chapter 06 : Wiped Out

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ELENA

Two months ago

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I slowly opened my eyes. My head felt impossibly heavy. My eyes burned, and every time I blinked, the room seemed to shift between white and pale blue. A surgical light hung above me, so bright that I had to turn my face away. For a moment, I couldn't understand where I was. Then I realized I couldn't move. Panic came instantly. I pulled against my wrists. The restraints held. I looked down. Broad straps secured both of my forearms to the padded arms of the chair. My legs were restrained as well, my ankles fixed in place.

No. No, no, no. I tried again. Nothing. A low mechanical hum filled the room. Something covered both of my ears. Thin wires ran from the device toward a monitoring unit beside the chair, while small adhesive sensors had been placed against my temples and behind my ears. A monitor above me flickered. For several seconds, I couldn't make sense of the words. Then they became clear.

MEMORY SUPPRESSION: 87%

My breathing stopped. Memory suppression? A voice spoke somewhere beyond the room. Calm. Clinical. Almost emotionless. I couldn't make out everything it was saying. The earphones distorted some of the sound, turning the words into fragments. Then the door opened. Footsteps. Two people entered.

“She’s conscious.” The same calm voice.

Another voice answered. Familiar. “Good. Begin neural mapping.” A machine beside my head began producing a sequence of soft tones. The device against my ears responded with faint pulses. I felt something against my scalp. Not pain.

Pressure. Sensors. They were measuring something. My brain activity. “How long until suppression?” the familiar voice asked. The technician checked one of the monitors. “Initial mapping first. We need a functional baseline before we interfere with anything.” Interfere? My heart began hammering. The technician continued. “We'll identify the networks most strongly associated with autobiographical recall. Childhood memories, family associations, emotional attachments, learned responses.” My fingers trembled against the restraints. “And after that?” the familiar voice spoke again but this time my blood ran cold as I realised it was , Commander Joseph . The technician paused. “Sedation will be maintained throughout the stimulation phase. We can't guarantee complete erasure. That's not how memory works.” A strange flicker of hope appeared inside me. Then I can remember. The technician continued. “But we can disrupt retrieval and interfere with reconsolidation. If a memory is repeatedly activated while the relevant neural pathways are being manipulated, the association can become significantly weaker.” Commander Joseph was silent. “So she could forget?” “She could lose access to parts of her previous identity. Names. Faces. Emotional associations. Personal history. Some memories may survive, but become fragmented or inaccessible.” My blood ran cold. They're going to take me apart piece by piece. Another monitor beeped. The technician looked toward it. “Her stress response is increasing.” Commander Joseph's voice hardened. “Can she still remember?” The technician looked at the readings. “For now.” A pause. “Will she remember afterward?” The room became silent. The technician finally answered. “Not if the conditioning holds.” Something cold touched my temple. A small electrode.

I tried to move away. I couldn't. “Begin sedation.” The words hit me like a blade.

“No…” The sound barely left my throat.

A needle pressed into the IV port fixed against my arm. Coolness spread through my vein. The room softened around the edges. “She’s losing consciousness,” the technician said. Commander Joseph answered immediately. “Good. Begin the procedure.” My eyelids grew heavier.

The machines continued their quiet rhythm. A monitor displayed lines of electrical activity moving across the screen. The technician spoke in a measured voice. "Stimulation sequence beginning.” A faint pulse passed through the sensors against my head. My muscles twitched. Not violently. Just enough for me to feel it. Another pulse. Then another.

My thoughts became harder to hold. I tried desperately to remember something.

Anything. A face. A voice. A name.

Someone important. Someone I loved.

Who? The calm voice began speaking to me. “You are safe.” My thoughts slipped.

“You have always been here.” No. “You have no previous identity.” I tried to fight the words. That's not true. “You are a good soldier of the Reestablishment.” Another pulse. “You only serve the Reestablishment.” The words repeated.

Again. And again. Until they began blending with the machines. The technician watched the monitors. “Memory retrieval response is dropping.” Commander Joseph asked quietly, “And her identity?” The technician looked at the readings. “Becoming less accessible.” My breathing slowed. I tried one final time. My name.

Nothing. My family. Nothing. Someone.

Still nothing. The calm voice spoke one final time. “You are 888.” The number echoed through my fading consciousness.

888. Not Elena. Not a daughter. Not a sister. Not the girl who had once known a world beyond these walls. Just 888.

The machine continued its measured pulses. And somewhere inside my mind, the memories I had fought so desperately to protect became harder and harder to reach. I have to admit i am really getting tired of this . And then everything went black again. 9Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmKcOwibtPH

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