Wallis didn't know which way was up. The world was a weightless, spinning void until her spine hit the mattress. ‘Am I in heaven?’

  Slowly, she began to stir. A searing pain shot through her eyes the instant they flickered open, forcing them shut once more. The pain eased as soon as the darkness returned. ‘Am I in hell?’

  After a few seconds, she tried again, slower this time. No pain.

  The room was a tomb of industrial gray, devoid of windows and natural light. She lay on a sleek, unfamiliar medical bed. A blanket drawn to her chin emitted a faint, rhythmic hum—a strange contrast to the chill clinging to her bones.

  At a glance, she seemed whole. No missing limbs. No jagged scars.

  Turning her head, she saw her right arm suspended midair, wrapped in glossy black material with translucent tubes weaving through it like veins. Monitors beside it pulsed with sickly violet light. When she yanked her arm, the material didn’t just hold; it tightened, mirroring her pulse.

  ‘Wasn’t I attacked? Poisoned? Wasn’t I… dying?’ she thought.

  She immediately sat up, feeling dazed. As she moved, something fell from her head, and something else grasped her neck.

  A wet towel landed on her lap, confusing her. ‘A fever?’

  But the other thing, the one gripping her neck, that scared her. Weakly, she brought a hand up, her fingers brushing against the cold, unyielding smoothness of a collar binding her to the bed. With relative ease, she tilted her head to get a better look. The collar was a band of seamless white porcelain. A thin, emerald vein of light traced its center, flickering every time she drew a breath.

  It wasn’t choking her, but the implication made her feel sick. A sudden discomfort passed through her body, heavy enough to tempt her to lie back down.

  She rubbed her shoulder instead, forcing herself to stay upright. ‘Did they take me? Am I a lab rat now?’

  Her gaze drifted to her left hand, still rubbing her shoulder, and she noticed something peculiar: a mitten. Something about it felt heavy, as if numbing her hand, though she wasn't sure if she was imagining it. She tried to calm herself, prioritizing her safety.

  Scanning the bed frame, she spotted a nurse call button, a clear sign she was in a hospital. Relieved, she pressed it with her left hand, careful not to tug the collar. A soft click echoed in the quiet room.

  Now, she had to wait.

  Wait.

  “Wait,” she whispered.

  She scanned herself again. No visible injuries. No pain. "How long was I out?" she wondered, yanking the blanket off. She wore a hospital gown that reached her knees. Her legs looked fine, though a bit strange, and her feet wore the same odd mittens, albeit in a suspiciously sock-like configuration.

  Her gaze snapped back to her suspended arm. She vividly remembered the night when she was attacked. That night…

  The door hissed open, admitting a trio that moved with the agonizing slowness of a dream. A male doctor in a white coat, a woman in glasses, also in a coat, and a guard covered from head to toe in ornate black armor.

  They stared at her, and she stared back, her eyebrows furrowing.

  Then, the man opened his mouth. “Aaaahhh—”

  Wallis flinched. ‘Is he… screaming?’

  “Mmmiiisss, yyyyoouurrrr’ee aawwwaakke?…”

  Her stomach dropped.

  “Hhooowww arrreee—”

  “Stop!” she cried, cutting him off.

  The doctor’s expression slowly shifted from neutral to puzzled. They didn’t approach; the girl looked panicked.

  Why was he talking like that?

  “What’s wrong?” asked the doctor, his sentences seeming to arrive from a different time zone. It was as if the room were filled with syrup and she was the only one breathing normal air.

  Wallis rubbed her aching eyes, her jaw tensing painfully. “Where am I? What happened?”

  Both doctors took cautious, almost painfully slow, steps forward. The guard remained by the door, a silent, armored sentry.

  “You are in SymbioCare Medical Center,” the woman said, her words also elongated. “Level-4 Observation Wing,” she added, “You were found unconscious in a valley. We have no record of what happened to you. Yet.”

  Wallis glanced at the blanket she'd flung aside, grabbed a corner, and covered herself. “Why are you talking so slowly?”

  Turning her gaze from the monitor beside the bed, the doctor blinked. “Slowly?”

  She nodded emphatically. “You’re slow. Very slow.

  “And you talk fast,” the other doctor replied calmly.

  ‘Fast?’ she thought. ‘No. If I talked fast, I’d stutter.’

  The woman stepped forward, her movements deliberate. “For introductions, I am Doctor Sanders, and this is Doctor Benner. We’ll be overseeing your care for now.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “My care?” Wallis’ eyes narrowed dizzily. ”To what end?”

  Doctor Benner spoke. “Your care," he began, his words seeming to hang in the air, "is focused on your... unique physiological state.”

  “Unique… physiological state?” Wallis echoed in bewilderment, confusion widening her eyes. She shook her head in denial. “No, no…” Looking at them, her stiff head bowed down into one last confirmation, “No.”

  It was another long moment before Doctor Benner spoke again, sharing a look with Sanders.

  “Yes.”

  Wallis resolutely shook her head, staring down. Her jaw clenched excruciatingly, as her heart began beating loudly.

  “Oh, yes,” Benner said assuringly, approaching with light steps.

