Sydney
Sydney’s body moved on autopilot, her mind racing as the stretcher rolled along the endless, twisting corridors. The occasional jolt over uneven grated floors made her wince, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the suffocating weight of dread building in her chest. Each new level they descended seemed to peel back another layer of sanity, revealing horrors that gnawed at the edges of her comprehension.
The guards’ voices, gruff and monotone, occasionally cut through the oppressive silence. “Keep it tight,” one barked as the stretcher bumped down another level. The faint echoes of screams, mechanical whirs, and guttural growls filled the air like a distant symphony of despair. The smell was unbearable now—a thick miasma of sweat, rust, and something sweeter, more nauseating, like rotting fruit mixed with charred meat.
{Where am I going? Where are they taking me? The doctor shouldn’t be this far away, why are we going down so many stairs?} Sydney’s thoughts spiraled, her vision blurring as panic crept in.
The stretcher came to a halt as a set of heavy, reinforced doors hissed open. Sydney craned her neck, trying to make sense of her surroundings, but the dim light and narrow slits in the walls offered little clarity. She thought she saw movement—shadowy figures darting just out of sight—but the guards seemed unfazed, their boots clanking rhythmically as they pushed her through.
{This can’t be real. It has to be some kind of nightmare, right? I passed out from the punches?} Her thoughts were interrupted as the stretcher bumped forward, jarring her ribs and making her groan. The guard nearest her glanced down, his visor obscuring his face, but she felt the weight of his scrutiny. He said nothing, simply returning his attention forward.
The air was colder, biting at her now exposed skin, her jumpsuit had been unzipped and lowered by the guards along their journey, they claimed it was to make sure she wasn’t bleeding, but she figured better by the way they occasionally looked down at her, and the lighting was almost nonexistent. What little she could see was washed in a sickly green hue that seemed to pulsate faintly, like a heartbeat. The walls were no longer smooth metal but textured, almost organic, with dark, fleshy patches that glistened under the sparse light.
The group descended again, the steps groaning under their weight. The air thickened, the stench of rot now accompanied by a bitter, chemical tang that stung Sydney’s nostrils. Her stomach churned, bile rising in her throat as the sounds around her changed. There were whispers now—low, guttural murmurs that seemed to come from the walls themselves. She couldn’t make out words, but the tone was unmistakably malicious.
The first door they passed was ajar, and Sydney’s breath caught as she glimpsed the interior. A figure—barely human—was suspended in the center of the room. Mechanical arms bristling with needles and scalpels worked in perfect synchrony, peeling back layers of skin to reveal sinew and bone. The figure’s eyes were wide, its mouth stretched in a silent scream as tubes pumped a viscous black fluid into its veins.
{Oh god, oh god, oh god.} Sydney squeezed her eyes shut, the image burning into her mind regardless. The guards pushed her onward, their pace unrelenting, and she forced herself to focus on breathing—inhale, exhale, repeat. Anything to drown out the sounds of metal slicing flesh and the wet, gurgling noises that followed.
Another door stood open farther down, and this time Sydney couldn’t tear her gaze away. Rows of tanks filled the room, their contents shrouded in a murky, greenish fluid. The shapes inside were barely human—some grotesquely stretched, others compressed into fetal positions. One figure floated close to the glass, its skin translucent and pulsing with dark, web-like veins. Its head twisted unnaturally, empty sockets locking onto Sydney as she passed. She choked back a sob, her entire body trembling.
The guards seemed to notice her reaction. One of them leaned down, his voice brimming with ridicule. “You getting scared yet, beautiful? This is just the appetizer.” After which, he gave her an affectionate pinch to her arm, his touch feeling alien and unwanted.
Sydney didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her throat felt like it was closing, her lungs struggling to draw in air. {Stay calm. Don’t give them the satisfaction.} But the mantra felt hollow, a fragile barrier against the rising tide of terror.
The corridor twisted again, and this time the walls seemed to breathe. Dark, sinewy cords pulsed periodicaly, veins of some unknown material threading through the steel like an infection. The whispers returned, louder now, distinct words forming in a language she didn’t understand. But the tone was unmistakably malicious, each syllable slicing through her mind like a razor.
