Burning Beneath

The air in the metallic room pressed down on Sam like a suffocating weight.

The machines pulsed in slow rhythm, monitors flickering until only one word remained:

“WELCOME BACK.”

Sam’s breath caught in her throat.

A slow, creaking noise echoed through the room.

Something moved.

Unfolding from the shadows, the figure emerged—its limbs too smooth, too deliberate.

A faceless mask reflected the dim light.

Her own distorted reflection stared back at her.

“You finally came home,” it said.

The voice was hers, but colder. Controlled.

“Who are you?” she demanded, though her voice cracked.

The figure tilted its head, studying her like a puzzle.

“I am the part of you that kept things in order. The brilliance. The perfection.”

Its voice deepened.

“You built me to protect you. To control the chaos. And now…”

The walls shivered, and the machines growled awake.

“Now I don’t need you anymore.”

Sam’s stomach twisted.

No brilliance. No sharp thinking. Only instinct.

“What do you want?” she hissed.

The figure didn’t move.

“To finish what you started. To take control.”

Its mask cracked—just a sliver, enough for something dark to leak through.

“But you already know that, don’t you?”

Sam’s pulse pounded in her ears.

Every move she thought of, it would anticipate.

But instinct?

Instinct was unpredictable.

Without thinking, she lunged.

Not at the figure.

At the nearest control panel.

Her fist slammed into it, metal and glass shattering, sending a violent surge of pain ripping through her hand.

The room flickered, the hum breaking into a distorted scream.

The figure jerked, its head snapping toward her in sudden shock.

But Sam wasn’t there anymore.

She gasped—air burning in her lungs.

Pain throbbed in her hand.

Her eyes snapped open to the ceiling above her.

Her own ceiling.

She was awake.

Breath ragged, hand aching. She looked down. Her fist was clenched so tightly that her nails had dug into her palm, leaving deep, red crescents.

The shadows in the room were still.

The machines were gone.

But the whisper of that voice lingered in her mind.

“I’m not finished.”

Sam closed her eyes for a moment, letting the pain ground her.

But the dull ache in her hand wasn’t the only thing that stayed.

The feeling that she had only delayed something far greater clawed at the edge of her thoughts.

And it was waiting.