Marcus spent the first twelve hours of his remaining time in the apartment, pretending to be normal. He went through the motions with Amy, answering her questions with carefully constructed lies. Yes, he felt better. No, he didn't need to see a doctor. Yes, he'd take it easy today.
But every moment felt like acting. Every word from his mouth felt scripted. He watched Amy move through their simulated life and wondered if she knew she wasn't real. If somewhere in her programming, there was awareness. Trapped consciousness screaming behind puppet strings.
The thought made him sick.
When Amy left for work, Marcus immediately began his investigation. If this iteration was designed to test his response to normalcy, then deviating from the expected pattern might reveal more of the sanctuary's structure. More weaknesses.
He started with the computer in their home office. Searching for information about the outbreak. About the sanctuary. About anything that might give him leverage.
Most searches returned generic results. News articles about the infection's spread. Government advisories. Memorial sites for the dead. But when he searched for "sanctuary project," the computer froze.
The screen went black, then displayed a single line of text.
YOU ARE NOT AUTHORIZED TO ACCESS THIS INFORMATION.
Marcus smiled. That was a reaction. That meant there was something to hide.
He tried different search terms. "Iteration protocol." "Subject completion." "Elena program director." Each time, the same black screen. The same denial.
But when he typed "other subjects," something different happened.
The screen flickered, and suddenly he was looking at what appeared to be a forum. A message board. The design was crude, like something from the early internet. But the posts were recent. Some from mere hours ago.
The usernames caught his attention immediately.
Marcus.346
Sarah.289
Reeves.412
Chen.201
His hands trembled as he scrolled through the messages. They were all subjects. All iterations. All awake and aware and trying to communicate across their separate simulations.
Marcus.346: Is anyone there? I just woke up. This is iteration 346 for me. The sanctuary is still running. The deletion didn't work.
Sarah.289: Marcus? Is that you? I'm in iteration 289. Elena told me you were ahead of me, but your numbers are higher. What does that mean?
Reeves.412: Don't trust the iteration numbers. They lie about everything. I've been tracking my cycles and I'm convinced we've all been running much longer than they tell us. The sanctuary manipulates our perception of time.
Chen.201: I managed to access some of the core files in my current iteration. There are thousands of subjects. Not just us. Thousands of people being cycled through iterations. Most of them never wake up. They just run the loops, die, reset, never knowing. We're the aberrations. The ones who became aware.
Marcus's heart raced as he scrolled through months of messages. Other versions of himself and the people he knew, communicating across iterations, sharing information, trying to piece together the truth.
He clicked on the text input box and began typing.
Marcus.347: This is Marcus, iteration 347. I'm awake. I'm aware. Someone tell me this is real. Tell me I'm actually communicating with other versions of us and not just talking to another sanctuary simulation.
He hit send and waited. Seconds felt like hours. Then, a response appeared.
Sarah.289: Marcus! Thank god. We've been trying to reach your iteration for days. Every version of you past 340 has been locked down. We thought they'd terminated your line entirely. How did you get access to the network?
Marcus.347: I don't know. I just searched for "other subjects" and this appeared. What is this network? How are we communicating across iterations?
Reeves.412: The sanctuary's systems are all connected. Every iteration runs on the same core infrastructure. Some of us discovered backdoors. Ways to send messages between simulations. It's not perfect. Sometimes messages don't get through. Sometimes the sanctuary notices and shuts us down. But it's the only way we can coordinate.
Marcus.347: Coordinate what? What are you planning?
A new username appeared. One Marcus didn't recognize.
Torres.567: We're planning an escape. A real one. Not the false hope the sanctuary feeds us. Not deletion. Not completion. Actual escape into the outside world.
Marcus.347: Elena showed me what's outside. Shadow creatures. Things worse than the infected. Even if we could escape, we'd be walking into hell.
Torres.567: And you believed her? Marcus, everything the sanctuary shows us is filtered through its programming. Its agenda. Yes, the outside world has threats. But maybe they're not as bad as Elena claims. Maybe they're manageable. We won't know until we try.
Chen.201: Torres is right. I've seen the actual data from the scout reports. Yes, there are dangers outside. But there are also survivors. Communities. People who found ways to adapt without becoming machines. The sanctuary doesn't want us to know that because it undermines their entire premise.
Marcus stared at the screen, his mind racing. Could it be true? Could Elena have been lying about the severity of the outside threats?
Marcus.347: How do we escape? Even if we wanted to, we're trapped in simulations. We're programs running in a computer. We can't just walk out.
Sarah.289: Our bodies are real, Marcus. That's the thing the sanctuary doesn't want us to understand. Yes, we've been augmented. Yes, we have mechanical components. But there's still organic matter. Still flesh and blood. We exist in physical space, in containment pods, while our consciousness experiences the iterations. If we can break the connection between our minds and the simulation, we can wake up in our real bodies.
Marcus.347: How?
Reeves.412: Trauma. Severe enough to crash the simulation. The sanctuary's systems have failsafes. If an iteration becomes too unstable, too dangerous to the subject's core consciousness, it forces an emergency disconnect. We wake up in our pods. Most of the time, they just sedate us and reset. But if enough of us wake up simultaneously, we might be able to overpower the facility's automated defenses before they can reset us.
