Chapter 3
Chapter 3: The Cold Ride Home
The world went black.
Not a gentle fade. A switch. Like someone flipped a circuit breaker.
Ethan gasped. His lungs burned. He tried to thrash.
Nothing.
His body was a lead weight. Pinched. Compressed.
A soft hum. Vibrating through him. Low. Mechanical.
He couldn't see. Couldn't feel the floor beneath him.
He was floating. Or falling. Or both.
His ears popped. Like a plane taking off.
He tried to scream. No sound came out. His throat was locked.
Panic. Cold. Absolute.
He fought against the blackness. Clawed at it.
His hands found something. Smooth. Cool. Hard.
A wall? A surface?
He pushed. No give.
The hum intensified. A deep thrumming.
He felt a subtle shift. A lurch. Like a vehicle accelerating.
He was moving.
Where?
His mind raced. Sarah. The apartment. The broken door. The black hole.
The uniformed figure.
"Oh, we know."
The words echoed in the void. Calm. Chilling.
He was trapped. In this black box. Moving.
His breath hitched. He tried to control it. Tried to breathe normally.
But the air felt thin. Recycled. Like a sealed container.
He listened. Strained to hear anything beyond the hum.
Footsteps? Voices?
Nothing. Just the hum. And his own ragged breathing.
How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours?
He had no sense of time. No light. No windows.
He was in a box. A dark, humming box.
He pressed his face against the cool surface. Tried to feel for a seam. A crack.
Smooth. Seamless.
He tasted metal. Or fear.
The lurching motion continued. Steady now. Like a long journey.
He was being transported.
Like cargo.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Pointless. Already black.
He tried to remember the figure's face. The uniform.
Shadowed. Obscured.
He remembered the hand. The dark glove.
Not human. The thought surfaced. Unbidden.
He dismissed it. He was a normal guy. This was a breakdown. A dream.
No. This was real. The ache in his shoulder. The phantom sting on his forearm. The memory of Sarah’s head hitting the floor.
That was real.
He felt a tremor. A slight vibration. Through the floor. Or what he assumed was a floor.
The hum shifted. Pitched higher.
A deceleration. Slow. Smooth.
He braced himself. For what?
A jolt. Gentle. The motion stopped.
Silence.
The hum died. Abruptly.
His ears rang. The sudden quiet was deafening.
He could hear his heart. Pounding. Like a drum solo in his chest.
He waited. Held his breath.
A click. Soft. Somewhere close.
He flinched. Tried to shrink further into himself.
Then, a hiss. Air escaping.
A faint line of light appeared. Thin. Vertical.
It brightened. Widened.
The box was opening.
He squinted. His eyes burned against the sudden, harsh light.
White. Everything was white.
He was lying down. On something soft. But firm.
He tried to push himself up. His muscles protested. Stiff. Weak.
A figure stood over him. Silhouetted against the blinding white.
Another uniform. Different from the last. Lighter. Almost surgical.
No face. Just a dark visor. Reflecting the glare.
He struggled. Tried to sit up.
A hand pressed gently on his chest. Firm. Restricting.
"Easy, Mr. Cole."
The voice. Not the same as before. Higher. Female. Calm.
"You're safe now."
Safe?
He tried to speak. His throat was dry. Parched.
"Where... where am I?" he croaked.
"You're in a secure facility."
The voice was devoid of emotion. Clinical.
He blinked. Tried to focus. The white was everywhere. Walls. Ceiling. Floor.
No corners. Everything curved. Seamless.
Like the inside of a giant egg.
He tried to push the hand away. To sit up.
"I need to know what's happening."
The hand remained. Unyielding.
"We'll explain everything. In due course."
"Sarah..." he began. The name tasted like ash.
"Sarah is fine."
He froze. His eyes snapped to the figure's visor.
"What?"
"She's recovering. From her fall."
A lie. He knew it. He felt her pulse. Nothing.
"You're lying."
