Chapter Three: Fractured Truths

Chapter Three: Fractured Truths

The hum of the orientation chamber still lingered in my ears as I followed Dr. Kane and the man in the suit down yet another endless corridor. The light seemed brighter here, sharper, as though the walls themselves were watching. My head throbbed faintly, filled with fragments of images and words that didn’t belong to me. Knowledge had been poured into my mind, but it felt like a puzzle dumped out of its box—disjointed and incomplete.

Dr. Kane slowed her pace, glancing over her shoulder at me. “How are you feeling, 13?” she asked, her voice carefully neutral.

I hesitated, unsure how to answer. “Different. Like… there’s more inside my head now. But it doesn’t all make sense.”

She nodded, as if this was expected. “That’s normal. The learning modules introduce concepts gradually. Over time, it will feel more natural.”

The man in the suit didn’t react, his long strides carrying him ahead of us. He’d barely spoken to me since I’d woken up, yet his presence loomed large, a silent reminder of the forces pulling my strings.

We reached a heavy door at the end of the hallway. Dr. Kane pressed her hand to a scanner, and the door slid open with a low hiss. Beyond it was a dimly lit room, smaller than the others I’d seen. The walls were lined with monitors, each displaying shifting streams of data and video feeds. In the center was a single chair, sleek and metallic, with wires and sensors snaking from its base.

“Sit,” the man in the suit commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

I glanced at Dr. Kane, who gave me an encouraging nod. Reluctantly, I stepped forward and lowered myself into the chair. The metal was cool against my back, and the wires seemed to come alive, latching onto my arms and temples with a precision that made me shiver.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts to sound calm.

“A diagnostic,” Dr. Kane said, taking a seat at one of the consoles. Her fingers danced across the keys, and the monitors around me began to flicker. “We’re going to take a closer look at how your systems are integrating. It won’t hurt.”

I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I stayed still as the sensors whirred to life. A low hum filled the room, and the monitors flashed with strange symbols and graphs. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my breathing, but the sensation of being so exposed, so scrutinized, made my skin crawl.

“Baseline neural activity is stable,” Dr. Kane murmured, her tone clinical. “Cognitive pathways are… unconventional, but functional. Emotional response is heightened, likely due to the host body’s residual imprint.”

Residual imprint. The words snagged on something in my mind, a sharp tug that sent a ripple of unease through me.

“What does that mean?” I asked, opening my eyes to look at her.

Dr. Kane hesitated, her fingers pausing over the keyboard. The man in the suit stepped forward, his gaze hard.

“It means there are remnants of the body’s original owner,” he said bluntly. “Memories, instincts, emotions. They’re not supposed to interfere, but… sometimes they do.”

A cold weight settled in my chest. “Whose body is this?”

Dr. Kane shot the man a sharp look, but he didn’t back down. “You don’t need to worry about that,” she said softly. “It doesn’t change who you are.”

But it did. It had to. The body I was in wasn’t mine. It had belonged to someone else, someone who had lived and breathed and felt before I ever existed. The thought made my skin itch, like I was wearing a costume that didn’t fit.

“Why didn’t I get my own body?” I asked, my voice rising. “Why did you have to take someone else’s?”

Dr. Kane opened her mouth to respond, but the man in the suit cut her off. “Because your existence is a miracle,” he said coldly. “Do you think we could grow a perfect vessel for you from scratch? The human body is a complex machine. Finding one suitable for integration took years of research, millions of dollars. You should be grateful.”

Grateful. The word tasted bitter. My hands curled into fists as anger surged through me, hot and unfamiliar.

“You stole this body,” I said, glaring at him. “You stole someone’s life to make me.”

The man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not a victim, boy. You’re the future. Start acting like it.”

“Enough,” Dr. Kane said sharply, rising from her chair. She placed a hand on my shoulder, her touch steadying. “13, I know this is a lot to take in. But we’re here to help you. I’m here to help you.”

Her words were soothing, but they couldn’t erase the truth. I was a thief, living in a stolen shell. And no matter what they told me, I couldn’t shake the feeling that somewhere, someone was missing what should have been theirs.

But who were they? And what if they wanted it back?

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