  “Miss?” Doctor Sanders said gently. “Would you happen to know what we might be referring to?”

  Wallis’ eyes rolled up to stare at Sanders. Between the slow movements of her facial features, she could see a hint of mocking.

  The patient’s breath quickened. Her mittened, free arm moved, grasping anywhere at the bed.

  They watched her with neutral faces.

  “We aren’t harming you,” Doctor Benner said. “Why are you panicking?”

  “Who the hell are you?” Wallis asked through gritted teeth, avoiding their gazes and staring down as her hand clenched the unmoving white mattress.

  The man smiled faintly. “Symbiocare.”

  “Miss?”

  Doctor Sanders glanced to the side at the guard as Wallis began pulling at her suspended arm.

  “Stop,” Sanders warned. The guard entered, the dark suspension creaking ominously as the patient struggled. Sanders frowned irritably. “Stop pulling—!”

  Doctor Benner calmly put a hand before her in interjection.

  The baton struck Wallis’ shoulder, and the world snapped back into violent clarity. The impact drove her into the pillows, breath knocked from her lungs. Her trembling hand clutched at the weapon as tears blurred her vision.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered.

  It was like an uncanny dream. The lag—it was like a rift in reality.

  “Nothing is happening—”

  Nothing was real.

  Letting out a strangled scream, Wallis grasped her face aggressively.

  Whether her captives thought she was harming herself more than their presence did, Wallis couldn’t see through the thick stream of tears.

  The room blurred. The lag fractured everything: voices, movement, reality itself.

  Someone said something. Someone stepped back. Then they were gone. When the door sealed shut, her left arm was restrained.

  She lay there shaking, unable to sleep, unable to move.

  Nothing felt like illusion.

  Yet nothing felt real.

  Maybe nothing was real, but something was a reality—or she wouldn’t be seeing.

  She needed answers.

  And they lay with her captors.

  After replacing the empty blood bag, Doctor Benner pressed a few buttons on a monitor beside the bed. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice still a dragging echo. Wallis answered with a glare.

  The two doctors had entered the room again, the guard at his usual post by the door. Both Doctor Sanders and Doctor Benner sat on chairs closer to the door than the bed.

  Wallis decided on calmness, mostly because she'd also decided to ignore the bizarre slow motion they were in. Who knows, maybe it was the effect of medicine or poison.

  “Where’s my Mom?” the girl inquired, turning her head on the pillow to look at them.

  “Rosaline?” Benner tilted his head. “Last we checked, she was at her estate. Keeping up appearances."

  “Where’s my Mom?” Wallis repeated with a deadpan expression on her face.

  Benner waved a hand, chuckling. “A joke, Wallis. Try to relax.” He offered a thin, joyless smile. “Rosaline is aware that you’re here. In fact, she confirmed your admission herself, but you’re in Level-4 Observation, so contact is restricted.”

  Wallis was dumbfounded.

  “How—”

  “We’ll answer your questions,” Sanders interjected, raising her voice, “but first, you answer ours—can you tell us your name?”

  Wallis raised an eyebrow. “My name? Shouldn't you know who I am?”

  Doctor Sanders looked at her with the same neutral look. “Do you?”

  The girl stared at them for a long moment, a small frown on her face. She lifted her chin, speaking quietly. “You know who I am, you already told me my mother’s name, and you called me Miss. So don’t pretend this is about memory.”

  She thought back to what she’d heard earlier and pondered a lot:

  ‘Found in a valley? Shouldn't I have been disposed of?’

  Doctor Sanders studied her for a long moment, then exhaled slowly.

  “You should understand,” she began, her voice measured and distant, “that cooperation is the reason you’re still here.”

  Wallis glanced around at the other man. Doctor Benner was the same as the other, if more composed, keeping the same flat, unreadable expression. Then, he spoke:

  “This is not about memory,” he nodded briefly. His eyes were intently fixed on the patient. “It’s about your physiology.”

  Wallis glared at him coldly.

  “Your name?” Doctor Benner asked.

  Trickery. Wallis recognized the pattern immediately.

  The questions were a trap—the classic 'Identity Sieve.' They weren't checking her memory; they were checking for the slip of a mask.

  Having told her her mother’s name, called her “Miss,” not “Mrs.,” they were now asking if she knew her own name.

  These were the simplest techniques used to trip up Skinwalkers—questions whose answers the interrogator already knew, meant to lure something inhuman into contradicting itself. If the subject hesitated or lied, the mask slipped.

  Which meant they weren’t guessing.

  They already knew exactly who she was.

  “...Wallis Muffien,” she stated slowly, a cold, sinking feeling settling on her.

  “Age?”

  “Fifteen,” Wallis replied. Trickery was essential when dealing with monsters, but she wasn't a monster, was she?

  Both doctors discreetly shared a glance. Doctor Sanders let out a sharp breath, looking at her clipboard. “And what happened to you? Do you remember?”

  “Yes, I do,” Wallis answered, the side of her lip twitching.

  “Then state all of it,” Sanders said harshly, her voice still painfully slow.

  Wallis frowned then sighed, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. Recalling the horrific night, she shivered.