Elias descended into the dimly lit basement of St. Meridian’s Hospital, the stark contrast to the Elysian Center above palpable. The room was sparse, save for a circle of mismatched chairs and worn-out rug, where seven figures sat in strained silence. Their gazes followed him as he entered, their faces etched with suspicion.
A silver-haired woman spoke first, her voice sharp. “You’re new here.” It wasn’t a greeting but an accusation. Elias stepped into the circle, introducing himself. Murmurs rippled through the group.
“You think you’re here to study us?” a gaunt man asked.
Elias’s reply was firm. “No. I’m here to listen.”
The woman scoffed. “Listen? You want to hear our crazy stories?”
Elias met her gaze steadily. “If they’re true.”
A heavy silence fell. Then, a bearded man began, his voice devoid of humor. “I was a painter in Paris. Now I’m an accountant in Ohio.” Another woman whispered about dancing under the stars, now reduced to mere existence.
Each story was fragmented, disjointed—a patchwork of memories clashing with their current realities. Elias listened, his internal clock ticking away the seconds. A younger man leaned in, eyes feverish. “Ever feel like something’s missing? Like there’s a hole in your chest?”
Elias flinched inwardly but kept his expression neutral. “I’m here to understand.”
The silver-haired woman snorted. “Understand? With your degrees and the Center’s lies?” She gestured vaguely at the group. “We’re not crazy, doctor. We were erased. Replaced.”
A chill ran through Elias. He felt a creeping doubt gnawing at him.
Another Original spoke up, her voice clear. “I saw you on the news once. Before.” Her eyes pierced him. “You had more life in your eyes.”
Elias’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She smiled sadly. “Before they took it away.”
A cold sweat trickled down Elias’s spine. He thought of the photograph in his drawer, the crumpled car, the blood.
The silver-haired woman leaned forward, voice low. “We have proof.” The young man handed Elias a small, worn photograph. It showed someone remarkably like him beside a crumpled car, blood smeared across his cheek.
Elias stared at it, heart pounding. The man was unmistakable yet unfamiliar. Panic surged within him. This couldn’t be right. A trick, a cruel joke.
He looked up, meeting their gazes—triumph and pity mingled in their expressions. They knew something he didn’t.
Elias stood abruptly, photograph clutched tightly. “I need to go.”
The silver-haired woman’s voice followed him. “Run if you want, doctor. The truth will catch up with you.”
He fled the room, breaths ragged. Back in the Elysian Center’s sterile halls, he leaned against a wall, unfolding the photograph. The stranger staring back was eerily familiar.
Elias thought of Lena’s nightmares—the broken mirror, the distorted reflection—and his own fragmented memories. Connections sparked in his mind like static. He needed answers.
He tucked the photograph into his pocket and headed to his office. Sitting at his desk, he pulled out the encrypted video file. The distorted voice echoed: “You’re not who you think you are.”
He inserted a USB drive, beginning the decryption process. Minutes ticked by. Finally, the video stuttered to life—grainy, distorted, but unmistakable. The same crumpled car, blood on the pavement. A figure staggered away from the wreckage, eyes wild and desperate.
“Help me,” the figure mouthed silently before collapsing out of frame.
Elias watched in horror. That was him—or it had been. The truth was unraveling faster than he could grasp it.
He leaned back, photograph still clutched in his hand. Echoes of a past he didn’t remember. A past catching up to him with every moment.
He thought of Dr. Cross, her guarded demeanor. Answers hidden in her silence. He stood, resolve hardening. He would find the truth, no matter what it cost.
Elias stepped out of his office, leaving the file decoding. The halls were quiet, but beneath the surface, something stirred—a current of doubt and fear. He made his way to Dr. Cross’s office, each step echoing his determination.
He knocked on her closed door. “Come in,” she called, steady and unyielding. Elias pushed open the door, stepping into the familiar yet alien space. She looked up from her desk, expression inscrutable.
“Elias,” she acknowledged. “What brings you here?”
He held up the photograph, voice steady despite the storm inside him. “I need to talk about this.”
Dr. Cross’s gaze flicked to the image, a flicker of recognition—or was it fear?—before neutralizing her features. “Where did you get that?”
Elias took a deep breath. “The Originals gave it to me.”