At the next junction, they passed a glass chamber. Sydney forced herself to look, hoping for some reprieve from the horrors, but her stomach turned at the sight. Inside was a creature unlike anything she’d ever seen. It was massive, its body a grotesque fusion of flesh and machinery. Mechanical arms jutted from its back, tipped with claws that dripped a dark, viscous substance. Its face—or what was left of it—was a patchwork of human features and metal plating, its mouth a jagged maw of exposed gears and teeth.
The creature turned its head, and Sydney swore it looked directly at her. A guttural growl rumbled from its chest, and it slammed its clawed appendages against the glass. The entire chamber shook, and the guards quickened their pace, muttering curses under their breath.
“What the hell is that thing?” Sydney croaked, her voice barely audible over the ringing in her ears.
One of the guards snorted. “That? Just one of our little projects. Hope you don’t end up in the room next to it.”
The words sent a chill down her spine, her body tensing involuntarily. {End up next to it? What does that even mean? Are they—no, no, no.} Her thoughts spiraled, panic clawing at the edges of her mind. She glanced at the guard, hoping for some sign of humanity, but his visor reflected only her own pale, terrified face. Her fear engulfing her to the point of not even realizing the guards never had a chance to grab helmets, especially the tight fitting masked ones they all now seemed to be wielding.
As they descended yet another staircase, the air grew thicker, heavier, until it felt like she was breathing through a wet cloth. The lighting shifted to a deep red, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls. Sydney’s mind reeled, each step deeper into this hellhole stripping away her sense of reality.
{What do they want with me? What are they going to do to me? How did they create that… MONSTER!?} The questions looped endlessly, unanswered and unrelenting. She felt like she was drowning, her own thoughts dragging her under.
The stretcher came to a halt, and the guards exchanged a few terse words. One of them leaned over her, his gloved hand gripping her shoulder tightly. “Welcome to the bottom, sweetheart,” he said with a distorted voice through his mask, his tone laced with cruel amusement. “This is where the real fun begins.”
The cold metal beneath her felt like ice against her skin, but it was nothing compared to the oppressive weight of fear bearing down on her chest. Her face still throbbed with pain, the swelling from her earlier fight making it hard to see clearly. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut, and her split lip pulsed in rhythm with her pounding heartbeat. Her breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps as the guards left her stretcher in the open alcove.
{What the hell is happening? What are they going to do to me?} Her thoughts raced, a raucousness of fear and confusion that she couldn’t quiet. She craned her neck, desperate to take in her surroundings, but the dim red lighting offered little clarity. The walls were smooth and featureless, except for the occasional dark streak she didn’t want to identify. The air felt heavy, oppressive, like she was buried under layers of earth instead of steel.
Her throat tightened, and her chest heaved as she struggled against the straps holding her down. The restraints dug into her wrists and ankles, leaving angry red marks against her skin. “Let me go!” she shouted, though her voice cracked and wavered, the words bouncing off the walls and dying in the oppressive silence. “What do you want from me?!”
The only response was the faint hum of machinery in the distance, a rhythmic, mechanical drone that seemed to vibrate through the very walls. Sydney’s head fell back onto the stretcher, her body trembling as tears blurred her vision. She had never felt so small, so helpless. {I shouldn’t have fought back. I shouldn’t have done anything. I’m going to die here. Alone. Daddy…}
Her spiral was interrupted by a sudden hiss from above. Sydney froze, her breath catching in her throat as she squinted upward. The faint red light glinted off a nozzle extending from the ceiling, its purpose unclear until—
A fine mist sprayed down, covering her exposed skin in a cool, damp layer. For a brief second, she thought it might be water, some kind of disinfectant. But then the burning began.
It started as a prickling sensation, like thousands of tiny needles pressing into her skin, but it quickly escalated. Her body erupted in searing pain, the sensation like acid eating through her flesh. Sydney screamed, her body arching against the restraints as she thrashed in desperation. The burning was everywhere—her arms, her legs, her face. Her already battered skin felt like it was being peeled away layer by layer.
“Stop it! Stop it!” she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. She could feel the tears streaming down her face, mixing with the burning mist and amplifying the pain. Her vision swam as her body writhed uncontrollably, every nerve ending alight with agony.
