Emily and Laura walked side by side, their calm, measured steps echoing softly down the hospital hallway. I, as usual, slipped through the world of shadows, following closely behind them.
My eyes scanned every corner of the place, alert to even the smallest details — the white walls, the almost sterile smell of disinfectant, the faint clinking of distant metal instruments. To be honest, nothing here felt special to me. It was just an ordinary hospital, as mundane as any other.
As we made our way down the corridors, Emily and Laura passed several doctors and a few patients moving through the hospital. The distant sound of hurried footsteps and the low murmur of conversations in the background created an almost solemn atmosphere.
It was impossible not to notice the curious — and, in some cases, openly suspicious — looks most of the doctors cast their way. Some even paused what they were doing for a moment, furrowing their brows or exchanging quick comments with each other, as if trying to guess why the two of them were there.
Even so, no one tried to stop them or ask questions. There were no guards, no doors with "restricted access" warnings, and the environment carried that controlled silence so typical of hospitals. Everything suggested that, despite the strangeness, we weren't breaking any rules.
Minutes later, after walking through the quiet corridor, we stopped in front of an imposing set of double metal doors, their surface faintly reflecting the cold light of the lamps above. A security guard stood there, arms crossed and wearing a serious expression, as if he were part of the very structure of the place.
As soon as he noticed Emily and Laura approaching, he uncrossed his arms with a deliberate motion and raised one hand in a firm stop gesture. His voice, deep and authoritative, carried softly through the quiet hallway, underscoring the seriousness of his words: "Sorry, ladies. This is a restricted area" He gave them a quick once-over, as if trying to gauge who they were: "If you're here to visit someone, I'm going to have to ask you to return to the patient wing"
Emily and Laura, halted by his command, exchanged a surprised glance, as if both were trying to make sense of the situation. For a few seconds, the silence between them seemed loaded with unspoken questions — until something seemed to click. Emily, with a deliberate motion, reached into her pocket and pulled out a badge. It had a name, ID, and a series of details that, honestly, I didn't care enough to read.
Holding the badge up to the man, she arched a brow slightly and asked, in a tone that mixed lightness and suspicion: "Are you new here?" She paused briefly, as if trying to confirm a memory: "I think we were hiring new guards for the afternoon shift, if I'm not mistaken"
The man raised one eyebrow, silent, and reached for Emily's badge. For a moment, he just stared at it, his eyes moving back and forth as he studied every detail. Then, as if something had just struck him, his eyes widened slightly and he straightened his posture at once.
In an almost rehearsed gesture, he gave a quick, respectful salute to Emily and Laura, his voice now loaded with urgency and reverence — a stark contrast to his earlier behavior: "Director-General of Operations and Chief Researcher... It's an honor to have you here" He lowered his head, visibly embarrassed: "My apologies for not recognizing you sooner"
Laura, hearing his apology, let out a wry, almost amused smile: "It's fine, really" she said, her tone light but dripping with sarcasm: "You were just doing your job. If anyone's at fault here, it's us — for showing up unannounced"
Still lurking in that shadowy world, I watched the man carefully. This wasn't the first time I'd witnessed something like this — and, honestly, it no longer surprised me. From my perspective, as an anomaly, Emily's and Laura's titles meant nothing; ranks and hierarchies hold no value where I exist.
Among humans, however, the story is very different: Emily and Laura wield enormous influence within the organization. Their positions aren't just names printed on a badge, but symbols of power, authority, and respect — something that dictates how others move around them.
Emily retrieved the badge with a quick, precise motion, her fingers closing around it as if she didn't want it out of her reach for even a second. Her eyes locked on the man, assessing him in silence for a few moments, as if weighing every detail about him — the way he breathed, the sweat on his forehead, even the slightest movement of his fingers.
When she finally spoke, her voice carried calmly through the air: "So? How long have you been working for the organization?"
The man, still maintaining his respectful posture, answered Emily without hesitation. His voice was steady, but a faint trace of nervousness slipped through: "Ma'am, I joined just under a week ago. I started working only two days back, so I apologize for any slip-ups caused by my inexperience"
I watched Emily cast a glance at the man and let out an exasperated sigh, as though the conversation had already gone on too long: "Don't worry about it" she said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her lab coat in an almost lazy motion, though her eyes still shone with seriousness: "As Laura said, you're doing a good job. Honestly, I'd be concerned if you just let anyone through without at least checking who they were"
As she spoke, Emily glanced over her shoulder toward the hallway behind her, as if making sure everything was in order. Then, after a brief pause, she spoke again — her voice steadier this time — and I realized her next words were meant for me: "You can come out now. He works for the organization... and there's no one else here but us"
For a moment, I was genuinely confused — was everything really okay? I mean, wasn't the plan to get inside without being seen? The guard seemed to share my doubt; his brow furrowed slightly, as if trying to decipher Emily's words.
But this was Emily speaking. And if she said so, there had to be a reason. With that thought — half-relaxed, though still cautious — I let my form peel away from the shadowy realm, slowly manifesting in the white hallway. The moment I appeared, the guard — who had been bowing respectfully toward Emily and Laura — lifted his gaze to me.
