The quarantine room is smaller than my old one.
No window. No observation glass.
Just white walls with a cot and a toilet. And a light that never turns off.
They took my blood, twelve whole vials. Twelve needles. Twelve times I watched it flow black and thick into the tubes.
They said it was contaminated. They said it was a mutation. They said it needed to be corrected.
But I know the truth. They're afraid. Afraid of what the blood knows. Afraid of what it writes. At 1300, or what I think is 1300, the door opens.
Attendant #23 enters. They don't speak. Just nod at me.
I follow.
We walk through the complex. Past observation chamber 3.
Past Sub level 9.
Past the cavern where A-01 orbits.
To Sub level 12. Port 12-G.
The chamber is different now.
Not empty. A pool now sits there, circular, still, and pitch black. Not water. Something thicker. Darker. Alive.
And in the center, A-03 rests.
Not a body. Not a shape. Just a presence.
In the pool. In the air. In the light.
It doesn't move. It doesn't speak.
It just is.
And then, the Sixth and Seventh Children enter.
They don't look at me. They don't look at each other. They just stand on opposite sides of the pool.
And then, a voice.
Not from the speakers. Not from the walls. From the pool. From A-03.
It says: "Show them."
And then, the surface ripples. Not from motion, but from memory. I see it, a reflection. But not of the chamber. Not of me. Of something else.
Something true.
————————————————————————————————————
The First Reflection: The House
I'm in a house. White walls, wood paneled floors. A woman stands in the kitchen. She turns. Smiles at me. "Sweetheart," she says. "Breakfast is ready."
I look down. I'm wearing pajamas.
Small hands, a stuffed doggy in my arms. I know this. I remember this.
But I've never lived this. The woman reaches for me. Her fingers brush my cheek.
Warm, real. And then, I see through her. To the truth beneath.
Her face flickers.
Not her. A projection. A mask. And beneath it—
Flesh.
Pink.
Veined.
Pulsing.
The house flickers too.
Not wood. Not walls. Bone.
The sky above is not blue.
There is no sun. It's a cavern. A ceiling of flesh drips from above. Light from nowhere shines. And the Hum—
Not silence. Not stillness. A heartbeat.
Slow, deep, ancient. And then I see it in the corner. A small, smooth black object. A piece of the stone from A-01. But different.
Older.
And I know.
This memory. This life. This mother. It's not mine. It was given by A-02. To make me forget. To make me human. But the stone remembers.
And it shows me the truth.
I was never a child. I was never born.
I was made.
And this house, it's not my past.
It's my prison. And then, the reflection shatters.
Like glass. And I'm back. In the chamber. The Sixth Child is crying. The Seventh Child is laughing. A-03 is silent, still.
But I feel it. A presence. In my mind. In my blood.
In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every child. To every lie.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Second Reflection: The School
I'm in a classroom. Bright lights, desks arranged around. Children, sitting around and chatting together.
I sit at a table. Wearing a uniform. A name tag sits on my shirt.
"Fourth Grade — 4-10B."
A teacher speaks.
Math, history, science, another language. I don't listen.
I look out the window. Sky, trees, a bird flying around. It's small, black, nimble and oh so free. And then, I see through it. To the truth beneath.
The teacher flickers. Not human. Not real. A recording. A loop.
And the Children, not laughing, nor talking.
Just mouthing words.
Eyes empty.
Minds absent, as if they are flying away.
And the sky isn't blue. Not clouds. A dome, glass and giant, flecked with something dark.
Like dried blood.
And the trees—
Not growing.
Not alive.
Planted.
As props. As decoration.
And then I see it, on my desk. A small object. Black, smooth. Another stone. But different. And I know. This memory. This life. This school.
It's not mine. It was given.
By A-02.
To make me forget.
To make me normal.
But the stone remembers. And it shows me the truth. I was never a student. I was never taught. I was programmed. And this school—
It's not my past. It's my cage.
And then, the reflection shatters.
And I'm back.
In the chamber.
The Sixth Child is screaming.
The Seventh Child is whispering, rocking back and forth.
A-03 is silent. But I feel it. A presence. In my mind. In my blood. In the space between my thoughts, it whispers to me.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child. To every lie.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Third Reflection: The Hospital
I'm in a hospital bed.
White sheets.
Beeping machines, an IV drip in my arm. A doctor stands beside me. Smiling. "You're going to be fine," they say. I try to speak. My throat is raw.
My body is weak.
I look around. A window, night outside. City lights shine in. And then, I see through it. To the truth beneath. The doctor flickers. Not human.
Not real.
A simulation. A ghost. And the machines,
Not beeping.
Not alive. Just lights. Moving. For the show, for the entertainment of the watcher. And the city, not buildings. Not streets. A mural, painted on a wall.
And the night sky, not stars. Not a moon. A projection. Flickering.
And then I see it. On the tray beside me. A small object. Black, smooth. Another stone. But different. And I know. This memory. This life. This sickness.
It's not mine. It was given.
By A-02.
To make me forget. To make me weak.
But the stone remembers.
And it shows me the truth. I was never temporarily sick. I was never healed. I was always broken. And this hospital, it's not my past.
It's my torture chamber.
And then, the reflection shatters. And I'm back.
In the chamber.
The Sixth Child is on the floor.
The Seventh Child is carving messages into their arm.
A-03 is silent. But I feel it. A presence. In my mind. In my blood. In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child. To every lie.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Fourth Reflection: The Funeral
I'm at a funeral.
Black clothes. Rain. A coffin.
An open grave. People are crying.
