The lightning faded.
Darkness returned to the abandoned station.
For a moment, neither Kenji nor Myers moved.
Rain tapped against the broken windows. Somewhere above them, water dripped through a cracked ceiling and struck the floor in slow, uneven beats.
The crimson silhouette was gone.
But the anger it left behind remained.
Kenji could still feel it pressing against the glass, like heat from a fire no one could see.
Myers moved first.
He grabbed the photograph from the floor and folded it with shaking hands.
Kenji noticed.
"You're scared."
Myers didn't deny it.
"Good. That means you're paying attention."
He slipped the photograph back into his jacket and turned toward the side door.
"We can't stay here."
Kenji stood slowly, one hand pressed against his temple. The pain behind his eyes had dulled, but it hadn't disappeared. It sat there, deep and stubborn, like something was trying to claw its way out of his skull.
"What did I remember?"
Myers stopped.
His back remained turned.
"You tell me."
Kenji swallowed.
The memory came in pieces.
Bright lights.
Metal walls.
A child crying somewhere nearby.
A woman screaming for someone to shut it down.
Then the voice.
Calm.
Terrified.
Certain.
It's already awake.
Kenji's chest tightened.
"I saw a room," he said. "Not a hospital room. Something underground, maybe. There were people in coats. Alarms. Glass."
Myers turned halfway.
"Glass?"
Kenji nodded.
"Something was behind it."
The station felt colder.
Myers stared at him for several seconds.
"What kind of something?"
Kenji opened his mouth.
No answer came.
The image existed in his head, but every time he tried to focus on it, the shape slipped away. Like his mind refused to hold it.
"I don't know."
Myers' jaw tightened.
"That's how it starts."
"What?"
"Remembering wrong."
Kenji frowned. "That's not a real answer."
"It's the only one I have."
Myers walked to the door and looked outside before stepping back into the dark station.
"The first year after I came back, I remembered things too. Small things. A word. A smell. A face I didn't recognize. Then one day, I remembered a hallway that didn't exist."
Kenji stayed quiet.
Myers continued.
"I followed it."
"What happened?"
His expression hardened.
"I lost three days."
Kenji's skin prickled.
"Lost?"
"I woke up under a bridge thirty miles away with no shoes, blood on my shirt, and a name written on my arm."
"What name?"
Myers looked at him.
"Lazarus."
The word made the air shift.
Kenji felt it in his bones.
Not fear exactly.
Recognition.
His fingers twitched.
A sound left his mouth before he could stop it.
"Subject Seven isn't stable."
Myers froze.
The silence that followed was worse than the thunder.
Kenji blinked.
"What?"
Myers stepped toward him slowly.
"What did you just say?"
Kenji stared at him.
"I didn't say anything."
"You did."
"No, I didn't."
Myers grabbed his arm, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to stop him from stepping back.
"You said Subject Seven isn't stable."
Kenji's stomach dropped.
The words meant nothing to him.
And yet the moment Myers repeated them, pain flashed behind his eyes again.
A metal table.
Straps.
A monitor screaming.
Someone holding him down.
No.
Not him.
A child.
A child with blood running from his nose.
Then the memory snapped shut.
Kenji shoved Myers' hand away and staggered back.
"Stop."
"I didn't do anything."
"Stop saying it."
Myers studied him.
"You know what that means."
"No, I don't."
"You reacted before you understood."
Kenji clenched his fists.
"I said I don't know."
Myers lowered his voice.
"Only people inside Lazarus knew those designations."
Kenji felt the room tilt slightly.
"What designation?"
Myers didn't answer immediately.
His eyes moved to the broken windows, then to the door, then back to Kenji.
"Subjects."
Kenji went still.
"People?"
"That's what they called us."
The word us landed between them.
Kenji felt something inside his chest pull tight.
"You were one of them."
Myers nodded once.
"I think so."
"You think?"
"I woke up dead, remember? The people who had answers were either gone, missing, or lying."
Kenji stared at him.
"Then what was I?"
Myers' expression changed.
Not fear this time.
Concern.
"I don't know."
Kenji hated how honest it sounded.
