Riley
I don't remember exactly when they started taking me separately.
Maybe day twelve. Maybe day fourteen. The days blur together when all you see is white walls and fluorescent lights and your own blood on someone else's gloves.
The others would go to the main room. The circle of chairs. The images. The questions. I'd hear their footsteps in the corridor, fading away. And then the guards would come for me.
Different guards. Bigger ones. The kind who don't need to speak because their presence is enough.
"Riley Voss. Private calibration."
Private calibration. That's what they called it. Like it was something special. Something to be grateful for.
Dang it. I wasn't grateful. I was scared. But I didn't let them see that. You never let them see that.
---
The private room was smaller than the others. No windows. No chairs. Just a table. Metal. Cold. The same table they'd strapped me to on the first day. But now it was just me. No other kids screaming in the background. No Rachel three tables over losing her mind.
Just me. And the machines. And Dr. Marlow.
She was always there. Always watching. Always holding that tablet like it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.
"We're going to push you further today, Riley."
She said that every day. Further. Like there was a destination. Like we were going somewhere.
"Your scores are exceptional. But we need to see where your ceiling is."
Ceiling. Like I was a house. Like there was a limit to how much I could take before I cracked.
I wanted to tell her there was no ceiling. I'd been cracked since I was six years old, sitting in a foster home, listening to a man scream at a woman, counting the seconds until it stopped. You don't come back from that whole. You just learn to hide the cracks.
But I didn't say that. I just lay on the table and let them strap me down.
---
The pain was worse when I was alone.
I think that was the point. When the other kids were there, I had something to hold onto. Their screams. Their crying. It reminded me that I wasn't the only one. That this was happening to everyone. That I wasn't singled out.
But when it was just me? When the room was quiet except for the hum of the machines and Marlow's voice reading numbers off her tablet?
That's when the pain became everything.
"Increasing to level seven."
Level seven. I didn't know there was a level seven. I thought it stopped at six. I was wrong.
The electricity hit me like a truck. No. Not a truck. A truck you can see coming. This was faster. Meaner. It went through me before I knew it was there.
My back arched off the table. I couldn't stop it. My muscles weren't mine anymore. They were doing what the current told them to do. Arching. Twisting. Shaking.
I heard someone screaming. It took me a second to realize it was me.
"Heart rate elevated. Blood pressure spiking. Continue."
Continue. Like I was a button they could push. Like I was a machine they were testing.
My teeth were clenched so hard I thought they'd break. My jaw ached. My head ached. Everything ached. There wasn't a part of me that wasn't on fire.
"Level eight."
I don't remember level eight. There was light. There was sound. There was something that might have been my own voice but it didn't sound like me. It sounded like an animal. Something caught in a trap. Something that knew it was going to die.
My body shook so hard the table rattled. The straps bit into my wrists. My ankles. My chest. I couldn't breathe. The current was stealing my breath, turning my lungs into something that didn't work.
"Level nine."
My heart stopped.
I felt it stop. One beat. Then nothing. A pause. A silence inside my chest.
And then it started again. A kick. A punch. A flood of blood rushing to my head, my hands, my feet.
I gasped. Air. Sweet air. I sucked it in like I'd been drowning.
"V-fib detected. Administering counter-shock."
Something hit my chest. Hard. Like being punched from the inside. My body convulsed. The table jumped. My vision went white.
Then nothing.
---
I woke up on the floor.
That was strange. I wasn't supposed to be on the floor. I was supposed to be on the table. The table was where they did things to you. The floor was for...
I didn't know what the floor was for. I'd never been on the floor before.
I tried to move my arm. It didn't move. Not because it was strapped down. Because it didn't want to. Because it was too heavy. Because I was too heavy. Because every part of me weighed a thousand pounds and I was sinking into the white tiles and maybe if I sank far enough they wouldn't find me again.
"She's stabilizing. Heart rate normalizing. Blood pressure returning to baseline."
Baseline. That word again. Like there was a normal version of me. A version that wasn't broken. A version that could go back to who she was before.
There was no before. There was just this. Just me. Just the floor. Just the cold white tiles pressing against my cheek.
"Get her back to the dormitory."
Hands grabbed me. Lifted me. I wanted to fight. I wanted to tell them not to touch me. But my mouth didn't work. My arms didn't work. Nothing worked.
I was a doll. A broken doll. Like Rachel.
Dang it. I was like Rachel.
---
They carried me to the dormitory. I don't remember the walk. I don't remember the corridors. I don't remember anything except the lights. Too bright. Always too bright. They burned through my closed eyelids like the sun.
Then I was on my bunk. My bunk. The one near the back. Against the wall. Facing the door. My spot.
Someone put a blanket over me. I didn't know who. I couldn't open my eyes to see.
"Riley."
A voice. Quiet. Familiar.
"Riley, can you hear me?"