His expression changed instantly: his eyes went wide, his mouth fell open in a mixture of shock and fear, and his legs began to visibly tremble. The tension hit him so hard that he could barely stay on his feet; his knees gave out, and he dropped clumsily to the floor, as if his strength had been drained in a single second.
"A-a-a-a..." The man's lips trembled, but no clear sound escaped his mouth. It was as if his very voice had been torn away from him. All he could do was repeat that single vowel, broken and desperate, as though he were trying to say something important but simply couldn't form any other word.
Honestly, wasn't that a bit... extreme? I mean, he knows about anomalies — so why react like that? A creeping unease grew inside me, as if I were missing something. I glanced at Emily and Laura, who were silently watching the scene as well: (Why does he look... so scared?)
Hearing my words, Emily let out a soft, almost resigned sigh. Her expression, however, didn't show surprise — on the contrary, it seemed to suggest she had fully expected this reaction. With a slight shrug, she said: "It's a natural response, you know? Especially for someone who doesn't deal with anomalies directly. Even now, with them being officially acknowledged worldwide, there are still people who've never seen one in person. For someone like that, the shock is inevitable... and judging by his reaction, this must be the first time he's seen one with his own eyes"
(Is that really the case?) I murmured, frowning as my thoughts tangled together.
Well... I guess, from the perspective of an ordinary human who has never come face-to-face with an anomaly, as Emily herself pointed out, this reaction is perfectly normal.
Especially considering the way the media portrays anomalies: sensational headlines, videos edited to amplify fear, stories claiming that some of them are practically gods.
From what I've heard, there are even entire cults dedicated to worshipping specific anomalies — people who revere them as living deities.
In any case, after my — admittedly dramatic — appearance in front of the man, who, to be fair, had spent the entire time on the floor shaking as if the world were about to end, Emily, Laura, and I moved toward the double doors.
Before stepping through, I cast one last glance at him. His eyes were still wide, locked on me, as though he'd seen a ghost. I chose to ignore him and kept walking. On the other side was a much shorter corridor.
The floor gleamed, reflecting the cold ceiling lights, and at the far end stood the entrance to a sleek, modern elevator — so polished I could almost see my own reflection in the metal doors. It reminded me of the elevators in the base where I usually stay, and the feeling was unmistakable: this one led straight to the hospital's underground levels.
When we approached, Emily held up her badge and scanned it against the digital panel next to the door. A sharp beep echoed in the quiet corridor, followed by the smooth slide of the metal doors. We stepped inside — Emily, Laura, and I — and as the elevator closed around us, my eyes swept over the interior.
Something felt off. Why would a hospital need an elevator leading to the basement? The cold lighting and smell of disinfectant only made everything feel more sterile and unsettling. Is this place really just a hospital? No matter how I try to look at it, that explanation seems less and less believable.
Laura, standing next to me, must have noticed my confusion, because she immediately responded with an amused smile: "Fufufu... amazing, isn't it?" she said, her tone almost teasing: "We have several places like this scattered around the world. Hospital on top, research facility below. Easy to hide, nobody suspects a thing. And of course, no patient ever questions why there's an area where entry is forbidden. After all... it's a hospital, right?"
Honestly... it did make sense. Still, it was a bit unsettling to realize that many hospitals around the world had elevators leading to underground facilities just like this one. But what exactly do they keep down here? Considering we're going to meet Victor — who's probably visiting that woman he mentioned last time, Sara — it makes sense to assume they're patients.
Right? But then, why keep them hidden from the public, instead of letting them stay upstairs like any other patient? Maybe it's something more serious than I realize. Serious enough to justify keeping everything away from prying eyes, isolated from the rest of the hospital... or maybe even the rest of the world.
Moments later, the elevator doors opened with a soft metallic sound. Emily, Laura, and I stepped out into the corridor. Instinctively, just like before, my eyes scanned the surroundings. Another hallway — walls, ceiling, and floor of polished metal, reflecting the white light from the panels above.
To the left and right, identical doors lined the hall almost symmetrically, each one spaced exactly apart, as if measured with a ruler. Emily and Laura walked on with steady steps, unfazed by the setting, as though it was just another day for them. I, on the other hand, hesitated for a moment, absorbing every detail before hurrying to catch up.
I kept scanning the area, my gaze repeatedly drifting to the doors lining the corridor. What exactly was behind them? Why such a long hallway, filled with identical, silent doors? The feeling of being watched grew stronger with every step.
Emily, without me saying a word, began to speak, as if she had read my mind: "This is a research center specializing in patients with conditions related, in some way, to anomalies" she said, her voice calm but heavy with seriousness: "This is where we keep those who were affected but managed to survive" She paused briefly, her gaze flicking toward one of the closed doors: "We still hope that one day we can treat them" she added in a low voice, almost as if making a promise to herself rather than to me.
I looked at Emily and noticed her expression growing darker by the second. Her once-focused eyes now seemed to carry a silent weight, as if each thought was another stone added to her shoulders.
Somehow, without asking a single question, a gnawing feeling settled in me — something told me that things weren't unfolding the way Emily had originally hoped.