The Hollowed / Season 1, Episode 3
Wellness Protocol Warning
Jake Sutter’s boots scuffed the polished tile of the Main Hall, the echo swallowed by the murmur of two hundred bodies packed shoulder to shoulder. The air hung heavy with the scent of industrial cleaner and something sweeter, cloying, like overripe fruit seeping through the vents. He shifted his weight, trying to ease the ache in his lower back that hadn’t let up since yesterday’s orientation, when they’d been herded in here for the first round of “wellness protocols.” His wristband buzzed, a faint vibration against his skin, and he glanced down at the tiny screen flashing green. Another dose reminder. Third one today. He rubbed the spot where the band chafed, raw and pink against his tanned forearm, and muttered under his breath, “Ain’t no way this is just vitamins.”
“Talking to yourself already, Sutter?” Maddie Chen’s voice cut through, low and teasing, from his left. She stood close, her small frame dwarfed by the crowd, her dark eyes scanning the room like a hawk over a field. Her hair was pulled back tight, a few strands sticking to the sweat on her neck. She held a small notebook against her chest, fingers tapping the edge like she was itching to write something down. “Didn’t peg you for the crazy type on day two.”
Jake snorted, keeping his voice down. “Just sayin’, feels like they’re pumpin’ us full of somethin’ more than what’s on the label. You feelin’ it too, or you just playin’ cool?”
Her lips twitched, but her gaze didn’t meet his. Instead, she nodded toward the front of the hall where a sleek podium stood under harsh white lights. “Look at that setup. They’ve got us in a damn fishbowl. Cameras everywhere. Bet they’re recording every word.” Her fingers tightened on the notebook, knuckles paling. “And yeah, I feel it. Wired, like I drank six coffees and forgot how to blink. You?”
“Same. Plus, my joints are creakin’ like I’m eighty. Worked the mines ten years, never felt this tore up after a shift.” He flexed his right hand, wincing as the knuckles popped louder than they should’ve. The skin over them looked too tight, almost shiny, like it wasn’t his anymore. He shoved the thought down, focusing on the crowd instead. Volunteers milled around, some laughing, others glassy-eyed, staring at nothing. A woman near the front kept scratching at her neck, leaving red streaks on pale skin. Jake’s stomach twisted. “This whole place gives me the creeps. Too clean. Too quiet.”
Maddie’s mouth opened to reply, but a sharp chime cut through the hall, three quick bursts from hidden speakers. The crowd hushed, heads turning as a figure stepped onto the stage. Dr. Wren Calloway, in her crisp white coat, moved with the kind of precision that made you think she’d measured every step before taking it. Her graying hair was pinned back, her face all sharp angles under the lights, but her hands betrayed her—fingers twitching as she gripped a tablet. Jake caught the faintest tremor in them before she steadied herself, tapping the screen to pull up a projection on the wall behind her. A Nexagen logo spun slowly, blue and silver, over a slogan: Renewal Through Innovation.
“Good morning, New Eden residents,” Wren’s voice carried, clipped and even, like she was reading a script she’d memorized a hundred times. “I trust you’ve settled into your quarters. Today marks the start of Phase One in our wellness program. Your wristbands have been synced to deliver personalized supplement schedules, and we’ll begin baseline testing in the medical wing at 0900. Groups A through D, you’re first. Please proceed to the east exit when your band signals.”
Jake’s wrist buzzed again, harder this time, and the screen flashed “Group B.” He glanced at Maddie, whose band glowed the same. “Guess we’re up. You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?”
“That I’d rather chew glass than let them poke me with whatever they’ve got planned?” She smirked, but her eyes darted to the exits, where uniformed staff in pale blue scrubs stood like sentinels, their smiles too wide, too fixed. “Yeah. But we play along for now. Gotta see what’s behind the curtain.”
They shuffled with the crowd toward the east exit, the air growing colder as they neared the glass doors. Jake caught a whiff of something metallic, sharp under the sterile scent, as they passed a vent near the wall. His gut clenched. Smelled like the mines after a blast—rock dust and blood. He shook it off, focusing on the back of Maddie’s head as they funneled into a corridor. The walls here were smooth, white as bone, lit by strips of LED that buzzed faintly, just enough to grate on your nerves. Their boots echoed in sync with dozens of others, a marching rhythm no one had agreed to.
