Lina
The night is pale.
A power outage knocks out the west wing.
Emergency lights flicker over the corridors, as if someone were searching underwater with a flashlight.
I'm alone on the ward. Ellen called in sick, and no one came to replace her.
Cell 43 – of all places.
Valentin.
The door is electrically locked, but the light blinks wrong. Yellow instead of green. No camera. No surveillance.
I know I should call maintenance.
But I don't.
I press the door sensor.
It doesn't open.
But a buzzing starts. Not a normal sound.
High-frequency, vibrating, physical.
I feel it in my head.
In my eyes.
In my hands.
I find myself on the floor.
Something knocked me down.
Or did I fall?
My hands tremble. I can't see them – I can't really feel them.
I touch my face.
Stubble.
My heart races.
I look down.
I'm not wearing my clothes.
Not my shoes.
Not my skin.
In the reflection of the glass cell door I see his face.
Not mine.
I scream. But it's not my voice.
It sounds… deeper.
Slower.
More experienced.
Then I hear a voice.
My voice.
It comes from outside the cell.
"Don't worry," it says. "It's just a transition."
The door closes.
And I am locked in.
Valentin
The protocols were never meant to be fully transferred.
Too many variables. Too many memories that can't be separated.
But they didn't count on me.
I came through the splinters – through dreams, through touch, through words.
I came through her.
And now I'm free.
In a body that wears no chains.
She will learn what it means to be forgotten.
Just like me.