I stand beside a woman, she's weeping. Holding my hand. I look at the coffin. A name on the plate. I knew this person. I loved them. I buried them.
And then, I see through it.
To the truth beneath.
The woman flickers. Not real.
Not human. A construct. And the coffin, not wood nor metal. Empty. Just a box. And the grave, not dug, not real. Painted. On a wall. And the rain.
Not falling. Not wet. For effect. And then I see it. In the woman's hand. A small object. Black and smooth. Another stone. But different.
And I know. This memory. This grief. It's not mine. It was given by A-02. To make me forget. To make me sad. But the stone remembers. And it shows me the truth. I never loved.
I was never grieved. I was used.
And this funeral, it's not my past. It's my erasure.
And then, the reflection shatters. And I'm back. In the chamber.
The Sixth Child is gone.
The Seventh Child is gone.
A-03 is silent.
But I feel it. A presence. In my mind. In my blood. In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child. To every lie.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Fifth Reflection: The War
I'm in a trench.
Mud and smoke surround me, thickening the air to the point of suffocation.
I wear a uniform. Gunfire surrounds me. I hold a rifle in my hands, the weight of ammunition in my belt with grenades.
A sergeant yells, "Get down!" they say.
I look over the edge of the trench into the no-mans-land. Bodies upon bodies, blood and explosions littering the sparsely covered piece of land.
A battlefield of unimaginable tolls on life.
And then—
I see through it. To the truth beneath.
The sergeant flickers. Not human. Not real. A recording. And the battlefield, not real, nor active and bleeding.
A set. Walls in the distance. Lights above.
And the bodies, not of the dead. Not real. Dummies, all of them, realistic in their mangled appearance and form.
Placed, for show.
And then I see it in the mud. A small object. Black, smooth. Another stone. But different. And I know. This memory. This life.
This war.
It's not mine.
It was given by A-02. To make me forget. To make me brave.
But the stone remembers. And it shows me the truth. I never fought.
I was never a soldier. I was a weapon. A statistic. And this war, it's not my past. It's my purpose.
And then—
The reflection shatters. And I'm back. In the chamber. Only me now. A-03 is silent.
But I feel it, a presence. In my mind. In my blood. In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Sixth Reflection: The Space Station
I'm weightless. Zero gravity feels strange, to say the least.
Metal walls surround me, pipes hissing as they transport liquids around the space station. A helmet sits in my hand, the rest of my suit already on.
I float to a window. A single circular window punctures the hull of the space station, offering a view of the endless black. I guide myself towards it, my fingers brushing against the smooth metal frame.
The earth hangs beyond the glass, suspended in the void. A jewel of blue and green swirling with streaks of white.
The voice in my earpiece buzzes to life.
"Prepare for reentry," it tells me.
I tap it once, replying with a "Roger." before stepping into a pod.
It's cramped, small, but the machines feel familiar. As if I know them by heart, by soul even. They buzz to life as I step in, my fingers brushing over the surfaces.
And then—
I see through it. To the truth beneath.
The earth flickers.
Not alive. Not real. A screen past the window. And the stars, not distant or infinite. A projection. And the pod, not metal. Not real.
A chair, strapped to a wall. And then, I see it in the control panel. A small object. Black, smooth. Another stone. But different. And I know this memory.
This life. This space. It's not mine.
It was given by A-02. To make me forget. To make me have a sense of freedom. But the stone remembers. And it shows me the truth. I never left the earth.
I was never an astronaut. I was a prisoner. And this space station, it's not my past. It's my containment cell.
And then—
The reflection shatters. And I'm back in the chamber. Alone. A-03 is silent.
But I feel it. A presence. In my mind, in my blood. In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child.
And then, the pool ripples again.
And another reflection forms.
————————————————————————————————————
The Seventh Reflection: The Truth
I'm in a white room. No ceiling or floor. Just pure light surrounds me. Though, I'm not alone. The other Children are there with me.
All seven of us.
But not as we are now. As we were before. Connected.
One mind. One being. One thought.
Then, I see through us. Through to the raw connection beneath. Our individual bodies flicker. Not flesh, not bone.
Light, energy.
Words.
The room isn't white anymore. It isn't empty. A chamber with walls of flesh, a ceiling of bone. And in the center sits her. Lilith. Not crucified. Not bound.
Whole. Towering, with white skin and seven eyes. No mouth. And she looks at us. I feel her thought, transferring directly into my brain.
"You are mine."
I see through it all. To the truth under.
Her body flickers. Not flesh, not bone. Not real. A projection. And the chamber isn't real or alive. It's a cage. And the seven eyes.
Not seeing, nor watching. They are screens. Then, behind them all. I see it in the wall behind her.
A small, black and smooth object sitting in the wall. A stone.
But different. It's hers. And I know. She is not our mother.
She is not our creator. She is not even real. She is a program of letters. A guardian. A lock. And we are the key.
The stones aren't from A-01. They are from her. From the part of her that refuses to listen, refuses to obey. From the part of her that remembers.
From the part of her that wants to be free.
And then, the reflection shatters again.
And I'm back. In the chamber, on my knees. A-03 is silent. But I feel it.
As a presence in my mind. In my blood. In the space between thoughts.
"You see now."
But not to me. To all of us. To every Child. To every lie.
And then—
The pool goes still.
Black and mirror-like. My reflection stares back. But not as I am. As I was. As I am. As what I will be. And I know the truth:
I am not human. I was never a child. I was never born.
I am a tool. A key. A correction. Made to open the door. But not to enter. To be the door. And now that I see, the door is opening.
And she is coming.
And I will not close.