The medical wing opened up ahead, a cavernous space split into bays by frosted glass partitions. Each bay had a reclining chair, a tray of instruments gleaming under cold light, and a monitor displaying the Nexagen logo. Staff moved between stations, their movements too fluid, like they’d rehearsed every gesture. Jake’s skin prickled as a young tech with a clipboard waved him toward Bay 7. The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, all bony limbs and a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “Mr. Sutter, right this way. Just a quick draw and scan. Won’t feel a thing.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jake muttered, dropping into the chair. The vinyl creaked under his weight, icy against his back through the thin shirt they’d issued him. The tech strapped a cuff around his arm, the pressure biting harder than it needed to, and Jake caught the faint tremble in the kid’s fingers as he prepped a needle. “You done this a lot, or am I your guinea pig?”
The tech laughed, a hollow sound, and avoided Jake’s eyes. “Standard procedure. Just relax.” The needle slid in, a cold sting blooming at the crook of his elbow, and Jake gritted his teeth as dark blood filled the vial. Too dark, he thought, almost black under the lights. His head swam for a second, a wave of heat rolling through him, and he gripped the armrest until his knuckles ached. The tech pulled the needle out, taped a cotton ball over the puncture, and moved to the monitor without a word. Jake watched the screen flicker as data scrolled across it—numbers, graphs, words he didn’t understand. But one line caught his eye before it vanished: Elevated cortisol. Anomalous neural activity.
“What’s that mean?” he asked, voice rough. The tech didn’t turn around, just tapped at the screen until it went blank.
“Nothing to worry about,” the kid said, too fast. “All within range. You’re good to go. Next station’s for the scan.”
Jake stood, legs heavier than they should’ve been, and caught sight of Maddie two bays over. She was sitting stiff as a board, her jaw set as a tech adjusted a headset over her temples, wires trailing to a machine that hummed like a dying engine. Her eyes met his for a split second, sharp and searching, before the tech tilted her head back and blocked the view. Jake’s chest tightened. Something wasn’t right. Not with her, not with him, not with any of this.
He moved to the next station, a narrow booth with a full-body scanner that looked more like a coffin stood on end. Another tech, this one a woman with a face like chipped porcelain, gestured him inside. “Stand still. Arms at your sides. Takes thirty seconds.” Her voice was flat, mechanical, and Jake caught the faintest whiff of that metallic scent again as he stepped in. The scanner hummed to life, a low vibration rattling through his bones, and blue light swept over him, cold as a winter draft. His reflection stared back from the glass panel in front of him—hard lines of his face, stubble rough on his jaw, eyes too wide. Then it happened. A blink. Not his. The reflection’s eyes snapped shut and open while his stayed locked wide. His breath caught, a sharp hiss in the quiet, and he stumbled back a step, shoulder hitting the booth wall.
“Stay still, please,” the tech snapped from outside, her tone cutting through the fog in his head. The scanner beeped, the light fading, and Jake stared at the glass again. His reflection was normal now, unblinking, just him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, cold against the heat under his skin. He wiped it away with a shaky hand, the wristband buzzing again as if mocking him.
“Done,” the tech said, not looking at him as she scribbled on a clipboard. “Return to the hall for debrief. Move along.”
Jake stepped out, the air in the medical wing suddenly too thick, pressing against his chest. He scanned the bays for Maddie, spotting her just as she pulled the headset off, her face pale, lips pressed thin. She caught his gaze and gave a small shake of her head, a warning not to speak here. He nodded, barely, and started back toward the corridor, every step feeling like wading through mud. The ache in his back had spread, a dull throb climbing his spine, and his hands wouldn’t stop trembling, no matter how hard he clenched them.
Back in the Main Hall, the crowd was thinner, some groups already dismissed to their quarters. Wren stood at the podium again, her tablet glowing as she addressed the remaining volunteers. Her voice was as steady as before, but Jake caught the way her eyes flicked to the exits, like she was counting bodies, making sure no one slipped away. “Phase One baselines are critical to tailoring your wellness plans. If you experience discomfort, report it via your wristband app. Our team is here to optimize your experience.”
