For the first time in weeks, Elias slept soundly.
Not because the alarms stopped. Not because the lights dimmed. But because the Cage had finally blinked.
Power flickered in two corridors. Surveillance was briefly rerouted. And four prisoners, once thought broken, had screamed—not out of madness, but *coordination*.
Something shifted.
But so did the consequences.
***
The next morning, the walls hummed louder than usual. The food tray was late. And the silence in the hall outside their cell was unnaturally thick—like the air just before a storm.
Malik paced the cell, barefoot and agitated. “They’re recalibrating. Figuring out where the cracks are.”
“They know there’s a network now,” Elias said, quietly.
Vesk stood near the door, pressing his ear to the seam. “They’re bringing in the Black Orderlies.”
Elias frowned. “Who?”
“Enforcers. Not guards. No names. Just masks and chemicals.”
As if summoned, the door hissed open.
Three figures entered. Not in grey or white, but matte-black uniforms with no insignias. Their faces were covered by opaque helmets. No eyes. No expressions. Just breathing tubes and tasers.One stepped forward and jabbed a syringe into Elias’s arm before he could flinch.
***
He woke in a new room.
Different from the cell. White walls. Metal restraints. Bright, unblinking lights overhead.
His arms were bound, chest strapped tight.
In the corner sat Commander Vohl.
“Good morning,” she said calmly. “We’ve entered Phase Two.”
Elias said nothing.
Vohl gestured to a screen, where his face was displayed in real-time. Heart rate. Blood pressure. Neural activity.
“You showed initiative yesterday,” she said. “Noise. Coordination. Bravo.”
Still, he didn’t speak.
“I’m not here to punish you,” she added. “I’m here to test your limits. You see, we don’t just erase dissidents anymore, Elias. That’s outdated. You’re part of a new protocol—Reconstruction through *Neural Narrative Realignment.*"
He scoffed. “You mean brainwashing.”
“I mean healing.”
She tapped a button.
The screen flickered to a new image: Elias, smiling, standing beside Dominion Party leaders. A fabricated photo. Below it, a headline: *‘Former Dissident Recants, Joins Party Reform Panel.’*
His stomach turned.“You’ll see this over and over,” Vohl continued. “Images of your cooperation. Records of apologies you never gave. Speeches you never made. But your brain—if isolated long enough—will stop distinguishing memory from suggestion.”
Elias clenched his fists. “You’re wasting your time.”
She smiled. “It’s not your *time* I’m after. It’s your identity.”
***
Back in the cell, hours—or days—later, Elias sat in silence, eyes bloodshot.
Malik tried to speak, but Elias barely responded.
The procedure hadn’t broken him.
But it had touched something—planted a seed of doubt.
He remembered his father’s voice. Or did he?
He saw a protest in Sector 3. Or maybe it was footage they showed him.
What was real?
Vesk noticed the change immediately. “They’ve begun phase immersion,” he said quietly to Malik. “He’s slipping.”
“We have to ground him.”
“How?”
Malik knelt beside Elias and took his hand.
“Tell me your name,” he said.
Elias blinked.
“Say it.”
“…Elias Vorn.”
“Who did you fight for?”
“…for the workers. The evicted. The silenced.”
“What did they show you?”
Elias hesitated. “A lie. That I gave up. That I joined them.”
“But you didn’t. Because you’re here. With us. Still fighting.”
The fog in Elias’s mind thinned. For a moment, clarity returned.
He exhaled.“Still fighting,” he repeated.
***
That night, the wall taps returned.
This time, from multiple directions.
Phase One had ended.
Phase Two had begun.
And now, the resistance inside the Cage didn’t just want noise.
They wanted a breach.
Not to escape.
But to hijack the system itself.
---
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