Subject ID: 47B
Cycle: Unknown – Post-Simulation Isolation
Coming back takes time.
Not from sleep. That'd mean rest. Peace.
Coming back from the simulation—that's different. It doesn't let go clean. It stretches you thin, like damp paper. And when they yank you out, you're not sure what parts are still yours.
Elias sits on the cot. Elbows on knees. Fingers at his temple like he could squeeze it out—whatever it is—if he just pushed hard enough.
Caleb.
A name that should mean nothing.
Probably used to.
But that crayon on the fridge hit like a fist. Right in the ribs.
He never pictured a kid. Never wanted one. Didn't trust himself with fragile things. The world doesn't let men like him keep soft stuff. All prison lets you hold is silence—and even that gets taken.
Now?
Now he sees that kid behind his eyes. Blonde hair. Crooked smile. Laughing in a truck bed while Elias ties down crates. A memory that didn't happen—but feels more solid than the walls around him.
He doesn't know what's worse.
That CONCORDIA built it.
Or that it was always there. Buried under the rust and the fights and the years.
A sound at the wall. Faint.
Scratching.
He stands. Walks over. Leans in.
"Jonah?" Quiet.
No answer. Just that steady scrape. Careful. Deliberate. Someone carving.
He knocks twice.
It stops.
Then, barely audible:
"She was real, Elias. I can still feel her hand in mine."
Elias shuts his eyes. Tries to shut it out. But his own mind won't back off.
Because he remembers, too.
A hand. Small. Tugging at his fingers in a grocery aisle.
"Daddy, can I get the blue cereal?"
His breath catches. Sinks onto the cot like the floor dropped out.
That never happened.
Did it?