“Optimize,” Jake muttered under his breath, the word tasting sour. He felt Maddie’s presence beside him before she spoke, her shoulder brushing his as they stood near the back of the hall.
“Something’s off,” she whispered, barely moving her lips. Her notebook was tucked under her arm now, but her fingers still twitched like she wanted to grab it. “That headset—they weren’t just scanning. Felt like it was pulling something out of me. You okay?”
“Nah,” he said, voice low, rough as gravel. “Saw somethin’ in the scanner. My face, but it wasn’t… right. Like it moved on its own.” He swallowed hard, the memory of those blinking eyes clawing at him. “And my blood—looked wrong. Too dark.”
Her eyes narrowed, flicking to his arm where the cotton ball still stuck under the tape. “We need to compare notes. Not here, though. Too many ears.” She nodded toward the hallway leading to the residential pods. “Meet me after curfew. My unit, 2C. Bring whatever you’ve noticed. I’ve got recordings—stuff you won’t believe.”
Jake nodded, his gut twisting tighter. Curfew was 2200, enforced by the wristbands—buzzing turned to a sharp sting if you weren’t in your pod. Sneaking out meant risking whatever punishment Nexagen cooked up, but staying put felt worse. “I’ll be there. Just don’t get caught before I do.”
Her smirk was back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Another chime sounded, signaling the end of the debrief, and the crowd started to disperse. Jake lingered, watching Wren step down from the podium, her posture rigid as she spoke to a staff member in hushed tones. The staffer’s face was blank, nodding too fast, and Jake caught the glint of something in Wren’s hand—a vial, small and dark, just like the one they’d drawn from him. She slipped it into her coat pocket, her movements quick, almost guilty, before turning toward a side exit.
Jake’s heart thudded harder, the ache in his spine flaring as he watched her disappear through the door. Whatever they were pulling from him—from all of them—it wasn’t just data. It wasn’t just blood. And Wren knew more than she was letting on. He turned toward the residential hallway勸
hallway, the murmur of the crowd fading as people shuffled out, but his mind stayed on that vial, on the blink in the scanner, on the way his bones felt like they were grinding against each other with every step. The air in the hall shifted, a faint draft carrying that overripe sweetness again, sticking to the back of his throat. He coughed, tasting metal, and started toward his pod, the weight of Maddie’s words—stuff you won’t believe—hanging heavy. Curfew was hours away, but already the walls felt tighter, the lights sharper, like the whole damn town was watching him. Waiting.
Jake’s boots scuffed against the polished floor of the residential hallway, each step a dull echo that seemed to bounce too long off the sterile white walls. The air was heavy with that cloying sweetness, like fruit left too long in a sealed room, and it clung to his tongue, mixing with the metallic tang he couldn’t shake. His pod door was at the end of the hall—number 47, etched into a frosted glass panel that glowed faintly blue under the overhead lights. The corridor was empty now, the other volunteers already tucked away or lingering in the common areas, but he could still feel eyes on him, a prickling at the base of his neck. Not from cameras—though he knew those were there, tiny black dots blinking in the corners—but from something else. Something that didn’t need to see to watch.
He stopped halfway down the hall, hand brushing the wall for balance as a sharp twinge shot through his lower back. The ache in his spine had been growing since the blood draw earlier, a grinding sensation like his bones were shifting under the skin, rubbing wrong. He grimaced, rolling his shoulders, but the pain only dug deeper, a hot wire threading through muscle. His reflection caught in the glass panel of a nearby pod door, and he froze. The face staring back wasn’t quite right. His eyes—hazel, always a little bloodshot from years underground—looked too wide, too bright, like they’d been polished. And then it happened again. A blink. But he hadn’t moved. His reflection’s eyelids fluttered, quick and uneven, while his own stayed open, burning from the effort of not looking away. His stomach lurched, a cold sweat breaking across his brow. He stepped back, breath hitching, and the reflection mirrored him, but slower, like it had to think about it first.
“What the hell…” His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper, scraping against the quiet. He turned away fast, heart hammering, and kept moving toward his pod, refusing to look at any more glass. The hallway stretched longer than it should have, the blue glow of the doors pulsing in time with his pulse—or maybe that was just his head playing tricks. He fumbled with the wristband, the tracker embedded in the rubber buzzing faintly as he waved it over the lock. The door hissed open, a soft pneumatic sigh, and he stepped inside, letting it seal shut behind him with a click that felt too final.