Sasha. It was Sasha. She was on the bunk across from me. Her voice was close. Too close. Like she was leaning over me.
I tried to answer. My throat didn't work.
"Just lie still. Don't try to move."
Her hand touched my forehead. Her fingers were cold. Or maybe I was hot. I didn't know anymore.
"You're burning up. What did they do to you?"
What didn't they do to me? That was the real question. They shocked me. They burned me. They stopped my heart and started it again like it was nothing. Like I was nothing.
I opened my eyes. The ceiling swam above me. White. Blurry. The light burned.
"You look like hell," Sasha said.
I tried to laugh. It came out as a cough. Something wet and copper-tasting in my mouth. Blood. I'd bitten my cheek again. Or my tongue. Or something.
"Feel like hell," I managed. My voice was a whisper. A scratch. Like someone had taken sandpaper to my vocal cords.
Sasha was quiet for a moment. Then she sat on the edge of my bunk. The mattress dipped under her weight. I felt it in my bones.
"They took you separate again," she said. Not a question.
I nodded. It hurt. Everything hurt.
"Why? What are they doing to you that they're not doing to the rest of us?"
I closed my eyes. The darkness behind my lids was better than the light. Softer. Kinder.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe they want to see how much I can take."
"How much can you take?"
I thought about it. The question. The answer. The truth.
"I don't know that either."
---
The pain didn't go away.
I lay on my bunk for hours. Maybe days. I couldn't tell. The lights never changed. The door never opened. The only sound was my own breathing and the occasional whisper from one of the other kids.
My body shook. Little tremors at first. Then bigger ones. My teeth chattered. My hands wouldn't stop moving. I wrapped my arms around myself and held on, but it didn't help. The shaking came from somewhere deep. Somewhere I couldn't reach.
Sasha brought me water. She must have gotten it from somewhere. Maybe she traded for it. Maybe she stole it. I didn't ask. I just drank. The water was cold. It burned going down.
"You need to eat," she said.
I shook my head. The thought of food made my stomach turn.
"You'll get weaker. If you get weaker, you won't make it."
I looked at her. Her face was blurry. I blinked, tried to focus. There were dark circles under her eyes. Big ones. Like bruises. Like she hadn't slept in weeks.
She hadn't. None of us had. The lights never went out. The sounds never stopped. There was no night. No day. Just the endless white and the hum of the fluorescent tubes and the weight of what was coming next.
*"I'm not going to make it anyway," I said.
Sasha's face changed. Something flickered in her eyes. Anger, maybe. Or fear.
"Don't say that."
"It's true. They're going to keep pushing. And pushing. And one day, my heart won't start again. And that'll be it."
"Then why do you keep going?"
Why did I keep going? I thought about it. Really thought.
"Because stopping feels like losing," I said. "And I don't lose."
Sasha stared at me for a long moment. Then she nodded. Slowly. Like she understood.
"You're the coldest person I've ever met," she said. "You know that?"
"Yeah. I know."
She stood up. Walked back to her bunk. I heard the springs creak as she lay down.
I lay on my back and stared at the ceiling. The light burned my eyes. I didn't close them. If I closed them, I'd see the table. The machines. Marlow's face. The numbers on her tablet.
1. That was my score. My number. The thing that told them I was worth keeping alive.
For now.
---
Helena
The door to Vance's office didn't have a handle.
Helena stood outside it for a long moment, her hand pressed against the cold metal, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. She'd driven for three days. Three days without sleep. Three days without stopping. Three days of empty highways and military checkpoints and the smell of smoke on the wind.
She'd left the car three blocks away. Walked the rest. Past the guards. Past the gates. Past the fences topped with razor wire. No one stopped her. No one even looked at her.
She still had her clearance. Her badge. Her face was still on the system.
She'd helped build this place. She'd helped design the parameters. She'd helped choose the kids.
She'd never thought they'd choose Riley.
The door slid open. No sound. No warning. Just a gap of darkness that widened into a room.
Vance sat behind a desk. The same man from the video. Gray hair. Calm face. Eyes that had seen too much and forgotten how to care.
He looked up when she entered. His expression didn't change.
"Dr. Voss."
She walked to his desk. Stopped. Her hands were shaking. She didn't care.
"You took her."
Vance leaned back in his chair. Folded his hands on the desk. Calm. Always calm.
"She was selected. The same as all the others."
"She's fifteen."
"The age range is ten to seventeen. She qualifies."
Helena's hands clenched. Her nails bit into her palms.
"She's not like the others. She has conditions. Psychological conditions. She was diagnosed. It's in her file. You had to have seen it."
Vance tilted his head. A small movement. Almost curious.
"I've seen her file. I've seen her scores. She's exceptional."
"She's broken!" Helena's voice cracked. She didn't care. "She was broken long before you got your hands on her. The foster system. The abandonment. She never learned to connect to people. She never learned to feel—"
"That's why she was selected."
