That night I couldn't sleep.The yellow sheet wouldn't leave my head. Neither would the word:"Remember."
Remember what? I have nothing to remember. There is nothing before. Nothing outside the schedule, the system, the routine.That's what they teach us.
But the sheet was still there, like a thorn stuck in the flesh of my mind. I stared at it under the weak blue ceiling light, turning it between my fingers as if its texture could reveal something more. Nothing. Just that symbol: a circle slashed by a jagged line, like a wound in time.
The next day, I went back to my routine.But something was different.I was different.
School felt grayer.The automated announcements sounded hollower.My classmates' faces seemed more like masks than real people.Even the History teacher—old Darnell, with his soft voice and tired eyes—seemed more like an echo than a human being.
"Today we'll review the Fundamentals of Stability," he said, projecting the same presentation we've seen since first year. "Can anyone tell me the number one principle?"
Raised hands. Voices answering in chorus."The past is an unnecessary burden."
Correct.
And yet, in my pocket, the sheet was still there. A burden. A doubt. A crack.
I didn't take it out. I didn't even touch it. But I couldn't stop thinking about it.
At recess, I went to the bathroom just to breathe. I locked myself in a stall, pulled out the sheet, and stared at it for the fifth time. Sixth. Maybe the tenth.
"Remember."
There was nothing else. No signature. No date. No context.But then I noticed something different.
A barely visible mark at the bottom edge. It wasn't part of the symbol. It was a number, written with a trembling hand, as if the person who wrote it wasn't sure they should:3.5.17
A code? A date? A coordinate?
I didn't know what to think. But now I had something new: data. Something I could look up.
That afternoon, instead of going straight home, I took a detour.I went to the old library in Zone 3. Hardly anyone uses it. Most prefer automated answers, official summaries, or "filtered files" approved by the System. But I… I needed to see something unfiltered.
Inside, the pale receptionist with red-blinking optical implants watched me without saying anything. I nodded, pretending I came to study anything, and slipped into the most forgotten shelves.
I searched through physical archives—yes, some still remained—until I found a section of ancient city maps. Very old. Some not even digitized. Covered in dust, sealed with labels that read "Obsolete Information."
And there, among construction plans and urban records, I found it:Zone 3, Sector 5, Level 17.3.5.17.
An intermediate level, between residential layers and automated storage. Officially sealed for "structural risk." Uninhabited. Unpatrolled.Perfect.
I went home with my heart pounding harder than it had in years. I hid the sheet under a loose tile and set an alarm for 2:00 a.m.
I told no one. Not because I feared being betrayed, but simply because… no one would have understood.
In this city, curiosity is a disease.One that drags you.One that changes you.
I was already infected.
At 2:07 a.m., I left home with my school jacket, a pocket flashlight, and the crumpled sheet against my chest.No noise. No one around.
I walked to the nearest maintenance elevator, one that connected to the lower levels. I forced the lock with a crowbar I'd stolen from the mechanics lab. I descended in darkness, no sound but the faint hum of old machinery.
I reached Level 17.The door opened with a dry creak.
And what I saw froze me.
The hallway was covered in graffiti. Old, half-erased, some fresh and alive. None approved. None official.
Phrases like:"BEFORE X, THERE WAS LIGHT.""WE ARE NOT NUMBERS.""THE PAST EXISTS."
And at the end of the corridor, painted in black, large like a warning:FORGETTING IS A CHOICE.
My flashlight shook in my hand.Someone else in the city remembered.Or worse…Had never forgotten.
End of Chapter 2