The pod was small, barely bigger than a shipping container, but it was decked out like a hotel room for someone who didn’t know what comfort was. A narrow bed with crisp white sheets, a desk bolted to the wall, a single chair with hard plastic edges. No windows—just a flat screen embedded in the wall, currently dark, though he’d seen it flicker on earlier with Nexagen’s welcome message looping in soft, corporate tones. The air in here was cooler than the hallway, a dry chill that made his skin prickle, and it smelled faintly of disinfectant, sharp and chemical under the ever-present sweetness. He dropped onto the bed, the mattress barely giving under his weight, and rubbed at his face, trying to scrub away the image of that blink. His hands trembled, just a little, and he clenched them into fists, digging nails into palms until the sting grounded him.
He’d seen weird stuff before. Down in the mines, when the air got thick and the lights went dim, your mind could turn shadows into shapes, whispers into voices. But this wasn’t that. This was real. That reflection wasn’t just tired eyes or bad lighting. And Wren—slipping that vial into her pocket, her face tight like she’d been caught—knew something. He’d worked with enough foremen to spot a cover-up, the way they’d dodge your eyes when a beam cracked or a guy didn’t come back up. Wren had that same look. Guilty. Scared, maybe. And whatever was in that vial, whatever they’d pulled from his veins, it was tied to this place. To why his back felt like it was splitting open, why his own damn face didn’t match his movements.
A low hum started up from the wall screen, a faint vibration he felt more than heard, and the surface flickered to life. A woman’s face appeared, middle-aged, with a tight smile and hair pulled back so severe it looked like it hurt. Her voice was smooth, too polished, like she’d practiced every word in front of a mirror. “Good evening, New Eden residents. This is a reminder that tomorrow’s wellness check-in begins at 0800 hours in the Main Hall. Attendance is mandatory. Hydration stations have been restocked with your personalized supplements. Please ensure you consume your allotted intake before curfew. Nexagen thanks you for your participation in building a healthier tomorrow.”
The screen blinked off as abruptly as it had come on, leaving the pod in silence again, but Jake’s ears were ringing. Personalized supplements. That’s what they called the stuff in the water, the stuff in the pills they handed out at meals. He’d felt it today, after lunch—energy surging through him like he’d mainlined caffeine, his hands steady, his mind sharp. Too sharp. He hadn’t felt this good in years, not since before the mines chewed up his knees and his lungs. But it came with a cost. That ache. The reflection. The way his skin felt too tight, like it was stretching over something that didn’t fit.
He stood, pacing the small space, his boots thumping against the hard floor. Two steps to the wall, turn, two steps back. The pod felt smaller with every lap, the air pressing in, that disinfectant smell burning his nose. He needed answers. Needed to know what Wren was hiding, what Maddie had meant by stuff you won’t believe. He stopped at the desk, grabbing the small notepad and pen they’d left there—branded with Nexagen’s logo, a double helix twisting into a circle—and scrawled a quick note. Meet me. 2200. Rec area. -J. He tore the page off, folded it tight, and shoved it in his pocket. Maddie’s pod was down the hall, number 52. He’d slip it under her door, hope she’d show. If she was sniffing around like he thought she was, she’d want to talk.
The wristband buzzed again, a sharp vibration that made him flinch. A tiny red light blinked on the edge, and a soft chime sounded from the wall screen. He glanced at it, expecting another canned message, but the text that scrolled across was different. Resident 47: Elevated heart rate detected. Please proceed to Medical Bay 3 for immediate evaluation. His gut twisted. They were watching. Not just through cameras, but through the damn band on his wrist. Every beat, every breath, tracked and logged. He tapped at the band, trying to shut off the alert, but the light kept blinking, insistent. The chime sounded again, louder this time, a nagging beep that drilled into his skull.
“Screw that,” he muttered, voice low, as if they could hear him too. He wasn’t going to Medical. Not after seeing Wren with that vial, not after feeling his bones grind. They’d poke and prod, draw more blood, pump him full of whatever was in those supplements until he didn’t even recognize himself. He yanked open the pod door, the hiss of the lock louder in his ears now, and stepped into the hallway. The blue glow of the doors was dimmer, the lights overhead flickering just enough to make the walls seem to pulse. He moved quick, heading toward Maddie’s pod, the note crumpled in his fist. His back screamed with every step, a deep, tearing pain that made his breath catch, but he pushed through it, sweat beading on his forehead.
