00:44:58
Isla hit the floor hard. The world was spinning, colors bleeding, air thick with static. When her vision steadied, she realized she was lying on tile again, but it wasn't the same sterile white. This floor was black and cracked, and the ceiling above her was a maze of cables and broken lights.
Mason landed beside her, groaning. The mirror behind them dissolved into mist. "What the hell…" Isla whispered, pulling herself up. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, lined with old CRT monitors stacked to the ceiling. Most were broken, faces flickering in the static. But a few glowed faintly, replaying scenes she recognized, moments from her own life. Only… wrong.
One screen showed her childhood bedroom, walls painted blue instead of yellow. Another showed her sitting in a hospital corridor, holding the same stuffed rabbit the little girl had. Her face was older, tired. Mason staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his nose. "We're in the Archive."
"The what?"
"It's where they store the tests. Every failed cycle ends up here."
She moved closer to one of the working screens. It showed her older, speaking to a camera. Her voice was calm, clinical.
"Subject memory degradation acceptable. Initiating recursive protocol." The camera panned to reveal Mason beside her, smiling.
Isla froze. "That's us."
"Not us," Mason said quietly. "Versions of us."
Another monitor flared to life, this time showing the little girl again, standing in a room full of mirrors. She was crying. Her voice was faint beneath the static.
"Mommy, please wake up." Isla's breath caught.
"Who is she?" Mason asked.
"I don't" Isla swallowed hard. "I don't know."
The static deepened, crawling across the walls. The monitors began to hum in unison, each one showing the same image: Isla, asleep in a hospital bed, wires attached to her temples. Mason standing over her.
But the man in the footage wasn't moving. He was watching the camera. Watching her.
Mason stepped back. "That's not me."
The speakers crackled overhead. The same distorted female voice whispered:
"Stay awake or stay here."
The lights blinked red. Every monitor in the hall turned toward them, hundreds of eyes staring through flickering glass. Mason grabbed Isla's hand. "Run."
They sprinted down the corridor, screens shattering on both sides, the sound of their own memories collapsing around them. The hallway twisted, literally bent, until it spiraled downward like a drain. And somewhere below, the clock ticked louder. 00:42:00