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My fingertips grazed the cold metal floor beneath me.
No, this can’t be happening.
I wished with all my might that what I saw before me was just a dark dream, a grotesque nightmare that I could simply wake up from.
I yearned for the touch of the sun, the chirping of alien birds, and the warmth of Kuana beside me in the farmhouse.
Speaking of Kuana, a quick glance confirmed that he was right beside me, albeit not in the loving, comforting way I remembered.
He was slumped in a chair, tubes attached to various parts of his body, pumping unknown fluids.
We were hooked up to IVs, making us look like experiments.
All the memories, the freedom, the farm, the hope of a family — was it all a mirage?
Ikhax, sitting in a chair located strategically between us, smiled his sickening smile.
His deep-set eyes, radiating a cruel pleasure, glinted as he watched our reactions. “Ah, welcome back to reality,” he sneered, his voice echoing in the hollow metal chamber.
Kuana’s face contorted with rage and confusion, but it was clear, even to him, what had happened.
Every memory, every touch, every conversation in the last few days was nothing but a fabrication.
The Fabrication.
A cruel game orchestrated by the very enemy we thought we’d escaped.
My heart felt heavy, crushed beneath the weight of Ikhax’s deception.
Even the air seemed more oppressive than before, each breath pulling more effort than the last.
We’d been ensnared in Ikhax’s elaborate illusion, making our escape, our joy, our love, seem all the more fragile and fleeting.
The pain of betrayal was raw, but what hurt even more was the vividness of those fake memories — the happiness that was never truly ours.
Ikhax leaned forward, his face coming into the light. “Did you really think escaping me would be that easy?” He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down my spine. “You were in my Fabrication from the moment you came to my cell before your escape. Everything, right from that dusty planet to your cute little farm-life fantasy, was a construct of my design.”
I tried to speak, to shout, to scream, but my throat felt parched and words escaped me.
Beside me, Kuana, ever the fighter, spat out:
“Why? What do you gain from playing with our minds?”
Ikhax leaned back, reveling in our distress. “Information, dear Kuana. Every reaction, every conversation you had within the Fabrication, gave me insight. And trust me, it’s been most enlightening.”
The room felt colder than before, the walls pressing in on us.
The weight of our fake reality was crushing.
How could something that felt so real, so right, be nothing more than a mirage?
Yet, as my mind reeled from the revelations, a defiant spark ignited within me.
If the memories were a construct, then so be it.
But the emotions, the love, the bond between Kuana and me — those were real.
Those could never be faked.