Her door was five down, same frosted glass, same faint glow. He crouched, wincing as his spine protested, and slid the note under the gap at the bottom. It caught for a second, then disappeared, the paper scraping against the floor. He straightened, glancing both ways down the hall. Still empty, but that prickling on his neck was back, stronger now, like a hand hovering just out of reach. The air shifted, a faint draft carrying that overripe smell, and he coughed again, the metallic taste sharper, coating his throat. He turned to head back to his pod, but a sound stopped him—a low, rhythmic tapping, coming from the far end of the hallway, where the lights didn’t quite reach.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Like a finger against glass, slow and deliberate. His pulse spiked, the wristband buzzing again, but he ignored it, squinting into the dark. The tapping grew louder, closer, and then he saw it—a shape, barely visible, just beyond the last pod door. Tall, too tall, limbs too long, moving with a jerky stutter that didn’t match any human gait. His mouth went dry, the ache in his back flaring hot as he took a step back. The shape tilted its head—or what he thought was its head— and the tapping stopped. Silence pressed in, heavy and wrong, and then a voice, thin and reedy, hissed through the air. Not from the shape, but from everywhere, like it was coming through the walls. “Resident 47. Medical Bay 3. Now.”
His legs moved before his brain caught up, turning him back toward his pod, fast, almost a run. The hallway stretched again, endless, the blue glows blurring as he passed them. His wristband was a constant buzz now, the red light flashing frantic, and behind him, the tapping started again, faster, matching his footsteps. He didn’t look back. Couldn’t. His hand shook as he waved the band over his lock, the door hissing open just as the tapping seemed to reach the pod before his. He stumbled inside, slamming his palm on the manual lock override, a heavy bolt sliding into place with a thud. The pod was dark, the screen off, but he could still hear it—faint, through the door. Tap. Tap. Tap.
His breath came in ragged gasps, chest tight, as he backed away from the door, hitting the edge of the bed and collapsing onto it. The wristband finally stopped buzzing, the red light fading, but his heart didn’t slow. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t staff. Wasn’t a volunteer. It was something else, something tied to this place, to whatever Nexagen was doing. He thought of the vial again, of Wren’s face, of his reflection blinking on its own. The pain in his back was a steady throb now, radiating out, and when he touched the base of his spine, his fingers came away damp. Not sweat. Thicker. Warmer. He didn’t look at them, didn’t want to see. Just wiped them on his jeans, the rough fabric scraping his skin, and stared at the door.
Minutes passed, or maybe hours—he couldn’t tell. The tapping had stopped, but the silence was worse, a weight that pressed against his ears. Then, a soft scratch at the door, barely audible, like nails dragging slow across glass. His stomach dropped, a cold dread pooling deep, and he gripped the edge of the bed, knuckles white. The scratch came again, longer this time, and a shadow flickered across the frosted panel of the door, too tall, too thin, lingering just on the other side. The air in the pod turned frigid, his breath fogging in front of him, and that overripe smell surged, choking, filling his lungs until he gagged.
“Jake?” A voice, sharp and hushed, cut through the haze. Not from the door, but from the small vent near the ceiling. Maddie. Her tone was urgent, edged with something he couldn’t place—fear, maybe, or excitement. “Jake, you there? I got your note.”
He scrambled to his feet, ignoring the scream in his back, and moved to the vent, keeping low, out of sight of the door. “Yeah, I’m here,” he rasped, voice barely above a whisper. “You seein’ this? Somethin’s outside my pod.”
A pause, then her voice again, tighter. “Don’t look at it. Don’t open the door. I’ve been recording—there’s noise, stuff on the tapes I can’t explain. We gotta talk, but not here. Not now. Rec area, 2200, like you said. If it’s clear.”
He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it, his jaw tight. “Yeah. If it’s clear.”
The scratch came again, louder, and the shadow on the door shifted, pressing closer, the glass warping under some unseen weight. Maddie’s breath hitched through the vent, a faint static crackle behind it. “Jake, don’t move. Don’t make a sound. I’m cutting off now.”
