The dim hospital corridor was silent as I shuffled along its length, clutching a piece of paper that would alter my life—or perhaps seal my fate. Room 201, the paper read, in neat, almost mechanical script. My heart pounded, not with hope but with the strangling sense that something was very wrong. The silence here felt unnatural. How could a place teeming with patients fighting for their lives be so dead quiet?
I glanced at my phone. Three missed calls from my brother, his messages urging me to reconsider. But for me, this was it. I’d exhausted every treatment, spent all my savings, and even with months left to live, each day felt like a step closer to oblivion. But this doctor… Dr. Han, the "miracle surgeon," had allegedly cured people no one else could. He was infamous worldwide for his success with a groundbreaking “neurological procedure.” Some were skeptical, yet the patients—all of them cancer-free—praised him. And here I was, clinging to the hope that I, too, might one day be free.
Inside Room 201, I was immediately struck by the darkness. Only a faint, eerie blue light illuminated the walls, and the equipment around me buzzed with a strange hum. In the center of the room, Dr. Han himself was seated, his face obscured by a shadow, save for his gleaming eyes.
“Ms. Zhou,” he greeted me in a voice as smooth as velvet. “Please, sit.”
As I settled into the reclining chair, a wave of nausea rolled over me. I wanted to ask him questions, to know what exactly this “procedure” entailed, but something in his stare kept my mouth shut. Instead, he strapped a cold device to my temples and fingers, explaining that it would track my brainwaves. His fingers moved quickly, adeptly, as if he’d done this a thousand times before.
"This may feel a little strange," he warned, pressing a button on the console beside him. “Just relax, and let your mind drift.”
A faint warmth spread through my temples, followed by a creeping chill. The walls around me seemed to bend, colors swirling as though in a dream. I blinked, trying to focus, but reality slipped further away. Somewhere in the distance, I heard voices—echoing, whispering, each word blending into the next until they became a chant. Struggling, I tried to turn my head toward Dr. Han, but my body felt paralyzed.
The chant grew louder.
“Yi … er … san.”
One … two … three. The numbers repeated, and I felt a sharp jolt in my chest, as if my heart had skipped a beat. Then, with terrifying clarity, a vision rose in my mind: a grand room, an altar covered in crimson cloth, people—hundreds of them—kneeling in unison. And there, at the center, was a figure cloaked in dark robes, his face hidden. They called to him, each chant tightening the air around me.
In a flash, the vision dissolved. Dr. Han was staring at me, his eyes darker than before, gleaming with a strange hunger. He whispered in my ear, "Don’t resist, Ms. Zhou. This is the path to freedom."
As he spoke, the voices returned, echoing louder this time, filling my head until they drowned out all other thoughts. But this time, they weren’t just voices—they were commands, absolute and overwhelming.
“Obey.”
The word reverberated through me, sinking its claws into my mind. A part of me fought against it, screaming silently, but a soothing warmth wrapped around my consciousness, pulling me under. It was as if a thick fog had settled over my thoughts, silencing my will, bending me to a singular purpose I couldn’t quite grasp but felt compelled to serve.
When I awoke, I was no longer in Room 201. The sterile, blue-lit walls had been replaced by a long, dim hallway. The patients around me, all of them clad in white gowns like mine, walked forward in a daze, their faces blank, their eyes unseeing. We were marching in silence, our feet moving in unison down the corridor, as if under a spell. I tried to break away, but my legs moved of their own accord, my body now merely a puppet.
Ahead, the doors swung open, revealing a room that looked nothing like a hospital. Tall stone pillars lined the walls, red banners draped from the ceiling, flickering torches casting eerie shadows. At the far end of the room, the cloaked figure from my vision stood, a faint, sinister smile flickering across his face. He lifted his hand, and at once, we knelt. I felt my knees hit the cold stone, pain shooting up my legs, but I couldn’t make a sound, couldn’t move.
“Brothers and sisters,” the figure intoned. “You have seen the truth. You have received the gift.”
His voice was unmistakable—it was Dr. Han. He slowly pulled back his hood, revealing his face, and my mind twisted in horror as I understood. The man I’d trusted, the man I’d thought would save me, was not a doctor but something far darker.
“Cancer was only a vessel,” he said, his voice smooth and sickly sweet. “A tool to bring you all here, to free your minds from mortal pain. Now, you are bound to me.”
A silent scream filled my mind. I struggled against the fog that wrapped around my thoughts, the haze that had turned my will to dust. But his gaze was an iron vise around my soul, and I couldn’t look away. I could feel my mind bending, the strings of my thoughts being pulled tighter, forcing me to accept his words as truth.
He raised his hands, and a murmur went through the crowd as he whispered, “Let us share in the truth of pain, the freedom from fear.”
The others around me—my fellow “cured” patients—began to sway, their mouths moving in sync with his chant. I heard the words spilling from my own lips, unbidden, as if they were not mine but his. In that moment, I realized the horror of his work: he hadn’t cured us. He had enslaved us, fused our minds into a single, controlled hive, a living network that would obey his every command.
But just as I began to succumb, a jolt of clarity shot through me. A memory, raw and vivid, surfaced in my mind—my brother’s voice, warning me, begging me not to go. Resist, the memory urged. Fight.
With all the strength I could muster, I tore my gaze away from Dr. Han, breaking the trance for the briefest of moments. The chant faltered on my lips, and for a fleeting second, I was free. I felt a wave of horror flood me as I looked around, truly seeing the others for the first time. Their eyes were dead, blank, their minds hollowed out.
In that instant, Dr. Han’s gaze found mine, his eyes narrowing. He knew I had broken free, even if only for a moment.
“Ah, Ms. Zhou,” he said, stepping down from the altar, his voice laced with a chilling calm. “It seems your will is stronger than most. But no matter.”
He raised his hand, and a white-hot pain shot through my skull, as if he were tearing my mind apart from the inside. I screamed, feeling my vision blur, my thoughts disintegrate. It was like drowning, sinking beneath an ocean of darkness as his will crushed mine.
As my consciousness faded, the last thing I saw was his face, twisted in a triumphant smile. I knew then that there was no escape. He hadn’t just taken my life; he had taken my mind, my soul, leaving me an empty vessel, a tool to serve his dark purpose.
When I awoke again, the pain was gone. I was calm, detached, my fears and doubts erased. A hollow peace settled over me as I stood with the others, facing our leader, ready to do his bidding.
And deep inside, buried beneath layers of obedience, a single, fractured thought remained, like a phantom echo: This is not a cure.
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