"Some people need to lose everything to understand what they were."
[Cold Open – The Last Ride Home]
She sat in the back seat, phone in hand, scrolling through her texts. Her playlist shuffled into some upbeat synth track — forgettable, but distracting. She had just humiliated Riven. Samuel was crumbling. The squad? Shattered. Everything was perfect.
She leaned back.
"Home, Marcus. And take the long route — I don't wanna deal with rush hour."
Silence.
She looked up. The man at the wheel wasn't Marcus.
The locks clicked.
The car didn't slow. It accelerated.
"What the hell...? Stop the car! Who are—"
A hiss.
Gas flooded the vents.
She screamed, banged on the tinted glass.
Vision blurred.
Final thing she saw: a gloved hand holding a tablet. On it — her face.
Her new name: Inventory 027-B – En Route.
[Scene: Unknown Facility – Day 1, Hour 0]
She woke to the hum of fluorescent lights and the pressure of something cold beneath her. The floor felt padded, like a hospital — but wrong. No machines beeped. No nurses came.
The air smelled like antiseptic and metal.
She sat up. Her head throbbed. Her arms were free — but her balance felt off. Groggy. Drugged.
She wore a plain grey tunic. A faint weight pressed against her throat. Her hand flew up — a collar. Thin, black, metallic. No lock. No clasp. Just there.
"Subject 027-B: Conscious."
A voice — genderless, machine-coded.
No visible speakers.
"Cognitive destabilization: Phase One."
Arisa looked around, still dazed. She stumbled to her feet. White walls. Seamless. No windows. One mirror panel — or maybe a camera?
She charged it.
"Let me out of here! Do you have any idea who I am?!"
No answer.
The panel flickered.
A wall-mounted screen lit up. Her own face played back at her — smirking, laughing, spitting venom.
Then:
"People aren't loyal. They're useful. Riven was a tool with good hair."
Her voice. But… distorted. Echoed. Looping.
"People aren't loyal. They're useful. Riven—tool—hair."
"Useful. Useful. Useful—"
She covered her ears.
It didn't help.
The sound bypassed her hearing — it vibrated through her skull.
She dropped to her knees.
"Shut it off! I'll sue you, I'll burn this place down—!"
The lights above dimmed. The collar buzzed — and then snapped her muscles into full, involuntary tension. She screamed.
Then everything went dark.
[Scene: Day 1, Hour 4]
She awoke on a new surface. A hard mattress. Same room. No memory of moving.
This time, food sat on a tray. Plain bread. Water. No utensils.
"Subject 027-B: Nutrient cycle initiated."
She ignored it. Refused to eat. The lights began pulsing — red, then white, then blue. Each pulse triggered a new voice.
Different tones. Different identities. All saying things she had said to others. Twisted versions of manipulation, insults, threats.
Then:
"You're not in control anymore, Arisa."
Her father's voice.
She froze. The voice repeated.
Monotone. But his words:
"You were given everything, and you squandered it."
"This is your consequence."
The lights cut again. A screen flicked on. A single phrase:
TRANSFER AUTHORIZED: D. VALEN (Parental Directive)
She didn't scream. She didn't cry.
She just sat there.
Still.
The screen flickered. Her reflection distorted.
"You are 027-B now."
[Scene: Day 1, Hour 12]
Three masked handlers entered. They didn't speak. Didn't restrain. They handed her a new tunic: black, tighter. Sleeves reinforced. Collar untouched.
The floor tile clicked beneath her.
Invisible pressure dragged her toward the center of the room. She walked — or was walked.
A new panel opened. A corridor of light. And silence.
Not even her footsteps echoed.
At the end of the hall — a new room. One chair. One screen. A single line of text:
"Tell us who you are."
She stood, chest heaving. She stared.
"I'm—" she started.
But the collar buzzed.
"Incorrect."
She screamed.
Then whispered.
"...Arisa."
The screen dimmed.
The door closed behind her.