As Lorian scrutinized the bicycle, he noticed something peculiar.
The training wheels were not ordinary; they were fashioned from images of his mother's face, a symbolic representation of her role as the stabilizing force in his life. But the images seemed distant and blurred, like a memory tainted by time and regret.
"Yes, Lorian, your mother taught you how to ride the bike without falling, she was your training wheel.," the snake whispered, its voice a sibilant echo in the cavernous silence of the room. "But in a race, you can't win on a bicycle with training wheels. You must remove them. After a certain point, the training wheels just slow you down."
"Don't you wish she were dead?" The snake's insidious question pierced the air like a venomous arrow, its words laced with malice and deceit. It's voice was followed by a whispering echo, "But what if she already is?"
"No!" Lorian screamed; his voice raw with emotion as he grappled with the serpent coiled around his psyche. He lashed out, his hands clawing at the empty air, desperate to rid himself of the poisonous thoughts that threatened to consume him, thoughts that whispered of failures and a past he could not change
In that moment of turmoil, as reality blurred with hallucination, Lorian confronted the depths of his anguish and emerged with a newfound clarity. His mother's love had been his guiding light, her presence a source of strength and solace in times of adversity. He would not let the snake's whispers of doubt tarnish her memory or diminish his resolve.
With a fierce determination burning in his eyes, Lorian clutched the snake tighter and tighter, his fingers digging into its scaled skin. But to an outsider's eyes, it appeared as though he was strangling his own neck, a grim tableau of self-inflicted agony.
Thump!
He huffed, gasping for air, as reality rushed back in like a tidal wave crashing against the shores of his consciousness. Lorian trembled, shaken by the intensity of his own actions. Yet strangely he felt liberated by the fleeting moment of clarity that had pierced through the fog of his fears. It seemed as though the lack of oxygen to his brain from his self-strangulation woke him up from his hallucinations.
"Mother's illness may have shaken my life momentarily, but it has never extinguished the fire within me," he whispered to himself, his voice a quiet declaration of defiance against the forces that sought to hold him back. "I will win this battle, whatever it takes. For her. For myself. For the dreams that have never ceased to burn bright within my heart."
With renewed determination coursing through his veins, Lorian squared his shoulders and faced the challenges that lay ahead with unwavering resolve. He may have faltered in the darkness, but now, bathed in the light of his mother's love, he was ready to rise once more and seize his destiny with both hands.
In a bid to combat the overwhelming flood of emotions and fears, Lorian began to sing aloud, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence, "Ground control to Major Tom..." but the words caught in his throat, emerging as little more than a strangled whisper, drowned out by the cacophony of voices assailing him from all sides.
Simultaneously, he employed a technique to manage his anxiety, using his thumb to touch each finger on his right hand, skipping the ring finger—a method to distract himself and regain control amidst the chaos, but finding little solace as the voices continued to echo, growing louder and louder until they threatened to consume him entirely.
'Knowing that this is a sensory deprivation chamber, my mind is overreacting,' Lorian acknowledged. 'Ironically, my awareness of what awaits me here seems to intensify the experience, as if my brain is willingly succumbing to this scenario.'
Awareness of the situation, rather than alleviating his distress, seemed to exacerbate it—a strange twist in the psychological battle raging within him, one that left him reeling, struggling to maintain his grip on reality.
Suddenly he remembered a vivid memory from his past, a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the chaos...
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"Lorian, have you completed your homework?" his mother inquired, casting a loving gaze over her 12-year-old son.
"Mom, I'm not really in the mood right now," Lorian replied dismissively.
"Listen, Lorian," his mother began, her tone gentle yet firm. "Whenever you feel stuck or uncertain, try doing the opposite of what you feel. Take action. So, you're feeling lazy, right? What's the opposite of lazy?"
"Um, working hard?" Lorian ventured to say, his uncertainty evident in his voice.
"Exactly. Now, do the opposite of what you feel... work hard," his mother encouraged.
"Mom, I appreciate the advice, but honestly? That's literally the dumbest thing I've heard all morning. Just let me be, I'll get to it later," Lorian retorted, brushing off his mother's wisdom with youthful skepticism, unaware of how fleeting their moments together would be.
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'I was such a brat back then,' Lorian reflected, a wry smile playing on his lips. "The opposite of what you feel, huh? Well, I feel anxious right now. The opposite of anxious is confident, and confidence is something built upon past victories."
'I've spent countless moments meditating in my room. I can do this. Well, maybe not countless, but you get the idea, right? After all, you're me!'
'Your humor is pathetic,' a voice chided within.
"Yeah, so what? At least I have a sense of humor," Lorian retorted defiantly, pushing aside the inner critic as his focus returned to his racing heartbeat. Lorian endeavored to shift his perspective. "My heart has always been thumping. This heartbeat is proof I'm alive and can face anything." he reasoned, his voice steady with resolve.