The figure didn't react. Didn't flinch.
"We assure you, Mr. Cole. She is receiving the best care."
"I killed her." The words were a raw wound.
"No, you didn't."
The certainty in her voice. Unsettling.
He stared at the blank visor. A mirror. Reflecting his own terror.
"This isn't real," he whispered.
"It's very real, Mr. Cole."
She leaned closer. He could smell antiseptic. Clean. Cold.
"And you are very important."
His breath hitched. Important? For what?
"Why am I here?" he demanded. His voice gaining strength.
"You're here because you've seen it."
Seen what? The shifting reality? The wrongness?
"Seen what?"
"The Anomaly."
A shiver ran down his spine. The word sounded scientific. Terrifying.
"What is that?"
"It's why things aren't... as they should be."
He closed his eyes. Opened them again. The white. The figure.
"You mean... the changes?"
"Precisely."
He felt a flicker of hope. Someone else saw it. Someone else knew.
He wasn't crazy.
He tried to sit up again. This time, the hand didn't stop him.
He pushed himself to a sitting position. On the edge of the soft surface.
It felt like a bed. Or an examination table.
He looked around the room. Still seamless white. No doors. No windows.
Only the opening where he'd come from. A perfectly rectangular slit in the wall.
And the figure. Standing still. Arms at her sides.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My designation is Operative Seven."
No name. Just a number.
"What is this place?"
"A containment and observation facility."
Containment. The word chilled him.
"Am I a prisoner?"
Operative Seven tilted her head slightly. The visor glinted.
"You are a guest, Mr. Cole."
A guest. In a white box. With no way out.
"I want to leave."
"That's not possible right now."
He felt the familiar surge of panic. Trapped. Again.
He looked for an exit. Anywhere.
The rectangular opening. It was still there. Gleaming.
He tried to swing his legs off the bed.
"Where are you going?" Operative Seven asked. Her voice still calm.
"I'm leaving."
He pushed himself off the bed. His legs felt shaky. Like jelly.
He stumbled forward. Towards the opening.
He moved faster. A desperate lunge.
He reached the opening. It shimmered. Like a heat haze.
He plunged his hand into it. Expecting a hallway. Or another room.
His hand met resistance. Solid. Invisible.
He pushed harder. Nothing.
It was a wall. A force field.
He pounded on it. Frantically.
"Let me out!" he yelled.
Operative Seven stood watching him. Unmoving.
He turned. His eyes wild.
"What is this? What have you done to me?"
"We've brought you somewhere you can begin to understand."
"I don't understand any of this!"
He felt a tremor in the floor. Again.
The room began to hum. Low. Deep.
The white walls shimmered. Distorted.
He staggered backward. His heart hammered.
"What's happening?"
Operative Seven raised a hand. Not to stop him. To point.
At the shimmering wall.
A ripple spread across the surface. Like water.
Then, a black void opened. Not a door. A tear.
It widened. Suckered him in.
He stumbled. Tried to resist.
A powerful suction. Pulling him forward.
He screamed.
Hands grabbed him. Dozens of them. Not human. Cold. Hard.
Pulling him into the blackness.
He fought. Kicked. Flailing.
His nails scraped against slick, alien surfaces.
He felt himself being dragged. Pulled. Into the void.
Operative Seven stood still. Watching.
Her voice, calm, cut through the blackness.
"Welcome to the next phase, Mr. Cole."
He was still screaming. Falling.
The blackness intensified. Swallowed him whole.
And then, he hit something. Hard. With a sickening thud.
His breath exploded from his lungs. Pain. White-hot.
He lay there. Gasping. Every inch of his body screaming.
He felt something sticky. Wet. On his face.
He tried to move. To push himself up.
Couldn't. His body wouldn't obey.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't in white. Or black.
He was in an alley. Damp. Grimy.
The stench of garbage. Urine.
Above him, a hazy yellow sky. Smoggy.
And at his feet, splashed across his pants, was a puddle of...