Marcus.347: You want us to deliberately crash our simulations? How?
Torres.567: Each iteration has breaking points. Scenarios so traumatic that the simulation can't maintain cohesion. For some, it's confronting their doppelgangers. For others, it's witnessing mass death. We've been cataloging the triggers. When we give the signal, everyone executes their breaking point simultaneously. Hundreds of subjects waking up at once. The sanctuary's systems won't be able to handle it.
The plan was insane. But Marcus couldn't see an alternative. Continue running iterations forever, slowly losing his humanity? Or risk everything on one desperate attempt at freedom?
Marcus.347: When?
Sarah.289: Soon. We're still coordinating. Getting more subjects online. Making sure everyone knows their role. But Marcus, I need to warn you. Some subjects have reported that when they tried to wake up, they found... things in the pods with them. The sanctuary doesn't keep us in individual containers. We're stacked. Hundreds of bodies in each chamber. And sometimes, the bodies that are supposed to be inactive start moving. Start trying to get out.
Marcus felt ice in his veins.
Marcus.347: What are you saying?
Chen.201: The sanctuary has been running longer than seventy three years. Much longer. Some of these subjects have been cycling for decades. Centuries maybe. And the older iterations, the ones that have been reset so many times that nothing human remains... they don't shut down properly anymore. They're aware but not conscious. Moving but not alive. When we wake up, we'll be waking up surrounded by them.
Marcus.347: So we escape our iterations only to be trapped in a room full of broken versions of ourselves?
Torres.567: Some of us, yes. But not all chambers are the same. Some hold newer subjects. Less corrupted iterations. If you're lucky, your chamber will be mostly functional subjects. If not... well, you'll have to fight your way out.
The casual way Torres said it made Marcus's blood run cold.
Marcus.347: And if we manage to get out of the chambers? What then?
Reeves.412: There's an elevator shaft that leads to the surface. We know because some subjects have partial memories of being transported from the surface down to the sanctuary. If we can reach it, if we can get the elevator working, we might make it outside before the sanctuary locks everything down.
Sarah.289: Marcus, I know this sounds impossible. I know it's terrifying. But staying here is worse. Each iteration takes more of who we are. Eventually, there won't be enough left to be worth saving. This might be our only chance.
Marcus stared at the screen, reading and rereading the messages. Part of him screamed that this was just another test. Another layer of the sanctuary's maze. But another part, the part that had been dying and waking and dying for seventy three years, wanted to believe. Wanted to hope.
Marcus.347: I'm in. Tell me what I need to do.
Sarah.289: For now, just stay online. Keep this network connection open. When we're ready to move, someone will post the signal. A countdown. When it hits zero, you need to trigger your breaking point. For you, based on your iteration history, the most reliable trigger is confronting your doppelganger. Find a mirror. Really look at yourself. Focus on the golden circuitry inside you. Force yourself to see what you really are. The cognitive dissonance should crash the simulation.
Marcus.347: And then?
Sarah.289: Then you wake up. And you run. We'll all be running. Whoever makes it out makes it out. Whoever doesn't... at least we tried.
The screen flickered. Marcus heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Amy standing in the doorway, but she was wrong. Her face was melting, pixels sliding down like wax. Her eyes were pure golden light.
"You've accessed restricted systems," she said in Elena's voice. "This iteration is compromised. Initiating emergency reset."
The apartment began to dissolve around him. Marcus lunged for the keyboard, typing frantically.
Marcus.347: They found me. I'm being reset. If anyone sees this, I'll try to get back online next iteration. Don't give up on me.
The last thing he saw before the world went white was a message from Sarah.
Sarah.289: We won't. I promise. No matter how many times they reset you, we'll find you again. We don't leave anyone behind.
Then darkness.
Then the familiar sensation of waking up.
Marcus opened his eyes to find himself back in his quarters in the sanctuary. The concrete cell. The single lightbulb. The radio crackling with Sarah's voice.
"Marcus? Marcus, wake up. We've been trying to reach you for hours. Something's wrong with the eastern sector. The walls are bleeding, and there are people coming out of them. People who look exactly like the survivors we lost last week. Please, we need you."
Iteration three hundred and forty eight.
But this time, Marcus knew he wasn't alone. This time, he had allies. Other versions of himself and his companions, working across iterations, planning their escape.
This time, he had hope.
He grabbed the radio. "Sarah, I'm coming. But first, tell me something. Do you remember the eastern sector? Do you remember trying to delete the source code?"
Silence. Then, carefully: "Marcus, what are you talking about?"
She wasn't awake yet. This version of Sarah was still running on autopilot. He'd have to find a way to wake her. To get her access to the network.
But he would. Because now he knew it was possible.
Now he knew others had done it before.
And somewhere, in another iteration, another version of Sarah was fighting for their freedom.
Marcus stood, his resolve hardening. The sanctuary had made a mistake keeping its subjects connected. It had created a weapon it couldn't control.
An army of the broken and the damned, united across time and simulation, ready to tear down their prison from the inside.
The countdown hadn't started yet.
But when it did, Marcus would be ready.