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I closed my eyes, yearning for the solace of the Distant Vision, that one anchor in the storm of my life.
But as I sank into the depths of my mind, seeking the familiar threads of that comforting future, they felt… frayed, broken.
Ellie’s theory echoed hauntingly — had it been just a dream, a figment of my imagination?
A defense mechanism against the harsh realities of my existence?
The more I grasped at the tendrils of that vision, the more elusive they became.
Suddenly, the cell door slid open with a harsh, grating sound, jarring me from my introspection.
The acrid smell of the guards’ armor filled the room.
They stood there, looking down at me with their emotionless eyes.
I barely registered their presence, my spirit already defeated.
Usually, I’d summon every ounce of energy to resist, to fight back, to show them they couldn’t break me.
But now?
What was the point?
The one shimmering beacon of hope I had found in the darkness was gone.
They gestured for me to get up.
With a heaviness in my limbs, I complied, not bothering to resist.
What did I have left to fight for?
My ability, my “gift,” felt more like a curse than ever before.
Without Ellie’s grounding presence, the weight of the future, the pressure to see, to know — it all felt unbearable.
As I walked through the cold corridors, the familiar sounds of the facility were amplified: the hum of machinery, the muffled voices of guards, the soft echo of my footsteps.
But more than anything, I was hyper-aware of the silence around me, the palpable absence of Ellie’s soft voice, her laughter, her gentle breaths.
I tried to summon her image in my mind, to hear her voice, to feel her touch.
But it felt distant, a memory fading fast.
It was replaced by a deep-seated pain in my chest, a constant, aching reminder of the void she had left behind.
The guards led me to an interrogation chamber — a sterile, white room with a singular chair at its center.
The Supervisor wasn’t present, perhaps he didn’t feel the need to oversee my session.
I was no longer the rebellious prisoner; I was broken.
* * *
The white, cold illumination from overhead and the soft hum of the machinery were almost reassuringly familiar.
A tension hung in the air, an electric charge of anticipation.
The Supervisor entered from a side door, slowly and at his own leisure.