Blood.
Not a gentle fade. A switch. Like someone flipped a circuit breaker.
Ethan gasped. His lungs burned. He tried to thrash.
Nothing.
His body was a lead weight. Pinched. Compressed.
A soft hum. Vibrating through him. Low. Mechanical.
He couldn't see. Couldn't feel the floor beneath him.
He was floating. Or falling. Or both.
His ears popped. Like a plane taking off.
He tried to scream. No sound came out. His throat was locked.
Panic. Cold. Absolute.
He fought against the blackness. Clawed at it.
His hands found something. Smooth. Cool. Hard.
A wall? A surface?
He pushed. No give.
The hum intensified. A deep thrumming.
He felt a subtle shift. A lurch. Like a vehicle accelerating.
He was moving.
Where?
His mind raced. Sarah. The apartment. The broken door. The black hole.
The uniformed figure.
"Oh, we know."
The words echoed in the void. Calm. Chilling.
He was trapped. In this black box. Moving.
His breath hitched. He tried to control it. Tried to breathe normally.
But the air felt thin. Recycled. Like a sealed container.
He listened. Strained to hear anything beyond the hum.
Footsteps? Voices?
Nothing. Just the hum. And his own ragged breathing.
How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours?
He had no sense of time. No light. No windows.
He was in a box. A dark, humming box.
He pressed his face against the cool surface. Tried to feel for a seam. A crack.
Smooth. Seamless.
He tasted metal. Or fear.
The lurching motion continued. Steady now. Like a long journey.
He was being transported.
Like cargo.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Pointless. Already black.
He tried to remember the figure's face. The uniform.
Shadowed. Obscured.
He remembered the hand. The dark glove.
Not human. The thought surfaced. Unbidden.
He dismissed it. He was a normal guy. This was a breakdown. A dream.
No. This was real. The ache in his shoulder. The phantom sting on his forearm. The memory of Sarah’s head hitting the floor.
That was real.
He felt a tremor. A slight vibration. Through the floor. Or what he assumed was a floor.
The hum shifted. Pitched higher.
A deceleration. Slow. Smooth.
He braced himself. For what?
A jolt. Gentle. The motion stopped.
Silence.
The hum died. Abruptly.
His ears rang. The sudden quiet was deafening.
He could hear his heart. Pounding. Like a drum solo in his chest.
He waited. Held his breath.
A click. Soft. Somewhere close.
He flinched. Tried to shrink further into himself.
Then, a hiss. Air escaping.
A faint line of light appeared. Thin. Vertical.
It brightened. Widened.
The box was opening.
He squinted. His eyes burned against the sudden, harsh light.
White. Everything was white.
He was lying down. On something soft. But firm.
He tried to push himself up. His muscles protested. Stiff. Weak.
A figure stood over him. Silhouetted against the blinding white.
Another uniform. Different from the last. Lighter. Almost surgical.
No face. Just a dark visor. Reflecting the glare.
He struggled. Tried to sit up.
A hand pressed gently on his chest. Firm. Restricting.
"Easy, Mr. Cole."
The voice. Not the same as before. Higher. Female. Calm.
"You're safe now."
Safe?
He tried to speak. His throat was dry. Parched.
"Where... where am I?" he croaked.
"You're in a secure facility."
The voice was devoid of emotion. Clinical.
He blinked. Tried to focus. The white was everywhere. Walls. Ceiling. Floor.
No corners. Everything curved. Seamless.
Like the inside of a giant egg.
He tried to push the hand away. To sit up.
"I need to know what's happening."
The hand remained. Unyielding.
"We'll explain everything. In due course."
"Sarah..." he began. The name tasted like ash.
"Sarah is fine."
He froze. His eyes snapped to the figure's visor.
"What?"
"She's recovering. From her fall."
A lie. He knew it. He felt her pulse. Nothing.
"You're lying."
The figure didn't react. Didn't flinch.
