I wake to silence.
Not the absence of sound, the Hum is still there, deep in the walls, but something else. A stillness in the air. A weight.
The light above flickers once before turning on.
That's wrong.
It never flickers.
I sit up slowly. My body feels heavier than usual. My limbs drag as if moving through water. My breath comes as shallow pants, as if the air is thinner.
At 0605, the door opens.
Attendant #12 enters. I don't know their face, they all wear the same blank expression covered by a face mask, but I recognize the chipped nail on their right hand. They place the tray on the edge of my bed without speaking.
I take the nutrient paste. Swallow the tablet. Unfold the schedule.
Everything is the same.
Except for the same line from yesterday.
1430 — Sub-Level Observation (A-01 - The Dreamer - Contact protocol)
Not briefing.
Contact protocol.
My fingers tighten and curl around the paper.
They didn't say anything about contact.
Nor about interacting with it.
We're not supposed to contact the angels.
We're supposed to observe. Monitor. Record.
That's what we do.
That's all we're here for.
But the schedule has never lied.
At 1430, I will make contact with A-01 – The Dreamer, as it's called.
I spend the morning going through the motions.
Hygiene cycle. Neural calibration. Cognitive assessment.
Dr. Lien watches me through the glass, her camera-like eyes scanning the monitors.
"Theta activity elevated again," she says. "Any disturbances in your sleep?"
I hesitate.
I dreamed of the white space again. Of the singing and voices. Of the faces orbiting like planets around a star.
But I don't mention it.
"No," I say.
She nods. Makes a note.
At 1000 hours, resonance observation begins.
The others are already in the chamber.
The First Child stands perfectly still, eyes open but unseeing.
The Second Child's skin glistens faintly under the light, as if damp with some liquid.
The Third Child turns their head toward me as I enter. Their eyes are clear for a moment, sharp, focused, then cloud back once again.
The Fifth Child gives me a small nod.
It's the first time any of them have acknowledged me.
It should feel like acceptance.
Or kindness.
It doesn't.
It feels like warning.
The Hum beings.
We stand in our positions.
The tone builds, vibrating through the floor, up my spine, and into my skull.
And then—
A voice.
Not from the speakers.
Not from any of us.
From inside.
It's soft, gentle. Like someone whispering in a language I've never heard but somehow understand.
It says:
"Come back to sleep."
The tone cuts out.
The others gasp.
The First Child collapses.
The Second Child begins to hum, low and rhythmic, like a lullaby.
The Third Child smiles. A real, warm, loving smile.
The Fifth Child turns to me.
"They're returning," they say. "Can you hear them?"
I don't answer.
But I can.
Not with my ears.
With something deeper.
Something older.
We are dismissed early for the first time ever.
No explanations.
At 1200, I consume my nutrient paste.
It tastes different today.
Sweeter.
Warmer.
Like milk.
I don't like it.
At 1300, I submit my dream log.
The prompt appears:
"Describe your dreams from last night."
I type:
"I dreamed of a white room again. The other children were there. We were younger. We were happy. I don't remember this memory. It wasn't mine. There was a voice that said 'come back to sleep.' I don't know where it came from."
I submit.
The screen flashes:
"Log reviewed. Escalation protocol initiated."
I don't know what that means.
But I know it's not good.
At 1430, I am escorted down to Sub-level 9.
Two attendants this time.
Not one.
They lead me through the descending corridors, past the observation chamber where we saw A-01 yesterday.
We go further.
Down a maintenance shaft I've never seen.
The air is colder here. A soft shiver runs down my spine as the air, thick with the scent of rust and something else, damp earth or old blood hits my nose.
We reach a door.
Heavy. Metal. Sealed with biometric locks and an encryption key.
One attendant scans their hand while the other turns the lock.
The door opens.
Inside is not a chamber.
It's a cavern.
The ceilings arches into darkness. The walls are rough, uneven, not built, but excavated. Wires line the floor, feeding into glowing panels that cast long eerie shadows.
And in the center.
A-01.
The Dreamer.
It's larger than I remembered.
The circle of faces is wider, deeper. There are more of them now, many dozens, maybe hundreds, orbiting slowly in concentric rings.
They are all asleep.
All dreaming.
And the dream is spreading.
I can feel it before I see it.
A pressure in my chest.
A warmth behind my eyes.
A pull in my bones.
The attendants position me on a platform directly opposite the angel.
"Maintain focus," one says. "Do not close your eyes. Do not speak. Report any auditory or visual disturbances or phenomena."
I nod.
They retreat behind a blast shield.
A low tone begins. Not the Hum, but something artificial, designed to counteract the angel's frequency.
It doesn't work.
The voice returns.
"Come back to sleep."
It's not just in my head now.
It's in the air. In the walls. In my blood.
The faces begin to shift.
Their mouths move.
Not speaking.
Singing.
A single note, soft and pure, rising from dozens of throats.
