I strolled past the metal doors lining the marble walls, dozens of locks bolting each squat structure shut. Each stood with cold clarity, its purpose clear to those on either side of its body. Turning my gaze away from its foreboding presence, I focused on the twisting hallway ahead.  Despite working at the Hold for over a decade, I still required the small tablet that guided me through the maze. Currently, it lay in my pocket, whirring and clicking in defiance. Only when I reached an intersection did I slip it out and press the button located at its side. It was the only protrusion on the sleek device, however, if one was not searching for it, it could easily be missed. Just like all things in the Hold. 

Turn Left.

I turned left. The doubt that had filled my lungs when I was merely a novice had diminished to a negligible trickle but it never quite went away. The device had never steered me wrong yet my nerves shuffled and vibrated against one another as I ventured deeper into the identical hallways. Getting lost in this expansive web of indistinguishable paths was as easy as sinking into your dreams as the sun disappeared over the horizon. That is, a little too easy. If one were to get lost, the cameras attached above might pick up on your erratic movements but they wouldn’t set off any alarm unless you broke one of the Protocols. You didn’t want to break the Protocols. 

It wouldn’t take too long for manic delusions to seep into your brain, muddling up the swirling colors of thoughts with ebony strokes. I had seen it happen before to colleagues that had let pride imprison their reason, chests puffing out as they had set out to find their assignment with nothing more than a clipboard and a pen. They never came back. The search team would eventually be sent out, alongside a few CareTakers, until they stumbled upon a curled-up figure that had been dripping with confidence days prior. The smirk that had been permanently etched into their mouths would be wiped clean, leaving trembling lips in their absence. Pupils blown out, desperate whispers would spill past their lips, their words incoherent. But some were silent. No amount of poking or prodding would bring them out of their despondent state. It was almost as if they had never truly escaped the labyrinth, forced to live it out for the rest of their short lives. Those always haunted me the most. Ever since the first incident, I had learned to wade through the endless sea with the tablet in one hand and caution in the other. 

Turn Right.

I turned right. 

Shaking my head free of the clawing thoughts, I focused on the rhythmic steps of my spotless boots against the floor. Every collision between the stiff sole of my shoe and the glossy tile sent up a piercing ring, its sharp blade cutting through the shrill screams like butter. Moans of pain and desolate pleas danced through the air, the cacophony of cries crescendoing before falling back. It came in waves as if the Discarded were coordinating their trills until they all melded into one united voice. Squeaky scratches and resolute pounds against the thick doors enunciated the beats of the all-consuming song. Dread had once run through my veins like poison at the sound, both disgust and awe filling me to the brim until tears pricked my eyes. However, as the neverending clock of time turned, I found horror’s sinister cousin settling in my bones instead. Indifference.

You have arrived

I slipped the tiny machine back into the pocket of my lab coat, its weight bumping against my thigh. Two doors stood on either side of me, waiting. My eyes drifted toward the thin clipboard I clutched in my hand. Flush papers were held together by the slim clip at the top, neat letters covering the page. Everything was as expected, except for one thing. The letters were melting. They fell down the white space as if they were made of heated wax, each inky line swimming through the sheet in languid strokes. My fingers rubbed against the rebellious words, trying to will them to stay put. But they refused, only dripping faster. Panic caught in my throat, my heart thrashing against my ribcage. What was happening?

Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. 

The black curves and dips were back to their usual uniform patterns, each perfectly aligned. Sparks of confusion burst at the back of my mind but a blanket of rationality snuffed them out. The more time I spent standing and staring at the sentences typed onto the paper, the more it felt like it had never occurred. The distinct images that had been so vivid in my mind were slipping through my fingers like rushing water. Like a dream.

I needed to talk to Rebecca about taking a break next shift.  

Blinking rapidly, I cleared my head of the cloying thoughts. Instead, I shifted my focus back to the task at hand. 

Patient 56 - Transfer from Terit District

One test administered - Crytir injection (5 ml)

Strange. Why would they transfer a patient that had only been given one test? My fingers flipped through the rest of the file, eyes scanning over the various graphs and charts. The patient had been a newly-turned Discarded, most likely due to a minor infraction as they had only been given a singular Crytir injection. The insidious liquid was supposed to enhance the fundamental abilities of a human, but it was still a work in progress. However, its relatively minor symptoms made it desirable to new patients and high-tier Discarded. 

Finally, I got to the end of the file. Unlike the previous pages, the letters written had been scratched onto the blank page with a pen. The curved words were hardly legible, obviously done in a rush. This was only proven true by the dried coffee stain mingling with the edge of the paper. Dismissing the sloppiness of the report, my eyes were trained on the three crimson words scrawled at the center of the white space.

Administer Memory Oblong

Hesitation sank its teeth into my skin, but I shook off its wily jaw as I approached one of the two doors. The glossy marble forming the walls altered in appearance right next to the thick handle of the door, a square panel the size of my palm installed into the material. Countless repetition of the same job had ingrained the routine into me until it weaved into the fibers of my muscles. 

I swiped the glass-like material, a bright red dot lighting up at its center to indicate its active status. Tapping the red dot, I said, “Open up storage menu.”

“Opening up Storage Menu.” A soft buzzing followed the automated voice, the sound serving as a backdrop for the orchestra of screams echoing against the low ceiling. Within a few seconds, the screen was crammed with an endless list of items and the humming stopped. Similar to all things in the Hold, the list was in chronological order. Of course, this would have been quite inconvenient if not for the search bar located above the monstrous list. Not letting another moment go to waste, my fingers flew across the digital keyboard as I typed in the name of the item I desired. A single item popped up on the screen, a picture of a metallic pill beside its name. I tapped on the lone button, its rectangular body expanding to fill the rest of the display. 

