I don't feel any better. My stomach's still tied in knots. My head spins at intervals. And my body… my body feels like it's coming apart on its own, like a house whose screws have been loosened one by one.
And yet, I ate. Elijah too. But neither of us finished our plate.
Too salty. Too real. Too… too much.
Gunther sat down next to us without a word, his elbow on the table, a cigarette held loosely between two fingers.
He didn't light it.
Maybe because he knows the smell would make me throw up.
Maybe just out of respect.
He waits until I sit up a little straighter, then rises quietly.
— You should change clothes. You're still in your loop uniforms, he says. I might have something for you.
He leads us to a narrow room, like a storage closet, but well-kept. Everything's clean, even if nothing's new.
He rummages through a metal locker, pulls out pants, oversized sweaters, shoes.
— These were mine and Tinka's. Nothing goes to waste here. If someone can use it, then it gets used. That's it.
I take the clothes with a hesitant motion. Elijah glances at me. I nod.
We change one after the other, behind a screen.
I don't recognize myself in the cracked mirror on the wall, but at least I look less like a lab rat.
Not sure it's any better.
When I come out, Tinka's there. She watches us, her gaze shifting from Elijah to me. Her eyebrows lift, just slightly.
— I knew it, she murmurs. Twins.
She steps closer, without rushing us.
— Are you feeling any better? Do you remember your names?
Elijah speaks first.
— Elijah. And she's Mira.
— Elijah and Mira, she repeats softly. Good. I have some bad news. I need to take you to someone. His name is Boris. He… runs things around here.
I frown.
— Did we… do something wrong?
— No, no, she replies quickly. Nothing like that. It's just… we need to understand what happened in there. And what you remember.
The hallway is long and quiet. Tinka walks ahead of us, her stride smooth and sure.
Elijah stays close. I feel his hand on my back. I still feel everything. Too much.
The room she leads us to is large, windowless. Thick walls, a white light hanging over a long table.
Two men are already there. One of them, younger, reminds me of someone.
He's the one who pointed a gun at us in the loop. Piotr.
The other is in his fifties. He carries authority in the way he stands, but not arrogance.
He rises when we enter. Boris.
— Hello, he says calmly. Please, sit down.
I sit across from him, next to Elijah.
Tinka stays behind us. Gunther enters a moment later and leans against the wall, arms crossed.
— Thank you for being here. I'll get straight to the point. We believed the loop was a weapons lab. Tinka and Piotr were supposed to retrieve data, samples.
We had no idea there were test subjects trapped inside.
Let alone teenagers.
A silence follows. My heart pounds too hard.
— Do you remember your parents? Where you're from? he asks, more gently.
I want to answer. I really do.
But nothing comes. My mind slides, washes up on empty shores.
— I… no. I'm sorry. I…
A hand touches my shoulder. Gunther.
— It'll come back, he says simply. Don't blame yourself.
Elijah inhales slowly.
— I remember some things. We lived with our mother. One day, she didn't come home. The next, we were pulled out of school. Someone came to the high school, took us away.
After that… nothing.
Just… the loop.
His voice barely trembles.
But I can feel the anger underneath. The fear, too.
And I— I get a flash. A staircase. A woman laughing, arms full of groceries.
My mother? Maybe. I hope so.
— And in the loop? What did they do to you, exactly? Boris asks.
This time, I speak. I hear myself saying it.
— They injected us with things. I don't know what. After a while, it felt like our bodies moved on their own. Like we couldn't disobey anymore.
We ate at set times, but… it was just liquids. No solids.
And they put us in water. In tanks. Like vats.
A knock on the door.
A man enters. Dark-haired, fairly tall. Probably Gunther's age.
He moves strangely. His right arm… he keeps it stiff at his side.
He gives a curt nod.
— Sorry I'm late, he says. Ilya.
— He handled the hacking during the raid, Boris explains. Did you manage to get any data?
— No. It was just a decoy. Power cut, communications blocked. No way to access the servers.
If I'd known, I would've prepared differently.
Ilya looks at Elijah and me with a kind of jaded curiosity.
He doesn't say anything else.
Boris leans toward us.
— If any other memories come back, tell us. What you've been through… it's key to understanding what's really happening in there.
But for now, get some rest.
I nod.
Just as we're about to stand, I find myself asking:
— How come no one ever found you? That… that the Citadel wasn't attacked?
There's a pause. Then Ilya answers, a crooked smile on his face.
— The Citadel's never been located. It's the resistance's biggest stronghold. We're in an old missile silo, buried beneath meters of ice. And snow. Every mission is launched when there's snowfall, so the blizzard covers our tracks. All you need is a decent pilot.
Gunther raises a hand with a grin.
— That's me.
A soft ripple of laughter passes around the table.
Boris rises too.
— Tinka, take them. Get them proper quarters. Not the room they woke up in.
Gunther, stay. We need to talk mission.
We step back out. In the hallway, Tinka gives us a sideways glance.
— You want two rooms or one? It's not a problem either way.
— Together, Elijah says immediately.
We'd rather stay together.
She nods.
— I get it. Really.
She leads the way.
And for the first time in a long while, I wonder if this is what it means to be alive.
To feel.
To be cold.
To be scared.
To hope.