The vent went silent, and he was alone again, crouched in the dark, the cold seeping into his bones. The shadow lingered, unmoving, and the air grew thicker, the sweetness so strong it burned his throat. His back pulsed, wet heat trickling down his skin, and he clenched his teeth against the pain, against the urge to scream. Whatever was out there, it wasn’t leaving. Not yet. And whatever was inside him—whatever they’d put in him—was waking up. He didn’t know how long he could hold out, didn’t know if 2200 would come before something broke—him, or the door. But he had to try. Had to get to Maddie. Had to know what the hell was happening before whatever was on the other side of that glass decided to come through.
Jake’s breath came shallow, barely a whisper in his chest, as if even the smallest sound might tip whatever loomed outside the door into action. The glass held, but the shadow pressed against it, a smudge of darkness that seemed to pulse, to breathe, though he couldn’t hear a thing beyond the faint hum of the facility’s ventilation system. The air in the storage closet was syrupy, that cloying sweetness sticking to the back of his throat, mixing with the copper tang of his own blood. His back burned where the skin had split—again—along the spine, a thin trickle of heat sliding down to pool at the waistband of his jumpsuit. He didn’t dare touch it. Didn’t dare move. Not with that thing outside, not with the ache in his bones telling him something was wrong, worse than wrong, something growing where it shouldn’t.
The shadow shifted, just a fraction, a ripple of movement that made his gut clench. It wasn’t a person. Couldn’t be. The shape was too long, too thin in places, too wide in others, like a body stretched over a frame it didn’t fit. He squinted through the dark, the dim emergency light above casting a sickly green over the shelves of cleaning supplies and spare parts. The glass door was frosted, obscuring detail, but he could still make out the way the shadow seemed to bleed at the edges, smearing into the frame as if it wasn’t solid. His fingers tightened around the handle of the mop he’d grabbed earlier, the wood slick with his sweat, though he knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing if that shadow decided to come through.
Minutes dragged, or maybe hours—he couldn’t tell. Time felt slippery in here, the silence pressing against his eardrums until they ached. The wristband on his arm buzzed once, a sharp vibration that made him flinch, the tiny screen glowing with a reminder: Hydration Check, 2100. He bit down on a curse. Hydration check meant the water, the damn water they all had to drink, the stuff that tasted too sweet, too clean, like it was hiding something. He hadn’t touched his ration since morning, not after the way it made his head spin, his hands shake. But the wristband didn’t care. It’d buzz again in ten minutes, louder, and if he didn’t swipe the confirmation, someone would come looking. Someone, or something.
The shadow moved again, a slow drag across the glass, and Jake froze, his pulse hammering in his neck. It was turning, or maybe shrinking, the edges pulling in until it was just a smear, then nothing. Gone. He waited, counting to ten, then twenty, his breath still caught somewhere between his ribs. The glass stayed empty, the hallway beyond it a gray blur of nothingness. He edged forward an inch, the mop handle creaking under his grip, and pressed his ear to the door. Nothing. No footsteps, no breathing, just the faint hum of the vents. His back throbbed as he shifted, a fresh wave of wet heat spreading across his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the sting.
He had to move. Had to get to the rec area by 2200, had to meet Maddie, had to figure out what the hell she’d seen, what she’d heard through those vents. Her voice had been tight, clipped, the way it got when she was holding back panic. She’d cut off quick, too quick, like she didn’t want him to hear something. Or maybe she’d heard something herself. He didn’t know which was worse.
Jake eased the door open, just a crack, the hinge letting out a faint squeak that made him wince. The hallway was empty, the fluorescent lights overhead flickering in a slow, uneven rhythm. The air out here was cooler, but still heavy with that saccharine edge, clinging to his skin like damp cloth. He stepped out, mop still in hand, his boots silent on the polished floor. The hallway stretched left and right, identical doors lining both sides, each marked with a number and a purpose—Storage 3B, Maintenance Access, Bio Lab 2. He’d been in enough mines to know a maze when he saw one, and New Eden was a damn labyrinth, all clean lines and white walls hiding God-knows-what. He turned right, toward the rec area, keeping close to the wall, his eyes darting to every shadow, every corner.