"We assure you, Mr. Cole. She is receiving the best care."
"I killed her." The words were a raw wound.
"No, you didn't."
The certainty in her voice. Unsettling.
He stared at the blank visor. A mirror. Reflecting his own terror.
"This isn't real," he whispered.
"It's very real, Mr. Cole."
She leaned closer. He could smell antiseptic. Clean. Cold.
"And you are very important."
His breath hitched. Important? For what?
"Why am I here?" he demanded. His voice gaining strength.
"You're here because you've seen it."
Seen what? The shifting reality? The wrongness?
"Seen what?"
"The Anomaly."
A shiver ran down his spine. The word sounded scientific. Terrifying.
"What is that?"
"It's why things aren't... as they should be."
He closed his eyes. Opened them again. The white. The figure.
"You mean... the changes?"
"Precisely."
He felt a flicker of hope. Someone else saw it. Someone else knew.
He wasn't crazy.
He tried to sit up again. This time, the hand didn't stop him.
He pushed himself to a sitting position. On the edge of the soft surface.
It felt like a bed. Or an examination table.
He looked around the room. Still seamless white. No doors. No windows.
Only the opening where he'd come from. A perfectly rectangular slit in the wall.
And the figure. Standing still. Arms at her sides.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My designation is Operative Seven."
No name. Just a number.
"What is this place?"
"A containment and observation facility."
Containment. The word chilled him.
"Am I a prisoner?"
Operative Seven tilted her head slightly. The visor glinted.
"You are a guest, Mr. Cole."
A guest. In a white box. With no way out.
"I want to leave."
"That's not possible right now."
He felt the familiar surge of panic. Trapped. Again.
He looked for an exit. Anywhere.
The rectangular opening. It was still there. Gleaming.
He tried to swing his legs off the bed.
"Where are you going?" Operative Seven asked. Her voice still calm.
"I'm leaving."
He pushed himself off the bed. His legs felt shaky. Like jelly.
He stumbled forward. Towards the opening.
He moved faster. A desperate lunge.
He reached the opening. It shimmered. Like a heat haze.
He plunged his hand into it. Expecting a hallway. Or another room.
His hand met resistance. Solid. Invisible.
He pushed harder. Nothing.
It was a wall. A force field.
He pounded on it. Frantically.
"Let me out!" he yelled.
Operative Seven stood watching him. Unmoving.
He turned. His eyes wild.
"What is this? What have you done to me?"
"We've brought you somewhere you can begin to understand."
"I don't understand any of this!"
He felt a tremor in the floor. Again.
The room began to hum. Low. Deep.
The white walls shimmered. Distorted.
He staggered backward. His heart hammered.
"What's happening?"
Operative Seven raised a hand. Not to stop him. To point.
At the shimmering wall.
A ripple spread across the surface. Like water.
Then, a black void opened. Not a door. A tear.
It widened. Suckered him in.
He stumbled. Tried to resist.
A powerful suction. Pulling him forward.
He screamed.
Hands grabbed him. Dozens of them. Not human. Cold. Hard.
Pulling him into the blackness.
He fought. Kicked. Flailing.
His nails scraped against slick, alien surfaces.
He felt himself being dragged. Pulled. Into the void.
Operative Seven stood still. Watching.
Her voice, calm, cut through the blackness.
"Welcome to the next phase, Mr. Cole."
He was still screaming. Falling.
The blackness intensified. Swallowed him whole.
And then, he hit something. Hard. With a sickening thud.
His breath exploded from his lungs. Pain. White-hot.
He lay there. Gasping. Every inch of his body screaming.
He felt something sticky. Wet. On his face.
He tried to move. To push himself up.
Couldn't. His body wouldn't obey.
He opened his eyes.
He wasn't in white. Or black.
He was in an alley. Damp. Grimy.
The stench of garbage. Urine.
Above him, a hazy yellow sky. Smoggy.
And at his feet, splashed across his pants, was a puddle of...
Blood.