The sky was a velvet black canvas dusted with scattered stars as the transport van rolled up to the quiet hospital entrance. Its frame was sleek and unmarked, its windows tinted to black. The hum of the engine barely pierced the silence of the night. Floodlights cast long, cold shadows across the snow-covered pavement.
It felt too quiet.
Inside the hospital lobby, Merda paced restlessly.
Ava Niccolo sat near the glass wall, her arms wrapped around herself, a loose hoodie drowning her thin frame. Her face was pale, even under the flickering fluorescent lights, and her eyes distant.
She hadn't spoken much since the transfer was approved.
Dr. Vanmere's name held enough weight for the hospital staff to authorize it quickly—too quickly.
---
"They said I can't come," Merda muttered angrily, approaching Ava's side again. "Security reasons, my ass. I've been by your side every day, and now I'm just... cut off?"
Ava slowly turned her head.
There was something calm about her expression, but it wasn't peace—it was resignation.
"I think this is the best option," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't stay here, Merda. You've seen it. I'm losing it. I wake up screaming. I don't sleep. I... I feel like someone's in my skin."
Merda crouched down, taking her hand gently.
"Don't talk like that. You're not losing it—you're scared, and rightfully so. Anyone would be after what you've been through. But this place they're taking you to—it doesn't feel right."
Ava offered a hollow smile.
"Nothing has felt right in years."
A moment of silence passed between them.
Merda looked down, blinking back tears.
"I don't want you to go alone."
"I won't be alone. Not really. You'll still be with me, here." Ava placed a hand over her chest. "You saved me once. I need to try saving myself now."
---
Just then, the orderlies entered the building.
Three of them—tall, silent, dressed in plain black with no insignia. Their faces were obscured by mirrored shields, reflecting everything but revealing nothing.
One of them nodded toward Ava. Another gently took the handles of the wheelchair.
Ava stiffened at the sight of them.
The third orderly stepped closer and, surprisingly, spoke. His voice came through a soft filter, flat and controlled.
"It's okay to be uneasy. The masks—we wear them for mutual safety and confidentiality. Patients and staff remain anonymous. It prevents... complications."
"Complications?" Ava asked.
The voice didn't change tone. "This facility handles cases with elevated psychological and emotional volatility. The mirrored faceplates remove assumptions, triggers, and emotional projections. You will come to understand."
Ava studied her distorted reflection in his mask. Her own face looked ghostlike.
"They make you look like machines."
"That's the point," the orderly replied, then took a step back, silent again.
---
Merda stepped forward, her voice tight. "No talking?"
The orderlies didn't respond.
They began to move the wheelchair. Ava stood and hesitated.
"I can walk."
One of the orderlies raised a hand—open, non-threatening. "Please. Protocol."
Ava gave Merda one last look.
"Please," she said softly. "Stay safe."
And then she sat down in the chair, letting herself be wheeled away into the dark corridor.
She didn't look back again.
---
The Facility
The van's interior was oddly luxurious. Soft leather seats, insulated walls, and blue ambient lighting that only served to make Ava feel more isolated.
There was no sound except the occasional shift of the tires against the winding mountain road.
Hours passed.
She must've dozed off at some point.
When her eyes opened again, they were passing through an immense gate, and beyond it stood a facility carved into the side of a snow-covered cliff.
It wasn't what she expected.
Brutalist design—cold concrete, harsh angles, no windows. The only lights came from embedded strips along the edges of the exterior walls, casting long vertical glows like artificial icicles.
The van slowed to a stop beneath a metal awning.
The door opened with a hiss.
---
Ava stepped out.
The air was frigid, and yet it was the silence that chilled her most. No birds. No wind. Just the sterile hum of a place built to keep people in.
The orderlies offered no words, only gestures toward the entrance.
Ava walked alone.
---
To her surprise, the lobby was... warm.
Soft lighting. A small waiting area with neatly arranged chairs. Behind a sleek reception desk sat a woman with short, curled hair and a kind smile. She looked human—gentle, even.
That unsettled Ava more than the masks had.
"Welcome, Ava Niccolo," the woman said, her voice lilting and calm. "My name is Elira. I'll be showing you to your room."
Ava blinked. "You're... not like the others?"
Elira chuckled softly. "You mean the mirrors? You'll see a lot of them, yes. But don't worry—they're here for everyone's safety."
Ava didn't respond.
She followed Elira down a long hallway.
---
Her footsteps echoed.
The facility was pristine but eerily hollow.
Every corridor was a labyrinth of mirrors—walls, ceilings, even parts of the floor. Ava avoided her reflection, unsettled by how alien she looked to herself.
They passed no one else.
The silence was more oppressive than any scream.
Eventually, they reached a small room.
---
Everything inside was spotless and white:
A single bed with crisp sheets. A desk. A chair. A large mirror where a window should be.
"There's no lock," Elira said kindly, gesturing to the door. "But the building is secure. Meals are brought to you. Medical staff will visit tomorrow to do a check-in. Until then, rest. You're safe here."
Ava stepped inside.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Elira paused at the door.
"Sometimes, things feel strange before they start to make sense. Don't be afraid to ask questions."
Then she left.
---
Ava stood in the middle of the room, staring at the mirror.
Her reflection stared back.
But something in it felt... off.
She turned in place, watching the mirrored walls and ceiling bounce her movements from every angle. The silence was so complete it pressed against her eardrums.
She sat on the bed and exhaled slowly.
Something inside her whispered that she had made a mistake.
But there was no going back now.
The descent had already begun.