The moment I opened my eyes, I knew something was wrong. The ceiling above me was unfamiliar—sleek, metallic, with pulsating lights embedded like stars in a cold, artificial sky. The air smelled sterile, tinged with ozone and something faintly chemical. My heart pounded. I wasn’t in my bedroom. I wasn’t anywhere I recognized. I was lying on a smooth slab that hummed faintly beneath me, and my limbs felt heavy, sluggish, as if gravity had been altered or my body was adjusting to something new.
Panic crept in. I forced myself to sit up, muscles protesting. The room was circular, walls curving seamlessly without corners or doors in sight. Screens flickered in and out of existence along the edges, displaying symbols and shapes I couldn’t decipher—alien alphabets that twisted and shifted as if alive. Then I noticed the faint blue glow beneath my skin—thin lines tracing strange circuitry along my arms and neck. What was this? Was I... changed? Modified?
Suddenly, a sharp, metallic voice echoed through hidden speakers. “Subject awake. Initialization sequence complete.” The words chilled me. Subject. I was a subject? A test? I looked around frantically, searching for any exit, any clue, but the room was sealed tight.
“Where am I?” I whispered, voice trembling.
No answer. Then the voice returned, cold and clinical. “You have been relocated to the Ark—an interdimensional vessel outside known space-time. Your memories have been partially restored. Full functionality will return with time.”
Relocated? Ark? Outside space-time? It sounded like nonsense. I tried to piece together my last memories—walking home, the rain soaking through my jacket, the bright neon signs flickering on the street... then nothing. A blinding flash, a sickening twist in my gut, and here I was.
I scrambled off the slab and staggered to the wall, pressing against it. To my surprise, it shifted, becoming translucent like glass, revealing a sprawling vista beyond. Stars dotted a vast black canvas, but not like the stars I knew. These were clustered in unfamiliar constellations, swirling nebulae glowing in unnatural colors—violet, electric green, and deep crimson. A colossal structure loomed nearby—a massive, rotating ring with lights blinking rhythmically along its circumference. The Ark.
I swallowed hard, fighting the rising tide of dread. Why was I here? Who brought me? And more importantly, how could I get back?
My thoughts were interrupted by a sudden alarm—the room’s lights flared red, and a new message blinked on the main screen: “Unauthorized movement detected. Security lockdown engaged.”
Locked down? I was a prisoner.
I paced desperately, my eyes scanning every inch of the room until I found a small panel recessed into the floor. It slid open with a hiss when I pressed a hidden switch beneath the slab. Inside was a handheld device—sleek, black, and humming with energy. It felt warm in my hand, alive somehow. Instructions scrolled rapidly on its screen in a language I didn’t understand, then suddenly switched to English: “Activate neural link to recover memory fragments and initiate escape protocol.”
Hesitant but with no better option, I pressed the device to my temple. A sharp jolt coursed through my brain, followed by a flood of images and sensations—flashes of another life. I saw myself strapped into a lab chair, bright lights blinding me, scientists in sterile white coats arguing over my case. Then flashes of strange experiments, alien technology interfacing with my body, and finally the words, “Subject 47: Genetic anomaly. Potential catalyst for dimensional travel.”
I pulled away, gasping. So, I wasn’t abducted by aliens; I was part of some experiment. But why? And what was the “catalyst” supposed to do?
The alarm continued to wail, and the walls began to vibrate softly. The room’s panels slid open to reveal narrow corridors glowing with blue luminescence. I had a choice—stay and risk capture or flee into the unknown.
I ran.
The corridors twisted like a labyrinth, the walls shifting subtly as if the Ark itself was alive, rearranging to trap me. Panic surged, but I forced myself to stay calm. I activated the device again. It displayed a crude map—faint, unstable, but showing a path to something called “The Core.”
I sprinted, heart slamming against my ribs, footsteps echoing in the vast emptiness. Ahead, a group of figures emerged—tall, humanoid, clad in dark suits that shimmered with embedded circuits. Their faces were obscured by visors pulsing with red light.
“Stop!” one commanded in a voice both mechanical and human.
I darted to the side, slipping into a maintenance shaft barely wide enough for me. The pursuers hesitated, then split, scanning the corridors. I pressed myself against the cold metal, trying to control my ragged breathing.
The device beeped urgently. “Proximity alert: containment unit approaching.”
I cursed under my breath. I wasn’t just running from guards—I was hunted by something worse.
Suddenly, the shaft shuddered violently. A shadowy form slithered into view, a mass of shifting metal and darkness—some kind of autonomous security drone, its limbs slicing through the air with razor edges. I scrambled deeper, the drone’s sensors sweeping the space.
The device pulsed blue, projecting a faint energy shield around me just as the drone lunged. Its blades tore through the air, but the shield held, crackling under pressure. I seized the moment, crawling faster until I emerged in a vast chamber—the Core.
The Core was unlike anything I’d imagined. A colossal sphere of transparent material floated suspended in a web of glowing filaments. Inside, swirling clouds of energy shifted like living storms. The room hummed with raw power. The device in my hand reacted instantly, syncing with the Core’s interface.
“Access granted,” it whispered.
Images flooded my mind—portals to other worlds, timelines folding and intersecting like threads in a vast tapestry. I saw flashes of my own life, different versions of myself scattered across realities, some free, some trapped. The Ark wasn’t just a prison—it was a hub controlling these threads.
I realized then: I wasn’t just a victim. I was a key.
But the Core was unstable. The alarms continued to scream, and footsteps thundered closer.
The figures appeared at the entrance, weapons drawn. The drone followed, its blades glinting menacingly.
Desperation took over. I grasped the Core’s surface with both hands, focusing on the images flooding my mind. The device amplified my neural link, and the Core responded, opening a shimmering portal.
“Choose a timeline,” a voice echoed in my head—the Ark’s AI, or maybe my own fractured consciousness.
I thought of home—of rain-soaked streets, the mundane warmth of familiar life.
I hesitated.
Behind me, the drone lunged again.
I leapt through the portal just as its blades sliced through the air where I’d been standing.
The world spun violently.
I landed hard on cold concrete.
Dazed, I looked up. Neon signs flickered above me. The scent of rain filled the air.
I was back.
Or was I?
I touched my arm—no glowing circuits. The world seemed normal. But something inside me had changed—a fragment of the Ark embedded deep in my mind, a whisper of infinite possibilities.
And the question burned: how long before they come for me again?
Because out there—in the shadows of reality—something was waiting. Watching. Hunting.
And this time, I wouldn’t be alone.
React
