The hallway vibrated as the hidden speakers crackled again, the voice carrying a clinical calm that was somehow worse than shouting.
"Subjects detected in Sublevel C. Initiation sequence resuming."
Ash pulled Palo into a faster run. "Keep close to me. Don't stop."
The child sprinted ahead, bare feet tapping rapidly against the concrete. Their small frame moved with an urgency that came from fear learned long ago.
Calder lagged for a moment, staring up at the ceiling as faint lights flickered to life one by one.
"This shouldn't be happening…" he whispered. "The entire floor should be offline. Disconnected. Buried."
Ash didn't slow. "Then someone reconnected it."
Palo felt the notebook in his hand vibrate slightly—as if reacting to the humming walls.
He clutched it tighter.
The corridor suddenly opened into a larger chamber.
It looked like an old classroom—rows of tables, stacks of chairs, whiteboards stained with faint markers that refused to fade after years.
But it wasn't the setting that stopped them.
It was the drawings.
Hundreds of them.
Taped to walls. Scattered across floors. Stacked on every flat surface.
All sketched by children.
Swirling spirals.
Repetitive tower shapes.
A circle with five symbols around it.
And in many drawings—always in the background—there were tall shadows. Not monsters or creatures, but silhouettes of people standing too far away to see clearly.
Palo's breath trembled.
"I… remember this room."
Ash glanced at him. "From before you escaped?"
Palo nodded slowly. "This is where we learned to draw what we saw at night."
Calder inhaled sharply. "The overseers used this room to study recurring patterns in the children's dreams. They believed shared symbols meant shared subconscious activity."
Palo stepped forward, eyes scanning the drawings.
A soft rustling sound echoed from the corner.
The child froze.
Ash raised a hand, signaling everyone to stay still.
Then, from behind a stack of collapsed shelves, a small figure emerged. Palo's breath caught—another child, perhaps a year older than the first. Thin, silent, eyes wide and watchful.
They stared at the group, then at Palo specifically.
The first child stepped toward them and made a soft gesture with their hands—something like reassurance. A familiar greeting.
The second child moved forward.
Palo's chest tightened.
"They… remember me too."
Calder whispered, "No. They remember the connection. That formation linked the children in ways we never understood."
Ash's jaw tensed. "Two of them now. How many more are down here?"
The child pointed toward the far wall—where a set of glass doors led into another hallway. Through the glass, faint light pulsed like a heartbeat.
Palo walked closer.
Behind the glass was a long chamber filled with old computer servers, blinking irregularly as they struggled back to life. Screens flickered with incomplete text.
Ash moved beside Palo. "The light's coming from there."
Calder shook his head, voice low. "That room was the main hub. If it's activating again… then someone rebooted the entire system."
"And who would do that?" Ash asked.
Calder swallowed hard. "Only someone with the highest clearance. Someone who knew why this facility was built. Someone who never wanted their research to die."
The lights flickered again.
Then the classroom speakers crackled to life.
This time, a different voice emerged.
A human one.
Calm.
Measured.
Almost gentle.
"Palo."
Palo stiffened.
Ash stepped in front of him. "Who is that?"
The voice continued, unhurried—
"Welcome home."
Palo's heart stopped.
Calder went pale. "No… no, it can't be—"
The voice resumed, as if amused by their confusion.
"We lost track of you when you slipped past the surface sensors. But the others always knew you'd return."
Ash's fists clenched. "Show yourself!"
Silence.
Then:
"You will. Soon."
The speaker clicked off.
A long, cold moment passed.
The two children in the room exchanged a glance—fear flickering across their faces.
The first child tugged urgently at Palo's sleeve again, motioning toward a storage door at the back of the classroom.
"They want us to hide?" Palo asked.
Calder shook his head. "No. They want you to see something."
Ash hesitated. "We should be careful."
But Palo walked forward—slowly, with the notebook held against his chest.
The children opened the storage door for him.
Inside was a small, dark space with shelves of old supplies. Palo stepped in cautiously.
Then he froze.
On one of the shelves lay a stack of identical blue notebooks.
The same kind he was holding.
Dozens of them.
Each labeled with initials:
B.M.
L.R.
S.A.
C.T.
P.S.
Palo's hands trembled.
Ash stepped in behind him. "Those initials… Palo, 'P.S.' is—"
"Me," Palo whispered. "These were mine."
Calder exhaled shakily. "They tracked your progress. Your drawings. Your dreams."
Palo opened the notebook with his initials.
The first page wasn't a drawing.
It was a message.
Written in a shaky but familiar hand.
"If you're reading this, it means you came back.
Don't let them decide the ending this time."
Ash went still. "Who wrote that?"
Palo stared at the handwriting.
"I did," he whispered. "But… I don't remember writing this at all."
The second notebook had another message.
"Find the others. We can still stop them."
Palo felt his pulse pounding.
Calder's voice came out barely above a whisper.
"You weren't the only one who tried to escape."
Palo looked up at him—eyes wide, breath uneven.
"Then where are they now?"
Before Calder could answer, the hallway outside went silent.
Too silent.
The air felt heavy, charged.
Ash stepped back protectively. "Someone's coming."
The two children in the classroom grabbed Palo's hands—one on each side—and tugged him backward, deeper into the storage room as if trying to shield him.
Palo swallowed, heart racing.
"Ash," he whispered, "they're scared."
Ash nodded, jaw tense.
"I know."
Footsteps echoed down the hall.
Slow.
Purposeful.
Not like the children's light steps.
Not like Calder's quiet ones.
Not like the overseers from the past.
Something different.
Something deliberate.
The voice from the speakers spoke again—closer now, not through static but from the hallway itself.
"Palo, don't hide. You were always meant to lead them."
Ash stepped in front of Palo, blocking the doorway.
Calder moved beside him, voice shaking.
"That voice… it belongs to the Director."
Palo felt the children press closer against him, both trembling.
And then—
The footsteps stopped right outside the storage room door.
A soft metallic click echoed.
The handle turned.
And the door—
slowly—
quietly—
began to open.
---