it wasn't from the silence.
It was from the voice in her head whispering things she didn't want to feel.