"It's not a harbinger of my demise but a testament to my vitality. I won't succumb to fear just because my heart beats a bit faster." With each word, he felt a surge of newfound confidence coursing through him, dispelling the shadows of doubt that threatened to engulf him.
'Come on, Lorian, you've lost track of time. Who knows how long you've been here? Mom needs you. And even if you stay longer, there's no guarantee of winning. At least you'll get the participation cash reward. That might cover a few days of treatment,' a voice suggested, echoing the practical concerns in Lorian’s mind.
'You've been here for so long already, Lorian. Maybe you've already won? Let's go!' said another voice, urging him to leave the chamber.
'It's intriguing how they gave us the option to leave. Now, I feel confident but lack the will to stay,' Lorian mused. 'I'm like a confident alcoholic who believes they can quit but lacks the fortitude to do so. Or like the drug addict who convinces themselves it's been long enough to indulge 'just one hit,' only to spiral back into self-gratification.'
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Lorian realized that his mind was succumbing to demotivation. 'The opposite of demotivation is motivation,' he reminded himself, feeling a surge of determination coursing through his veins. 'I must remain steadfast and remember my purpose. I can't give up now. This isn't just about the money; it's for her. I have to win. I have to stay. I will persevere.' With renewed resolve, he anchored himself to his goal, refusing to let doubt or fatigue deter him from his mission.
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The Celestial Palace, Genesisville Military Base.
"Calloused mind," a masked man remarked as he observed Lorian on a monitor, his voice laced with a sinister undertone. "There's no need for further testing," He spoke into an oddly shaped phone, his words echoing in the dimly lit room. A soldier in a military uniform guarded the door, his face expressionless.
An eerie crackling resounded from the phone, "Lord Kaiser, all 73 participants have completed the trial, along with 10 of our moles. A total of 3 people have been deemed fit for the transfer, including Subject 21," Dr. Young's voice responded from the other end of the line, a hint of tension underlying his words. "However, terming an additional three of our men as winners along with the true victors, we have announced a total of 6 winners to avoid any suspicion from potential police investigation,"
"Good. Have Division C run background checks on the winners," Lord Kaiser commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative. He glanced at the soldier, who nodded in acknowledgment. "If they pass, we'll proceed with the transfer." His tone carried the tumult of his burdens, as if the gravity of his duties pressed down upon him.
"Yes sir..." Dr. Young responded.
There was a brief pause before Lord Kaiser's voice crackled from the receiver again, his tone firm. "And, Dr. Young, avoid using tranquilizers this time. Keeping them conscious during the transfer will improve their chances of survival. We can't afford another mistake like last time."
Dr. Young nodded thoughtfully, a hint of unease in his eyes. "Understood," he replied, placing the phone down. He looked towards Miss Sharon, his brow furrowing in thought. "Inform Subject 21 that he and five others have won the final prize," he said quietly. "You know the drill...don't let them get suspicious" His words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken tension. Shadows flickered ominously in the room, hinting at hidden secrets.
He continued. "Explain that the final stage involves data collection in another lab. He's been suspicious from the start, so be careful. Once Division C has the data, I will personally escort the winners to the Celestial Laboratory," Dr. Young instructed. "The rest will go with you to New Horizons."
"Yes, sir," Miss Sharon replied, her voice icy and emotionless. An ominous aura seemed to emanate from her inscrutable eyes as she prepared to carry out her orders.
'May fate be on all of your sides, ... after all, it must be done, for the greater good,' Dr. Young prayed alone in the dimly lit room, his words tinged with a somber resonance as he grappled with the weight of the decisions made.
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A few minutes later,
Lorian's trial room.
The door swung open amidst the blinding white light.
Lorian squinted, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness. Voices and laughter filtered in from outside, blending with the gentle whisper of a cool breeze that carried the soothing scent of lavender and a faint hint of lipstick. The fresh air was a stark contrast to the sterile room he had just left, and it awakened his dulled senses. For a moment, a rush of pleasure coursed through him, quickly replaced by a knot of confusion.
'Wait, I don't remember pressing the red button,' he thought, blinking rapidly. 'Did I fail after all?' His stomach churned with the possibility of failure. The familiar voices in his head began their cruel chorus, taunting him. 'Even after trying my best, I failed,' he thought, a wave of dejection washing over him. He tried to recall if he'd actually pressed the button, but his mind was a haze of doubt and self-recrimination. 'I thought I had it under control.' A mix of anger and disappointment bubbled up inside him. 'At least I'll get the participation prize,' he thought bitterly, the sting of loss cutting deep.