Vance's voice was quiet. Flat. Like he was explaining something simple to someone who didn't want to understand.
Helena stopped. Her breath caught in her throat.
"What?"
"The Project doesn't want children who are healthy. It wants children who can survive. Children who can adapt. Children who can become something new." He paused. "Riley was already on her way. We're just... accelerating the process."
Helena stared at him. Her vision blurred. Tears. She hadn't cried in years. Not since she'd held Riley for the first time, a six-year-old with dead eyes and a mouth that didn't smile.
"She's going to die," Helena whispered. "She's going to die, and it's my fault. I helped you. I helped build this. I helped choose the parameters. And now—"
"She's not going to die."
Vance's voice was still calm. Still flat. But something in it made Helena stop.
He stood up. Walked around the desk. Leaned against it, arms crossed, looking at her with those empty eyes.
"Your daughter is the strongest candidate we've seen in three years. She doesn't break. She doesn't cry. She doesn't feel. She's already what we're trying to create. We're just giving her the tools to survive."
"You're turning her into a monster."
Vance smiled. It was a thin smile. A tired smile. The smile of a man who had heard that accusation a hundred times and stopped caring a hundred years ago.
"The world is full of monsters, Dr. Voss. The virus. The Stalkers. The people who let it happen." He looked at her. "You helped build the virus. You helped model the transmission vectors. You ran the simulations. You knew what it would do. And you did it anyway."
Helena's legs gave out. She caught herself on the edge of his desk. Her hands were white. Bloodless.
"You think you get to choose who suffers for your choices?" Vance said. "You don't. I don't. The government doesn't. The virus chose. The collapse chose. And now, the Project chooses."
He walked back around the desk. Sat down. Picked up a tablet.
"Your daughter is in Phase Two now. She's alive. She's surviving. That's more than most can say."
He looked up at her. His eyes were empty. Hollow. Like the lights were on but no one was home.
"If you want to see her again, you'll continue your work. The virus is mutating. We need new models. New countermeasures. You're one of the few who understands it."
Helena stood there. Her hands shaking. Her legs shaking. Everything shaking.
*"You're a monster," she said.
Vance looked at her. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Something that might have been sadness. Or regret. Or nothing at all.
"Yes," he said. "I am. But so is your daughter. She just doesn't know it yet."
He looked back at his tablet.
"Get some rest, Dr. Voss. You'll need it."
Helena walked out. She didn't remember leaving. She didn't remember the corridors. The doors. The guards. She just walked. One foot in front of the other. Until she was outside. Until the cold night air hit her face. Until she was alone.
She looked up at the sky. The stars were out. Millions of them. Burning. Dying. The same stars Riley could see, somewhere on this island. Somewhere in this nightmare.
I'm sorry, Helena thought. I'm so sorry.
But sorry didn't save anyone. Sorry didn't undo what she'd done. Sorry didn't bring Riley back.
She walked to her car. Got in. Sat in the dark.
And for the first time in fifteen years, Helena Voss cried.
--
Riley
I lay on my bunk and stared at the ceiling.
My body hurt. Everywhere. My bones. My muscles. My skin. Even my hair hurt. Is that possible? Can hair hurt? I didn't know. But mine did.
The dark circles under my eyes were so deep I could feel them. Like bruises. Like someone had punched me in the face while I was sleeping. Not that I was sleeping. I hadn't slept in... I didn't know how long. Days. Maybe weeks. The lights never went out. The sounds never stopped. My brain never shut up.
1. That was my score. My number. The thing that made me special. The thing that made them take me separate.
I looked at my wrist. The band glowed. 247. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.
But not for long. Phase Two was coming. And Phase Two would change everything.
I closed my eyes. Behind my lids, I saw the table. The machines. Marlow's face. The numbers on her tablet.
"Your daughter is already what we're trying to create."
Who said that? Vance? I didn't know. Maybe I imagined it. Maybe my brain was making things up now. Filling in the gaps with voices that weren't real.
I didn't care. Real or not, it was true.
I was already what they wanted. I just didn't know what that was yet.
I opened my eyes. The ceiling was still there. White. Blank. Waiting.
I was waiting too. For Phase Two. For whatever came next. For the moment when I stopped being Riley Voss and became something else.
Something colder. Something harder. Something that didn't feel.
Something that survived.
Dang it. That was the point, wasn't it? Survive. That's all that mattered. That's all that ever mattered.
I closed my eyes again. Let the darkness take me. Let the pain fade. Let the cold thing inside me grow.
I was ready.
Or I was lying to myself.
Either way, I didn't have a choice.
-------
We're back. If you're new here, welcome. If you've been here since the beginning, thank you for sticking with Riley. This chapter gets dark. She wouldn't want me to sugarcoat it.
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