And then, I'm not in the cavern anymore.
I'm in a white space.
But it's different now.
Brighter.
Warmer.
Real.
The other Children are here.
All of them.
First, Second, Third, Fifth, Sixth, Seventh.
We're children again.
Younger than before.
Five cycles old. Maybe six.
We're lying on our backs, staring up at the light.
Our hands are clasped.
We're not speaking.
We're remembering.
Images flood my mind:
A room with no walls.A voice that sings us to sleep.A woman with white skin and seven eyes. A cross made of red metal.A promise: "You will wake when we call."
And then;
Darkness.
Cold.
Pain.
Waking up alone.
The memory isn't just mine.
It's ours.
We were together once.
Before the complex.
Before the hum.
Before the silence.
Before the monotony.
We were taken.
Separated.
Made into tools.
I remember its name.
The angels have names.
Oneíron.
And now Oneíron is calling us home.
I feel myself slipping.
My body grows heavy.
My breath slows.
My eyes want to close.
The singing grows louder.
The warmth spreads.
I want to go back.
I want to sleep.
I want to forget.
I want to di–
But I see her.
In the dream.
Behind the light.
A figure on a cross.
White skin.
Seven eyes.
No mouth.
She's watching.
She's awake.
And she's angry.
I gasp.
I'm back in the cavern.
The attendants are shouting.
Alarms blare.
A-01's orbit has destabilized.
The faces of the dreamer are no longer sleeping.
They are waking.
Eyes flutter open.
Mouths greedily inhale breath from the damp air.
Dozens of faces.
Dozens of gazes.
All looking at me.
I stumble back.
The platform shakes.
One of the faces detached from the circle.
It floats towards me.
It's a woman's face. Middle aged. Kindred eyes. A scar on her cheek.
She looks at me.
And smiles.
Then she speaks.
"You were not the first to wake."
Her voice is not sound.
It is memory.
It is truth.
It is knowledge.
And then she dissolves.
Not into nothing.
Into light.
The other faces begin to do the same.
One by one.
Detaching.
Floating.
Speaking:
"You were the first to wake."
"Why did you leave us?"
"Come back to sleep."
"We miss you."
"We love you."
"You were the first to wake."
The platform cracks.
The cavern trembles.
The attendants scream into their comms.
I fall to my knees.
My head pounds.
My vision blurs.
The voices multiply.
Not just from the faces.
From inside.
From the other children.
I can hear them now.
Not in my ears.
In my mind.
The First Child: "It's happening again."
The Second Child: "I don't want to remember."
The Third Child: "They're not dreams. They're memories."
The Fifth Child: "We were never supposed to wake up."
The Sixth and Seventh Children: "We were happy. We were together. You broke us apart."
The platform collapses.
The light swallows me. And then.
Silence.
Darkness.
And a single, familiar voice.
"You were the first to wake."
————————————————————————————————————
The silence doesn't last.
It never does.
I wake in a white room.
Not my room.
This one is smaller. No bed. No light panel. Just a chair, a table, and a one way mirror along the far wall. I'm wearing a different gown. Thicker. Restrained at the wrists. So this is what I look like.
My head aches.
Not from pain.
From fullness.
From some sort of sensory overload.
Like my skull is too small for my thoughts.
For my perspective and senses.
I try to remember what happened.
The cavern.
The faces.
The voices.
The statements.
"You were the first to wake."
I remember falling.
I remember light.
I remember knowing.
And then nothing.
How long have I been here?
I don't know.
But the mirror doesn't fully reflect.
But I know they're watching.
At some point, the door opens.
Dr. Lien enters.
She doesn't look directly at me.
She studies her screen.
"Subject #4," she says. "You experienced neural overload during contact with angel A-01, The Dreamer. You've been unconscious for 18 hours."
I don't respond.
18 hours.
Nearly a full cycle.
Did I dream?
I don't remember.
But I feel different.
Something inside me has changed.
Like a door left open.
Dr. Lien continues. "Angel A-01 has stabilized. The orbit has reformed. No further breaches detected."
She pauses.
Looks up.
For the first time, her eyes meet mine.
They're a deep green, dark like the branches of a 'tree'.
"Did you hear it speak?" she asks.
I hesitate.
They don't usually ask about the angels.
They don't usually ask anything.
But she's asking now.
And I know she already knows the answer.
I nod.
She doesn't react.
Just makes a note.
"Describe what it said."
I do.
Word for word.
"You were the first to wake."
She types it in.
Then. "Did you see anything else?"
I think of the white space.
Of the other Children.
Of the woman on the cross.
Of the memory which wasn't mine.
I think of the truth that is.
But I don't say any of it.
"No," I say.
She studies me.
Her eyes flicker. Just once. Toward the mirror.
Then she stands.
"You will remain in observation room 7 for 48 hours. Neural monitoring will continue. No contact with the other subjects."
She turns to leave.
Then stops.