The mist stopped as suddenly as it had started, leaving Sydney gasping for air. Her skin felt raw and tender, every movement sending fresh waves of pain coursing through her. She sobbed quietly, her body trembling as she tried to regain control of her breathing.
A loud clang startled her, and she turned her head weakly to see the wall in front of her sliding open. Blinding white light flooded the alcove, making her squint against its intensity. A shadowy figure emerged from the light, its shape resolving into that of a rotund man dressed entirely in white. His surgical mask obscured most of his face, but his small, gleaming eyes and the way he licked his lips behind the mask, shifting it, made her stomach churn.
Without a word, he grabbed the edge of the stretcher and began pulling her forward into the light. The stretcher’s wheels squeaked and rattled as he dragged her into a room so brightly lit it felt otherworldly. The red shadows and oppressive darkness of the prison’s lower levels were left behind, replaced by an immaculate, sterile environment that seemed to pulse with artificial light.
Sydney blinked rapidly, her swollen eye barely opening as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The room was massive, its walls and floors gleaming with a mirror-like cleanliness. Figures in lab coats moved with purpose, carrying clipboards and murmuring to one another in hushed tones. The sound of beeping monitors and the occasional mechanical whir filled the air, a stark contrast to the screams and moans she had heard earlier.
Through glass walls lining the corridor, she caught glimpses of other rooms. One held a lecture in progress, with rows of people seated before a whiteboard covered in complex equations and anatomical diagrams. Another contained rows of cylindrical tanks filled with a clear liquid, each housing a suspended body in varying states of modification. Some were humanoid, others monstrous, their shapes blurred by the refracting light of the liquid.
{This isn’t a prison. It’s a lab. What the hell is this place?}
Her heart pounded as the man in white pushed her stretcher down the corridor, past rooms filled with equipment she couldn’t begin to name. Every detail was hyperreal, overwhelming her senses—the faint smell of antiseptic, the soft hum of machinery, the muffled conversations in languages she didn’t understand. She felt like a lab rat, being wheeled toward some horrifying experiment she had no hope of escaping.
“Please,” she croaked, her voice hoarse and barely audible. “What are you going to do to me?”
The man didn’t respond. He didn’t even look at her. His focus remained on the path ahead, his hands gripping the stretcher with a detached precision that made her stomach churn.
Sydney’s mind raced, every possibility more horrifying than the last. {They’re going to dissect me. They’re going to turn me into one of those… things. Or worse, they’ll…} She couldn’t finish the thought, the possibilities too grotesque to entertain.
Finally, the stretcher came to a stop in a smaller, enclosed room. The walls were bare except for a single monitor displaying her name and a series of indecipherable readings. The man in white stepped back, adjusting his gloves before tapping on a panel beside the door.
“Wait,” Sydney begged, her voice trembling as she struggled against the restraints. “Please, just tell me what’s happening!”
The man paused, his head tilting slightly as though considering her plea. Then, without a word, he turned and exited the room, the door hissing shut behind him. Sydney was alone once more, the hum of the monitor the only sound in the sterile, suffocating silence.
Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stared at the ceiling, her mind a storm of fear and confusion. {This can’t be real. This can’t be real. Wake up, Sydney. Wake up.} But no matter how tightly she closed her eyes or how hard she wished, the nightmare didn’t end.
Her mind spun, trying to piece together the horrors she had witnessed in the corridors outside and the cold, clinical detachment of this lab. Her body trembled with the effort to suppress the rising panic.
The hiss of the door opening snapped her out of her spiraling thoughts. A figure entered, his presence immediately commanding attention. He wasn’t dressed like the others she’d seen in their pristine white lab coats. Instead, he wore a tailored suit of deep crimson, the color so vibrant it seemed to bleed into the sterile whiteness of the room. His ghostly pale skin was almost translucent, veins faintly visible beneath the surface. Crimson eyes, sharp and unyielding, scanned the room with an intensity that made Sydney shrink into herself. His hair was nearly white, a striking contrast to the red suit.
Sydney’s heart skipped a beat as recognition struck her. {It’s him. The man from the yard. The one who killed that loudmouth… Xubruse? The Surgeon, they called him. But he’s a prisoner, isn’t he? Why is he here? Why isn’t he wearing a collar?}
Her confusion deepened as he moved with purpose, his footsteps echoing faintly against the polished floor. He carried himself with the detached confidence of someone who belonged here, who owned the room despite its alien sterility. He approached a console at the side of the room, his long, pale fingers dancing across the holographic interface as he read the information displayed.
