The room was too bright.
Too loud.
Too alive.
Voices overlapped.
Machines beeped.
Hands pressed against his chest, his arms, his shoulders—
trying to hold him in place.
"Stay with us!"
"I need a pulse—"
"He's back—he's back!"
He wasn't listening.
Couldn't.
Because something inside him…
was.
The echo pulsed again.
Not violently this time.
Hungry.
His fingers twitched.
A nurse grabbed his wrist.
"Easy—just breathe—"
Her voice cut off.
Not because she stopped.
Because the sound…
bent.
He heard it.
The moment it happened.
Like reality itself…
skipped.
The air tightened.
A low hum filled the room.
Not from the machines.
From him.
The nurse froze.
Eyes wide.
"D-do you feel that?"
He did.
More than that.
He understood it.
The echo wasn't just inside him.
It was…
reaching.
His hand lifted slightly.
Not by force.
By instinct.
The IV line beside him—
shuddered.
Bent.
Then snapped.
The monitor glitched.
Numbers spiking—
dropping—
repeating—
"Step back!" a doctor shouted.
Too late.
The lights exploded.
Glass shattered.
Darkness slammed into the room.
Screams.
Movement.
Chaos.
But at the center—
He sat up.
Perfectly still.
Breathing.
Calm.
Too calm.
The echo surged.
And for a split second—
everything stopped.
Time.
Sound.
Motion.
Frozen.
The nurse.
Mid-step.
The doctor.
Mid-shout.
Shards of glass—
hanging in the air.
And him.
Moving.
Slowly.
He looked around.
Not confused.
Not afraid.
Aware.
"…so this is what you do," he murmured.
The echo responded.
Not in words.
In pressure.
Like something behind his eyes was smiling.
Then—
Time snapped back.
Everything crashed forward at once.
Glass hitting the floor.
People stumbling.
The nurse fell back hard—
Her arm twisted wrong as she hit the ground.
A sharp cry—
Pain.
Silence followed.
Everyone stared at him.
Not as a patient anymore.
As something else.
He looked at the nurse.
At her arm.
Bent.
Wrong.
His expression didn't change.
But something inside him—
tightened.
"…I didn't mean to do that."
The doctor backed away.
Slow.
Careful.
Like approaching a wild animal.
"You need to stay still," he said.
Voice shaking now.
That was new.
Fear.
Directed at him.
The echo pulsed again.
Stronger.
Encouraging.
Break more.
He flinched.
Hard.
"No."
The word came out sharp.
Final.
The room went quiet.
The echo recoiled slightly.
Not gone.
But watching.
Testing.
He swung his legs off the bed.
Stood up.
Unsteady.
But standing.
"I'm leaving," he said.
"No, you can't—" the doctor started.
He looked at him.
Just looked.
The doctor stopped.
Words dying in his throat.
Not because of force.
Because something deeper told him:
Don't.
He walked toward the door.
Slow.
Each step heavy.
The world outside felt…
different.
Waiting.
As he reached the door—
he paused.
Just for a second.
"…I'm not going to hurt anyone."
Not a promise.
Not entirely.
Just something he wanted to believe.
Then he stepped out.
Into the hallway.
Into the world.
Behind him—
the monitor flatlined again.