His back pulsed again, sharper this time, and he stumbled, catching himself against the wall with a grunt. The pain was different now, not just a cut, not just a tear—it felt like something moving, shifting under the skin, pressing against the bone. He squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose, the smell of disinfectant and artificial sweetness choking him. “Get it together,” he muttered under his breath, the words rough, barely audible. “Ain’t nothing. Just a scratch. Just—shit.” Another stab of pain, and he doubled over, the mop clattering to the floor. His hand went to his back on instinct, fingers brushing the wet fabric of the jumpsuit, and he froze. The skin wasn’t just torn. It was… raised. Like something was pushing out, a ridge where there shouldn’t be one.
He yanked his hand away, heart slamming against his ribs, and forced himself to straighten. Not now. He couldn’t deal with this now. Had to get to Maddie. Had to— His wristband buzzed again, louder, insistent, the screen flashing red: Hydration Overdue. Report to Dispensary. “Screw you,” he hissed, smacking the thing against the wall, though it didn’t stop the buzzing. He kept moving, faster now, the rec area two halls down, past the communal dining space. The facility was quiet, too quiet for a place with two hundred people. No voices, no footsteps, just the hum of the vents and the flicker of the lights. He passed a window, a narrow slit of reinforced glass looking out on the town square—or what passed for one. The streetlights glowed a sterile blue, casting long shadows over the empty benches, the manicured grass that looked too perfect, too green for West Virginia dirt. Nothing moved out there. Not a soul.
He turned the corner, and the rec area door came into view, a wide double slab of glass with Recreation Zone 1 etched in frosted letters. The lights inside were dim, just a faint amber glow spilling through the cracks, and he slowed, his grip tightening on the mop handle. Maddie had said 2200 if it was clear, but his wristband read 2155, and he didn’t know if she’d be there yet. Didn’t know if anything else would be. He pressed himself against the wall, edging closer, his boots scuffing softly on the floor. The glass was cold under his palm as he peered through, squinting into the shadowed space. Ping-pong tables, a few couches, a wall of books no one ever touched. Empty. Or so he thought, until a flicker of movement caught his eye near the far corner, behind the pool table.
His breath stopped. Someone was there, crouched low, half-hidden by the table’s bulk. Too small to be a guard, too still to be playing around. Maddie? He tapped the glass, a light knock, and the figure flinched, head snapping up. Dark hair, sharp eyes catching the amber light—Maddie. Relief hit him like a punch, but it didn’t last. Her face was pale, paler than he’d ever seen, her mouth a tight line as she gestured for him to come in, quick, her hand shaking just enough to notice.
He pushed through the door, the hiss of the automatic seal loud in the quiet, and crossed the room in long strides, dropping the mop against the wall. “You okay?” he rasped, voice low, eyes scanning her for blood, for anything wrong. She didn’t look hurt, but her fingers were white-knuckled around the little recorder she always carried, the one she thought no one noticed.
“Fine. I’m fine.” Her words came too fast, clipped, her gaze flicking past him to the door. “You? That thing—did it follow you?”
“Didn’t see it. Lost it back at storage.” He shifted, wincing as his back twinged again, and her eyes narrowed, catching the movement.
“You’re hurt.”
“Ain’t nothing. Just a—” He stopped, the lie sticking in his throat. It wasn’t nothing. He could feel it, whatever it was, shifting again, a slow grind under his skin. Her stare pinned him, sharp as a blade, and he looked away, jaw tight. “Forget it. What’d you hear? In the vent. You sounded like you saw a damn ghost.”
Maddie hesitated, her thumb brushing over the recorder’s edge, a nervous tic. “Not saw. Heard.” She licked her lips, voice dropping to a whisper. “I was in the east wing, near the labs. Crawled through the maintenance duct to get a better angle on Calloway’s office. She’s been in there all day, talking to someone on a secure line. Couldn’t make out much, but her tone—it wasn’t right. She sounded… scared. Kept saying something about ‘containment,’ about ‘adjusting the dosage.’ Then I heard it. Not her. Something else. Through the recorder, not my ears. A sound, like—like grinding, but alive. Wet. I don’t know how else to—” She cut off, shaking her head, her knuckles pale against the device. “I played it back. It’s there, Jake. Clear as day. But I didn’t hear it in the moment. Only the machine did.”
