Akwasi couldn't move.
The cables hissed as they slithered across the floor—hungry, searching. They wrapped around his ankles like cold, intelligent vines, pulsing with corrupted light. The room stank of old metal and stale blood. The visor on the chair flickered once, then powered on with a single word flashing:
> "ACCESSING ROOT MEMORY..."
"No—stop it!" Akwasi struggled, but the wires didn't bind flesh; they bound thought. They dug into the fractures of his mind, pulling at the seams of memory like claws.
The room around him disappeared.
---
He was standing in the middle of an abandoned lab, though this time… it was clean. Intact. Lit by harsh blue lights. Glass tubes lined the walls, each one filled with a person suspended in grey fluid.
Most were children.
One of them floated closer to the glass—his face unmistakable.
It was him.
But younger. Eyes wide with terror. A tag on his neck read:
> "Subject 12A – Experimental Healer Sequence"
"No... this isn't real," Akwasi whispered. "They told me I was found... saved…"
The vision twisted again.
Now, he stood beside a tall figure—a doctor cloaked in a white coat with hands coated in black gloves. Her voice echoed, mechanical and cold.
> "The healer must be broken before the code can repair him."
The visor behind him flared. Another voice joined—one he hadn't heard in years.
> "Do you remember who you are, Akwasi?"
Isaiah's voice.
He turned, and there stood Isaiah—not the boy from earlier chapters, but older. Worn. Eyes glowing with the same curse that had infected the archives.
"You're not just a survivor," Isaiah said. "You're the archive. The code lives inside you. You were never healed. You were stored."
Suddenly, the lab disintegrated into fire and screaming. The children in tubes shattered into dust. All except Akwasi's image—who remained suspended, eyes wide, body twitching as if trapped in a permanent glitch.
The voice returned.
> "You are not the Healer. You are the vessel. Project NOBA-5 lives in you."
---
Back in the present, Akwasi collapsed to the floor, coughing up blood. His skin flickered, glitching. His hands trembled as sparks danced across his fingertips.
The room went silent again, but one final screen activated.
On it, a name blinked:
> "Isaiah Omeke: ACCESS DENIED"
And then, in red:
> "Only Subject 12A may access Level Omega."
His breath caught. His world shattered.
They didn't need Isaiah anymore.
They needed him.