There are decisions that feel like choices.
And then there are decisions that feel like traps no matter what you do.
Standing in that blood-smeared Room 112, with a man chained to the wall and stitched at the mouth—Adrian and I were already caught.
> "One must listen. One must cut the stitches."
"If the wrong choice is made—one of you will inherit a false memory."
The system didn't lie.
But it never told the whole truth either.
Adrian's eyes locked on mine. His breathing was sharp, like he'd been punched in the lungs. "I've seen him before," he whispered. "I don't remember when. But I have."
I stepped forward. The man didn't move. His eyes were glazed, not dead—but not quite human either. There was something leaking from him. Not blood—memories. They shimmered like faint smoke in the corners of the room.
I saw flashes.
A high school hallway.
A staircase.
Laughter… turning into screaming.
And then nothing.
> "One of you must listen," the system repeated.
I felt something brush the inside of my ear.
It was a voice. Not mine. Whispering something in reverse.
I snapped my head to the side. It stopped.
"What the hell was that?" I muttered.
Adrian clutched his temples. "It's getting in… it's already—"
He stumbled back against the wall.
I had to act.
---
There was a scalpel on the ground, half-rusted, probably left there by design. I picked it up.
The man didn't resist. Didn't blink. He just stared at me like he wanted me to do it.
I crouched in front of him. The stitches across his lips were black, like thread used to sew funeral cloth.
My hand trembled.
I glanced at Adrian.
He was still shaking—muttering to himself.
I whispered to the chained man, "Who are you?"
He didn't speak.
But a single tear rolled down his cheek.
I took a deep breath and cut.
One stitch.
Two.
On the third, his mouth peeled open.
He didn't scream.
He exhaled.
And the air turned cold.
---
Suddenly I was back in a classroom.
I was me, but younger. Sitting in the third row. Black hoodie, earbuds in. Rain outside. Same flickering light overhead. Same cracked chalkboard.
Someone entered.
The man from the room. But younger too. A teacher?
"Good morning, class," he said.
He turned to me. Looked directly into my eyes.
And smiled.
> "You told me she was lying, Kai."
The room vanished.
---
I gasped—back in the asylum.
I had no idea what I just saw. But something had changed inside me.
Adrian stood, shaking. "Did he say anything?"
"No," I lied. "He just… looked at me."
The man had stopped moving. He was empty now. Whatever memory he held—it was in me.
---
[MISSION COMPLETE]
Sin Type: Denial (Shared)
Reward: +1 Sanity | +1 Memory Fragment | Bond Level: Kai ↔ Adrian +1
Warning: One memory is not authentic.
---
I staggered as the system etched a new memory into my mind. Like a brand across my brain.
A girl.
A classroom.
Tears in her eyes.
Me, telling a teacher she was "just making it up."
But I couldn't tell anymore—had I actually done that?
Or had the system given me someone else's sin?
And worse…
Would I become guilty anyway?
---
We exited the room in silence.
The hallway outside had changed.
No longer moldy tile and cracked walls—but something deeper.
Layer Two had opened.
The corridor now stretched into something that looked like a subway tunnel—but wrong. The walls throbbed like muscle. Lights flickered with red pulses, not electricity. The floor curved, as if the entire space was alive and breathing beneath our feet.
Adrian stayed close behind. "I think it's learning from us," he said. "Each mission… they're not random. They're pieces of us. Or of who we used to be."
I nodded slowly.
"I think we're being made into something," I said. "Or unmade."
He stopped walking. "Kai, do you feel it?"
"What?"
He looked at me, dead serious.
"The memory you got back… does it feel real?"
I opened my mouth.
And stopped.
Because it did.
Even though I had no memory of the girl before this moment… the system made me feel like I did. Like it had always been part of me.
"That's how it traps us," I muttered. "It replaces what's missing. So we never know what's real anymore."
Adrian's face darkened. "Then the longer we stay here, the less of ourselves we'll be."
I looked ahead.
The tunnel led to another trial. Another test. Another voice that might be mine or someone else's.
And I didn't know which I was more afraid of:
> Failing the mission…
> Or becoming someone who deserved it.