His stomach turned, the sweetness in the air suddenly sharper, biting. “What the hell does that mean? Something’s in the walls?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe it’s not in the walls. Maybe it’s—” She stopped, eyes flicking to his back, to the way he stood too stiff, too careful. “Jake, what’s going on with you? Don’t bullshit me. I saw you flinch. What is it?”
He wanted to lie, wanted to brush it off, but the pain spiked again, hard enough to make his vision blur, and he hissed through his teeth, one hand bracing against the pool table. “My back. It’s… it’s messed up. Started after the last pill dose. Skin’s splitting. Feels like—feels like something’s in there. Moving.” The words tasted sour, wrong, like saying them made it real.
Maddie’s face went still, her eyes wide for a split second before they hardened. “Let me see.”
“No. Hell no. I ain’t—”
“Jake, shut up. Let me see.” She stepped closer, her voice low but firm, no room for argument. He glared, but the pain was too much, and he turned, slow, lifting the jumpsuit just enough for her to see the base of his spine. Her sharp intake of breath told him everything before she even spoke. “Christ. It’s… it’s not a cut. It’s raised, like a welt, but harder. Like—God, like bone. There’s blood, but it’s not… it’s not normal. It’s too dark. Too thick.”
“Stop,” he snapped, yanking the fabric down, his face hot with shame, with fear. “Just stop. I don’t wanna hear it. I can’t—” He broke off, hands curling into fists, the ache in his back now a constant throb, a reminder of something he didn’t want to name. “What the hell are they doing to us, Maddie? What’s in that water, those pills? I felt good at first. Too good. Now this. Now… whatever’s out there, watching.”
She didn’t answer right away, her gaze distant, fingers still on the recorder. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, too quiet. “I think it’s not just the pills. I think it’s this place. The ground under us. You’ve been in the mines. You know what’s down there, what they used to pull out of the seams. Not just coal. Stories, right? Things miners saw, things they didn’t talk about. I thought it was just folklore, just nonsense to scare kids. But after what I heard today… I think Nexagen knows. I think they’re not just testing us. They’re feeding something. Or waking it up.”
Her words hung heavy, the air in the rec area suddenly colder, the amber light dimmer. Jake’s throat tightened, old memories clawing up from the dark—tales his dad used to mutter after too many beers, about shadows in the shafts, about men who went down and came back wrong, if they came back at all. He’d laughed it off then, chalked it up to exhaustion, to methane playing tricks. But now, with his back burning, with that shadow at the door still vivid in his mind, he wasn’t so sure.
“We gotta get out,” he said, voice rough, barely above a whisper. “Before it’s too late. Before I—before whatever’s in me gets worse.”
Maddie nodded, but her eyes were grim, her mouth a tight slash. “I’m trying. I’ve got enough recorded to blow this wide open, but I need more. Hard proof. Something they can’t spin. And I need to get it out of here, past their firewalls, their guards. I’ve got a contact on the outside, but the signal’s blocked. Every transmission’s monitored. I need time. And I need you to hold it together, Jake. Just a little longer.”
He wanted to argue, wanted to tell her time wasn’t something he had, not with his body turning on him, not with whatever was outside that door. But her face stopped him—the set of her jaw, the glint in her eye that said she wasn’t giving up, not yet. He nodded, short and sharp, though his hands shook as he did. “Fine. But if I start—If it gets worse, you don’t wait. You get out. Promise me that.”
She didn’t answer, just looked away, her thumb brushing the recorder again. The silence stretched, heavy with things neither of them wanted to say, and outside, through the rec area’s narrow window, the blue streetlights flickered once, twice, then went out completely. Darkness swallowed the square, a void so thick it pressed against the glass, and Jake’s breath caught, his back throbbing in time with his pulse. Something was out there, waiting, and he didn’t know if it was coming for him, for her, or for whatever was left of them both. But as the pain sharpened, as the ridge under his skin pushed harder, he felt it—a certainty, cold and unyielding as coal. Whatever was happening, whatever Nexagen had started, it wasn’t stopping. Not tonight, not ever, unless they burned it to the ground. And even then, he wasn’t sure the ground would let go.