Miss Sharon stood in the doorway, her expression a blend of professional detachment and faint curiosity. “It’s been 30 minutes since you entered,” she said, her voice cool and precise. “Our protocols don’t allow us to keep you inside any longer.”
Lorian blinked, processing her words. “So, I didn’t fail?”
“Correct. Congratulations, you’re one of the victors. You and five others have completed the trial,” Miss Sharon replied.
Relief flooded Lorian as he stepped out, the strain on his eyes and mind easing. 'I did it,' he thought, exhaling in a long, relieved breath. His shoulders relaxed, and a genuine smile spread across his face. 'I've proven you all wrong after all!' he cheered internally, silencing the pessimistic voices that had plagued him.
Miss Sharon's lips curved slightly, a fleeting softness in her eyes as she noticed his smile. However, her professionalism quickly returned. “You’ll have 10 minutes to rest. After that, we’ll take you to the lab for data collection.”
Lorian nodded, still smiling. Inside, he felt euphoric. This wasn't just a victory in the trial; it was a triumph over his own self-doubt. 'I am not a failure,' he reminded himself, looking forward to a brighter future. He imagined sharing this moment with his mother, the one who had always believed in him. Her advice had led to this triumph, and he couldn't wait to thank her and share his joy.
"What does this data collection involve?" he asked, curiosity piqued.
"We will scan your brain and body for various neurotransmitters," Miss Sharon explained. "From this data, we can understand how different individuals react under pressure."
"How long will it take? I have some errands to run today," he added, thinking of his mother. He could barely conceal his excitement as he imagined returning to her side with the cash in hand.
“It might take several hours, but if it runs over, we’ll compensate you,” Miss Sharon replied, adjusting her glasses.
"Okay then..." Lorian began to walk out when Miss Sharon spoke again, "Sir, slowly place the token you are holding on the plate located outside the door. Be careful not to change its current shape."
Lorian paused, surprised by the instruction. He looked down at the token in his hand, noticing for the first time that he had subconsciously reshaped it during his time in the chamber. It now resembled a chess piece—a pawn.
"Huh?" he blurted out in surprise. Lorian tried recalling the moments in the chamber when he had nervously fidgeted with the token. "Strange... I tried my best not to bend it. It's almost magical how it changed shapes," he remarked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"You unconsciously molded it during the heat of the trial," Miss Sharon responded. "We have found that some people bend it under pressure, some squish it, while others shape them into strange patterns by the end."
Lorian nodded, absorbing her explanation. "But why did I shape it like a pawn?" he asked, puzzled.
"That's one of the things we’re researching," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of mystery. "Perhaps it reflects how you see yourself... or how you think others see you." Her enigmatic tone suggested there was more to the token than met the eye.
Lorian approached a plate on a table-like contraption to the right of the door just as he was instructed. He eyed the contraption with curiosity. 'I wonder what it does,' he thought.
Beneath the plate sat the contraption, featuring two buttons: one ivory, the other lavender.
Lorian carefully placed the token on the plate, making sure not to alter its current shape.
Miss Sharon watched him closely. She pressed the lavender button on the device, her gaze curious. A mechanism descended over the plate, enclosing the token.
"This device acts similarly to a microwave. Once heated, the token will solidify," Miss Sharon explained, her tone clinical. However, it seemed the machine served a purpose beyond mere solidification. A petite violet symbol was etched into the token as it hardened.
The contraption soon opened, and Miss Sharon gestured for Lorian to take the now-solidified token. Its form was unyielding, permanent.
As Lorian gazed at the token, a strange sensation surged through him. He felt a connection, as though it was an extension of himself. The token seemed to pulse with life, causing shockwaves through his hand and into his head. A vision filled his mind: a young man, bow in hand, striding purposefully toward a village with sturdy walls. The villagers within bustled with their daily activities, oblivious to the weight of the young man's presence. The scene broadened, revealing a dense forest encircling the village. Within the shadows of the trees stood statues, so lifelike they appeared as if real people had been frozen in the midst of motion, their expressions captured in a silent, eternal vigil.
Before Lorian stood a statue of a man with an indistinct face. Its stance was one of readiness, a sword held loosely in one hand, the other arm extended as if reaching for a star. Its eyes pierced into his soul. "Swept away in tides crafted by others... sails tattered with guilt, dreading the gales of ambition..." a voice echoed from within the statue. "Feeble against the mind's ruse, unable to hold onto the past and truth" A blend of injustice and anger laced the statue's words. "Merely a pawn in fate's game... where persistence endured and aspirations waned, when will you uncover the ruse of the mind?" The voice reverberated through his very being, leaving a lingering unease.
The phrase lingered in Lorian's mind, instilling a deep sense of unease. It was as if the voice wasn't just speaking to him, but was a part of him—a shadow lurking in the depths of his consciousness.