“Curious,” The man murmured, his voice smooth yet carrying an edge that hinted at a lifetime of control and precision. He didn’t look at her, his attention fixed on the screen. “Sydney H. Clarke. Daughter of Jonathan H. Clarke.”
Sydney stiffened at the mention of her father, her mind reeling. {How does he know that? What does my father have to do with any of this?}
His crimson eyes flicked briefly in her direction, his gaze cutting through her like a scalpel. “Signed in automatically on a gold plan. Very curious indeed.”
He returned his focus to the console, his expression unreadable. “Gold plan entrants are rare. Very rare. Reserved for those with substantial resources or influence. And yet here you are, a self-proclaimed ‘nobody,’ shackled and bleeding in the depths of Ashgate.” His tone was clinical, detached, as if he were dissecting her life like a frog on a table. “Fascinating.”
Sydney’s throat tightened, her voice caught somewhere between fear and indignation. “What are you talking about? What plan? I’m not supposed to be here!” It was only now that she caught a name tag on his jacket, a silver-plated etched name: Dr. Baxter.
Baxter ignored her protests, continuing his analysis. “Blood type: AB-negative. Statistically rare. A genetic match for several compatibility indices flagged in your intake.” He tilted his head slightly, as though cataloging her features. “You’re listed as being convicted for the crime of altering critical ZerdinTech files. A federal offense with severe implications. Yet…” His gaze finally met hers, sharp and penetrating. “Even this seems… off.”
His words hung in the air, a chill settling over the room. Baxter folded his hands behind his back, his posture rigid but relaxed in its control. “Your psyche evaluation paints a picture of a young woman who is inexperienced, naive, and utterly unsuited for the environment she’s been thrust into. A curious pawn in a game far larger than she understands.”
Sydney felt her breath quicken, her mind scrambling to process the rapid fire of revelations. “I don’t belong here,” she managed, her voice shaking. “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t—”
Baxter cut her off with a wave of his hand, a gesture that silenced her as effectively as a blade to the throat. “Spare me the denials. Your guilt or innocence is irrelevant in this place. What matters is what you are—and what you may become.”
He stepped closer, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied her. His expression shifted, a faint sneer curling his lips. “But I must say,” he drawled, his voice low and harsh, “it is difficult to look at something so unsightly.”
Sydney flinched as he leaned over her, his fingers deftly grabbing a section of her torn prison pants. With a single sharp motion, he tore away the fabric, exposing her leg. Her breath hitched, a fresh wave of humiliation and vulnerability washing over her.
Baxter’s pale, ghostly hand hovered over her bare skin for a moment before he placed it firmly against her thigh. The touch was cold, clinical, yet it sent a jolt of searing pain through her body. Sydney’s back arched involuntarily as the sensation spread, her muscles locking up as though electricity coursed through her veins.
The pain intensified, radiating outward from her leg and crawling up to her face. Sydney screamed, her voice raw and ragged as her swollen features contorted. The broken skin and bruises on her face began to shift unnaturally, the swelling subsiding with each agonizing second. Her nose, which had been cracked and bleeding, realigned itself with a sickening crunch. The gash on her cheek knitted itself together, the pain so sharp it made her vision blur.
Every nerve in her face burned as the process continued, her skin stretching and reshaping with excruciating precision. It felt as though her flesh was being peeled away and reassembled, layer by layer. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her cries echoing off the sterile walls.
And then, as abruptly as it began, the pain ceased. Sydney collapsed back onto the stretcher, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her face felt strangely numb, the absence of pain almost as disorienting as the agony itself. She blinked rapidly, her vision clearing enough to catch her reflection in the polished metal surface of a nearby monitor.
Her face was… perfect. Smooth, unblemished, as though the fight had never happened. Too caught up in her face, it was only now that she realized the heavyness and burning in her chest and stomach had also subsided.
Baxter straightened, his expression unreadable as he regarded her. “There,” he said coldly. “Much better. Now I don’t have to avert my eyes.” He turned away, returning to the console without another word, leaving Sydney to grapple with the horrific, incomprehensible reality of what had just happened.