The Hollowed / Season 1, Episode 8
Traitor in the Joints
Jake’s boots scuffed against the polished tile of the Wellness Hub’s corridor, the echo swallowed by the hum of overhead vents pumping out that sterile, lemon-bleach smell. His knee throbbed, a deep ache that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, like something inside was tapping to get out. He’d been dodging the supplement doses for three days now, and the fog in his head was thinning, but the trade-off was this—his body turning traitor, joints grinding like rusted gears. He adjusted the wristband, the green light blinking steady, mocking him with its insistence that he was fine, optimal, tracked. “Group 3, Room 6, now,” crackled the voice through the overhead speaker, flat and mechanical, the kind of tone that didn’t ask. Jake’s gut twisted. Another session. Another round of stares from the techs in their crisp white coats, their clipboards shielding whatever they scribbled about him. He glanced down the hall—empty except for the flicker of a shadow at the far end, someone moving too slow to be normal. His skin prickled. Could’ve been Carl, or maybe Kayla, though after her “special session” last week, she didn’t move like a person anymore. More like a wind-up toy, jerky and wrong. He pushed through the double doors into Room 6, the air inside colder, sharp enough to bite at the back...