Memory Oblong - 5 cm

Intended to draw the memories out of the consumer and project it for external observers. Could prove to be beneficial to various aspects of society, especially the psychiatric sector, if successful. Must be consumed orally by the patient. A minimum of 24 hours intervals between intakes is strongly advised. 

Possible Symptoms: Vomiting, hallucinations, rashes in neck and scalp regions, shivers, heart palpitations, panic attacks.

*Further testing required

The number of trial runs required before mass distribution wasn’t listed but it shouldn’t matter. All I knew was that my assignment was conducting and supervising one of those trial runs. Dropping the small box with the description to the dashboard, I clicked on the bright red button once more. “Open CommuniMic.”

“Opening CommuniMic.” The thrumming of the monitor lasted much shorter this time, not having to load millions of items. When it was finished, a tiny blue mic icon appeared at the corner of the screen. Blue? I was momentarily deterred by the unusual color, its blaze starkly different from the red that had always colored the tiny icon. Did the Hold go through a mass system update? Had I missed yet another memo? I pinned a reminder in my mind to check my email and alerts right next to asking Rebecca for a break. Rustling off the brief distraction, I leaned closer to the display. “Hello, Patient 56.” My voice was coated in saccharine sweetness, each syllable dripping with false enthusiasm. “How are you doing today?”

A beat of silence answered me, its presence as much of a response as anything the patient could have uttered. Undeterred by the patient’s solitude, I continued the scripted discourse that I received for all assignments. “Today, we will be giving you one Memory Oblong. The effects should set in after 10 to 15 minutes and you will feel as if you are reliving a memory. We are still unsure as to which memory you will be experiencing but—”

“Layla?” The speaker attached to the side of the monitor spit out the trembling voice. I froze. Realization surged through me, the freezing touch of cruelty brushing against my shoulder. The biting numbness of its fingers spread throughout my body until it reached my lungs, my breaths coming out erratic as oxygen failed to circulate as it always had. Thick cotton stuffed every crevice of my skull, soaking up any fleeting thoughts my mind held. No, it couldn’t be. 

Struggling to stay alert, I pressed one shaking finger to the red button. “Open camera.” My faint words were enveloped by the constant noise prevalent in these halls yet the machine still picked up the command, bringing up a live video of the patient’s room. A small boy who couldn’t have been more than the twelve sat in the corner of the room, his knees tucked under his chin. He wore the bleached robe that all patients were given after being stripped. Its sleeves hung loosely on the child’s arms, a size too big. He would’ve looked like any other Discarded if not for the faded scar stretching across his left cheek. I still remembered the panic that filled me as I had shushed his cries, wiping the running blood from his flushed cheeks. Mom and dad eventually found out but, once the pain had faded, he strutted around in pride, showing off his “battle scar” like it was plundered treasure. That same hysteria bubbled up my throat until I could taste bile against my tongue. 

“D-Derek?” I shuffled closer to the screen, watching my brother’s head snap up. The ever-constant light that had swum through his eyes without fail was gone, leaving oblivion behind. “What are you doing here? Why … ” Shock sapped every drop of energy from my bones, sucking them hollow. 

Blue and purple marks stained his neck and wrists, each an imprint of the abuse he had faced. Unlike his cherished scar, these injuries did not spark pride. “Help me, Layla. I can’t take it anymore.” Gasps rose from his chest as if every word was a battle. “I want it all to … stop.”

“This isn’t possible …” Derek looked up at the hidden camera, skin creasing as he suppressed the wave of emotions roaring inside him. My hand stroked his ragged figure on the screen as if I could claw him out of the glass cage. “You’re all supposed to be immune. I work here which means you’re all immune.” His frame sagged like a deflated balloon, the needle of misery stabbing into him. I played out every single scenario that could have led to this result but came up with nothing, each stunted by the Protection Clause in my contract. No family member, immediate or extended, of a Scientist was turned into a Discarded. Yet, what laid before my eyes ripped that agreement to shreds. It was all meaningless. 

I didn’t feel any guilt when I reached for the red button, commanding the door to be unlocked. Not a drop of regret touched me as I slammed open the metal cage. The breath of despair was damp against my neck but it fled as I brought my brother into my arms. Nothing mattered anymore. The Protocols and the Hold were nothing more than a vanishing memory. 

Until Derek disappeared. 

It was slow at first but soon, the glaring lights above streamed through his skin. Transparency settled into his figure until he was akin to a ghost. I clung to his frame, frantically grabbing at his stiff robes but they dwindled just as he did. My eyes locked with his but I only saw my wretched expression staring back at me. He was gone. I crumpled to the floor, anguish and exhaustion tugging at me on opposite ends until I was on the verge of tearing. 

Click.

“Hello, Patient 238.” The steady voice echoed against the walls, its tone so similar to my own. “How are you doing today?”

I didn’t answer. 

“It’s acceptable if you don’t answer. I understand the harrowing effects of taking a Memory Oblong.” A minuscule red dot blinked above the shut steel door. I never would have imagined that I would be on the other end of the screen. “Upon reviewing your trial, it seems that some of your memories were distorted by the Memory Oblong but much was kept the same. This is excellent news!” The Scientist’s perky voice was lost to me, dissipating into the stale air. “You will take another Memory Oblong in five hours and hopefully this trial will produce the desired results.” The red dot blinked off, the walls an unbroken mass of white once more. I stared into the sterile abyss, desperately clinging to my sanity. The only thing that stopped it from waning was your face. The way you were already dead before your heart even noticed. The way they had already shattered you into a thousand pieces and then went on to ground each shard. The way I was supposed to protect you from the cruelty that weaved into each facet of this world. The way I had failed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

My voice spiraled through the room but nothing answered back.