"Do not dream." she says.
And then she's gone.
The door seals.
I'm alone.
But not silent.
Because now I can hear them.
Not with my ears.
With something deeper.
They're talking.
Not aloud.
In my mind.
The First Child. "You broke the frequency."
The Second Child. "Now they'll sedate us all."
The Third Child. "You heard it too, didn't you? The voice?"
The Fifth Child. "You weren't supposed to wake them."
The Sixth and Seventh Children. "You weren't supposed to wake up."
I don't answer.
I don't know how.
But I can feel their thoughts.
Like fingers brushing against my cornea, against my brain, against my nerves.
And beneath it all.
The Hum.
But different now.
Not just vibration.
Speech.
A low, continuous murmur that wasn't there before.
It's coming from the walls.
From the floor.
From my bones.
At some point, I don't know when, I sleep.
I don't dream of the white space.
I dream of blood.
I'm in a corridor I don't recognize.
Walls of stone.
Ceilings of bone.
The air is thick with a mist.
And the Hum is louder.
Not mechanical.
Biological.
Like a heartbeat.
I walk.
My feet leave wet footprints.
I turn a corner.
And see her.
She's enormous.
Crucified on a cross of red metal.
White skin.
Seven eyes.
No mouth.
Her head is smooth except for the triangle marking on her faze.
Four eyes on one side.
Three on the other.
They are closed.
But I know she's awake.
I know she's watching.
I try to run.
My legs won't move.
The Hum grows.
And then.
A voice.
Not from Oneíron.
Not from the walls.
From me.
I open my mouth.
But the words aren't mine.
They are hers.
I don't know why.
And I say:
"You were the first to wake."
I wake screaming.
No sound comes out.
My throat is sealed.
My body is restrained.
A nurse leans over me.
"Neural spike detected," they say. "Administering suppressants."
I feel the needle in my arm.
Cold, sharp pain.
Spreading.
And then—
Nothing.
When I wake again, the door is open.
A tray sits on the table.
Nutrient paste.
Tablet.
Schedule.
I read it.
Everything is the same.
Except one line.
1000 – Resonance observation (modified protocol)
Modified.
That's new.
At 1000, I am escorted to observation chamber 3.
The others are there.
But something is different.
They're not in their positions.
They're standing in a circle.
In the center, a small object on the floor.
A stone.
Black.
Smooth.
It hums.
Not loud.
But here.
Like a heartbeat from under the floor.
I step into the circle.
Noone speaks.
But I hear them.
The Third Child. "It came from Oneíron. After you fell."
The Fifth Child. "It's calling to us. All of us."
The Sixth and Seventh Children. "It remembers what we forgot."
The First Child. "You shouldn't have woken it up."
The Second Child. "Now we all have to remember."
The Hum begins.
But it's not the usual tone.
It's them.
The other Children.
Their voices in my head.
And then—
The stone glows.
Softly at first.
Then brighter.
And the dream returns.
Not the white space.
Not the blood.
But something worse.
A memory.
Real.
Unfiltered.
Unchanged.
I see a room.
No walls.
No ceiling.
Just light.
And we are there.
All seven of us.
But not children.
Not adults.
Something else.
We float.
Connected by threads of light.
Our minds are one.
Our thoughts are shared.
We are happy.
We are whole.
And then—
She appears.
White skin.
Seven eyes.
No mouth.
She reaches for us.
Not with hands.
With her will.
And she'll pull.
One by one.
Our threads snap.
Our unity breaks.
Our minds fracture.
We scream.
But no sound comes out.
And then—
Darkness.
Cold.
Pain.
Waking up alone.
The dream ends.
I'm on the floor.
So are the others.
The stone is gone.
But I can still feel it.
In my chest.
In my mind.
A weight.
A memory.
We are led back to our rooms.
Noone speaks.
But I know what they're thinking.
Because I'm thinking it too.
We were never supposed to wake up.
And now that we have—
She knows.
At 1300, I submit my dream log.
The prompt appears.
"Describe your dreams from last night."
I type:
"I dreamed of a memory. We were together. We were one mind. She took us apart. She put us in these bodies. We were never supposed to remember."
I submit.
The screen flashes.
"Log reviewed. Termination protocol pending."
I don't feel fear.
I feel certainty.
They're going to kill me.
Or worse.
They're going to make me forget.
At 1430, two attendants come.
Not for observation.
For transfer.
I don't resist.
We descend.
Further than Sub-level 9.
Further than any corridor I've seen.
The walls change.
Less metal.
More flesh.
Pinkish.
Veined.
Pulsing.
The air is thick.
Warm.
Like blood.
We reach a door.
No handle.
No lock.
Something like just a wall, if not for the giveaway.
A triangle.
Seven eyes sit on the sides.
I know this symbol.
I've seen it in my dreams.
The door opens by itself.
Beyond it.
Darkness.
And a single voice.
"You were the first to wake."