Chapter 13 - Room B-17
The door to Room B-17 remained partially open.
No one touched it.
No breeze moved through the corridor.
Yet it continued opening inch by inch until darkness filled the doorway.
The elderly woman whispered a name.
"Emily."
"Who's Emily?"
"My younger sister."
"You said she disappeared."
"I lied."
She stepped toward the room despite our protests.
"I left."
"She didn't."
Inside, the room looked frozen in time.
A small metal bed.
A wooden desk.
A bookshelf filled with children's novels published in the 1960s.
Every object sat beneath a thick layer of dust.
Except one.
A porcelain music box rested on the desk.
It looked brand new.
The old woman reached toward it.
Rick suddenly barked so violently that she stopped.
The music box began turning by itself.
A soft lullaby echoed through the room.
Then a hidden projector activated.
Images appeared across the wall.
Children.
Dozens of children.
Walking through these same underground corridors.
Some laughing.
Some crying.
Some wearing identical gray uniforms.
Each child had a number sewn onto the sleeve.
No names.
Only numbers.
The projection shifted.
A classroom appeared.
An instructor stood before a chalkboard.
His face remained hidden by the angle.
Across the board were written three words.
OBSERVATION CREATES OBEDIENCE.
The realtor covered her mouth.
"This wasn't someone's house..."
"No."
The elderly woman shook her head slowly.
"It was an experiment."
The film continued.
One child suddenly turned toward the camera.
She smiled.
The elderly woman collapsed to her knees.
"Emily..."
The girl in the film hadn't aged.
She looked exactly eight years old.
The projection abruptly cut to static.
A distorted voice emerged from hidden speakers.
"Subject Thirty-Two remains compliant."
Rick sprinted into the hallway.
He wasn't chasing the sound.
May you like
He was chasing someone running away.
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