Beneath the Surface

Nathan's world had shrunk to the confines of his cell and the cold, colorless corridors of the GRA facility. Isolation gnawed at him, feeding his paranoia and weaving thoughts through the fabric of his sanity like invasive vines. But if they thought they could break him, they were mistaken—he would not give in.

Days drifted by, lost to the monotonous hum of fluorescent lights and the stale, recycled air. Nathan's gaze fixed on every detail he could find, cataloging every oddity, every crack in the facade of the facility, searching for any clue that might reveal a way out. It was during one of these aimless mental exercises that he began to notice something peculiar.

It was subtle at first. The agents who passed his cell had a certain stiffness to their movements, their steps slowing and eyes hardening whenever they passed particular cells. Whenever a "high risk" Blessed individual was nearby, Nathan noted a distinct shift in their demeanor—shoulders squared, hands hovering closer to their holstered weapons, eyes darting with wariness. It was as if they feared something, as though they expected a threat to emerge from the very people they were meant to contain.

The curiosity was maddening.

One evening, after a meal that tasted of cardboard and ash, Nathan stood near the small, reinforced window in his cell. Outside, he could barely make out another figure, slumped against the wall of an adjacent cell. Their shoulders were hunched, eyes vacant, their face twisted with an expression he recognized all too well: resignation. They had been here far longer than he had—perhaps months, maybe even years—and whatever spark of rebellion they'd once had was long extinguished.

Nathan's stomach twisted, a hollow ache settling in his chest as he realized he wasn't alone in this place. He had always assumed the GRA operated in secrecy, only bringing in anomalies when absolutely necessary, but it was clear now that they were holding more than just a few captives.

He squinted, focusing on the faint, almost imperceptible marks etched into the wall beside the other Blessed's cell. They were symbols, jagged and cryptic, like desperate attempts to convey some hidden message, scratched into the walls with a furious intensity that spoke of despair and defiance.

What did they mean?

Nathan traced the outline of a similar mark on his own cell wall, wondering if it held any significance, if it was more than just the ramblings of the broken.

His isolation was interrupted one day by an unexpected visit. The door slid open with its usual mechanical hiss, and an operative stepped inside, his uniform marked with insignia Nathan hadn't seen before. This one was different—not one of the cold-eyed guards or the callous medics, but someone with authority, someone who carried a clipboard with an unsettling sense of purpose.

The man's eyes were dark and calculating, his expression unreadable as he studied Nathan, who stood defiant and silent, masking his curiosity with an air of nonchalance.

The operative's gaze lingered on Nathan's face, as if searching for something unseen. He flipped through the pages on his clipboard, then finally spoke. "I'm here to ask you about your… exposure."

Nathan blinked, caught off guard. "Exposure?"

"Yes." The operative's tone was clipped, each word pronounced with the precision of a scalpel. "We detected an anomaly breach not long before your capture. Our sensors registered a spike, a tear in the fabric of our world that coincided with your capture." He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. "We believe you may have encountered… something. A rift, perhaps."

Nathan's heart raced. Was this about the strange vision he'd seen? The flickers? Or perhaps the dark, endless realm he'd glimpsed in his dreams?

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady.

The operative's eyes narrowed, his gaze as piercing as a blade. "Interesting. So you claim ignorance. But our records show you were apprehended at the site of a known anomaly. You are here because you don't fit. There is something… irregular about you."

A cold sweat prickled Nathan's skin. He could feel the man's eyes boring into him, studying him like an insect under a magnifying glass.

"Why does it matter?" Nathan's voice was low, simmering with defiance. "What do you expect me to tell you?"

The operative smirked, a faint curl of disdain at the corner of his mouth. "We don't expect anything from you, Mr. Wilson. We simply want to know what we're dealing with."

Without another word, the operative turned and left, the door sliding shut with a final, echoing thud. Nathan was left alone in his cell, but the man's words lingered in his mind like a splinter.

Anomaly breach…rift…irregular.

A heavy silence settled over him as he tried to make sense of it all. But something about the operative's words stirred a deep unease within him, a nagging suspicion that perhaps there was more to this facility than he realized.

Hours passed, maybe days, until he was granted a rare opportunity to leave his cell under strict supervision. They led him through the stark, winding hallways, his wrists cuffed and his every movement watched with eagle-eyed intensity. Yet even amid the oppression, Nathan took in every detail, his mind cataloging and analyzing every corner, every door, every sign.

His eyes locked on a reinforced glass window along one of the corridors. Inside, he glimpsed another Blessed, strapped to a table, electrodes attached to their temples. The Blessed was struggling, their face contorted in agony as flashes of light pulsed in their eyes, like they were being forced to confront something deep within their mind.

Horror gripped Nathan as he realized what he was seeing—a mental test, an attempt to manipulate, to control. The Blessed's movements became sluggish, their struggles weakening, and Nathan could almost feel the tendrils of despair wrapping around them, binding them to the GRA's will.

He stumbled, the guards pulling him forward before he could fully process what he'd just seen.

"Move along," one of them barked.

Nathan's mind reeled as they continued down the corridor, the memory of the Blessed's agonized expression burned into his mind. This place wasn't just a containment facility—it was a prison, a cage meant to break those who wouldn't submit. They didn't simply monitor anomalies; they used them, stripped them of their autonomy, and left them hollow, shells of who they once were.

By the time they returned him to his cell, a quiet fury had ignited within him, simmering beneath his exhaustion. He was beginning to understand the extent of the GRA's control, the lengths they would go to maintain their dominance. But if they thought he would let them break him, they were gravely mistaken.

Late that night, as he lay on the cot, his mind racing with fragments of rebellion and defiance, the System pulsed again, its presence as chilling as it was familiar. This time, the message was sharper, clearer, etched into his mind with a clarity that sent a shiver down his spine.

Watch.

The word was singular, simple, yet it resonated with an urgency that set his nerves on edge. He scanned the room, his eyes darting to every corner, every shadow. Was someone watching him? Or was it something else—some force, some entity beyond the reach of the GRA?

The thought gnawed at him, digging into his mind, twisting his perception until every shadow seemed sinister, every creak and groan of the cell amplified into a menacing whisper. Paranoia seeped into his bones, a creeping sense of dread that left him questioning every detail, every sound.

Unable to shake the feeling, Nathan sat up, his eyes scanning the walls. His gaze settled on the strange symbols etched into the corners, marks he'd once dismissed as scratches but now seemed…intentional. Each line, each curve, was deliberate, crafted by someone who had shared this cell, someone who had likely succumbed to the isolation and despair.

Watch.

The System's message echoed in his mind, a dark reminder of the unknown forces at play. Nathan's fists clenched, his resolve hardening. He wasn't sure who or what was watching, but he could feel it—a presence lurking just beyond the veil of his perception, observing, waiting.

As he sat alone in the cold, suffocating silence of his cell, the symbols on the walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, whispering secrets he couldn't understand, promising revelations he wasn't ready to face.

And for the first time since his capture, a chill of genuine fear crept down his spine.