A gust of wind pushed through the broken station. Dust lifted from the floor and moved in strange patterns around their feet.
Then the lights came on.
Not all of them.
Just one.
An old station light above the ticket booth flickered awake with a weak yellow glow.
Kenji turned toward it.
The glass window behind the booth was cracked, covered in dust and old fingerprints.
A word appeared on the surface.
Not written by hand.
Written from the inside.
SEVEN
Kenji's breath caught.
Myers whispered something under his breath.
The word faded.
Another appeared.
UNSTABLE
The station groaned.
Metal beams shifted overhead.
The temperature dropped fast enough for Kenji to see his breath.
Then a third word formed.
RETURNED
Kenji stepped back.
Myers reached for him.
"Don't look at it."
Too late.
The glass darkened.
Not like reflection.
Like depth.
Kenji saw a room inside it.
White walls.
A bed.
Restraints.
A woman standing beside a monitor, one hand over her mouth.
The woman from the photograph.
The survivor.
She was crying.
A child lay on the bed.
Too small.
Too still.
Kenji couldn't see the child's face.
Then the woman looked up.
Not at the people in the memory.
At Kenji.
As if she could see him through fifteen years of distance.
Her mouth moved.
No sound came through.
Kenji leaned closer without meaning to.
The glass cracked.
Myers yanked him back.
The vision vanished.
The station light exploded.
Darkness swallowed them again.
For several seconds, Kenji heard only his own breathing.
Then Myers spoke.
"What did she say?"
Kenji stared at the black glass.
He hadn't heard her.
But somehow he knew.
His voice came out low.
Almost not his.
"Don't let him wake up."
Myers didn't move.
Outside, the rain stopped.
All at once.
The silence became unnatural.
Then every window in the station fogged over from the outside.
Words began appearing across the glass.
Not one.
Dozens.
All written at the same time.
HE REMEMBERS
HE REMEMBERS
HE REMEMBERS
HE REMEMBERS
Kenji backed away.
Myers grabbed his jacket and pulled him toward the exit.
"We're leaving."
The door slammed shut before they reached it.
The sound echoed through the empty station.
Kenji turned.
At the far end of the platform, the darkness bent.
Something stood there.
Not the crimson silhouette.
Not fully.
A shape.
Tall.
Thin.
Wrong.
Its head tilted as if listening to something beneath the floor.
Then a voice came from everywhere at once.
Soft.
Dry.
Almost amused.
"Subject Seven."
Kenji's blood turned cold.
Myers stepped in front of him.
"No."
The figure did not move.
The voice continued.
"You were not supposed to remember."
The shadows around the platform stretched toward them.
Myers reached into his jacket and pulled out a small metal object. It looked like an old lighter, dented and scratched, with a symbol carved into its side.
Kenji recognized the symbol.
The hooked crescent.
Myers flicked it open.
A pale blue flame appeared.
The shadows stopped.
For the first time, the figure hesitated.
Myers didn't look back.
"When I say run, you run."
Kenji's hands curled.
"And you?"
"I've been running for fifteen years."
The flame trembled.
Myers' voice dropped.
"I'm tired."
The figure took one step forward.
The platform lights flickered on behind it, one by one, revealing nothing but empty space where its body should have been.
Only the outline remained.
Only the shape.
Only the feeling of a smile.
Then the voice whispered:
"Then stop."
The blue flame went out.
Darkness crashed over them.
Myers shoved Kenji toward the emergency door.
"Run!"
Kenji hit the door shoulder-first.
This time it opened.
Cold air struck his face.
He stumbled into the alley behind the station, Myers close behind him.
They ran.
Neither looked back.
Behind them, inside the abandoned station, the old public speaker crackled to life.
A woman's voice filled the empty platform.
Broken by static.
Shaking with fear.
"Subject Seven has breached containment."
The speaker hissed.
Then another voice answered.
Calm.
Terrified.
Certain.
"Seal the ward."
A pause.
Then:
"If he wakes up, we all die."
Kenji stopped in the rainless street.
Myers grabbed his arm.
"Keep moving."
But Kenji couldn't.
Because the voice on the speaker hadn't sounded like a stranger.
It had sounded like his mother.