May 26, 2052

Dear diary,

I’m cold. I woke up this morning to half of my blankets toppled onto themselves. I had another nightmare. That makes this four in a row. I’m no closer to seeing the face. Right when I come up behind it, I reach my hand out, inches from its shoulder, before I’m pulled from the nightmare. Waking up this morning, I’m met with a pounding inside my skull. I forgot that I’m being monitored. I can’t even move my hands without getting tangled up inside this mess of wires.

I’m scared. The pit inside my stomach keeps growing. I always have a desire to puke after these nightmares. Should I go and throw up? Would they let me puke? Or would they want to investigate that too?

I’m sick of this liquid diet they’ve got me on. The liquid comes in stainless steel cups with lids I’ve never been able to pull off. It’s contents are always cold when it reaches my lips. Some days I wish they’d give it to me hot. Just for a change.

I’ve overheard parts of conversations outside my door this week. I made out the words “specimen” and “death”. It’s unusual they speak like this, knowing I could be listening. Which, to be honest, I always am. I have to be. They never answer my questions in full honesty.

I do miss Issac though. He was my truest friend. He would lay beside me and together, we’d sit and talk through the curtain from dawn to dusk. I never saw his face, or his body for that matter, but he was the same age as me. He told me about all his old favorite movies. The guy was a huge movie nerd, to be completely honest.

I still don’t understand why he got moved. When I called out to him the other morning, I was met with silence. I’m worried about him.

June 1, 2052

Dear diary,

I’ve finally been allowed to eat solid foods! A miracle! My doctor came in this morning informing me of the good news. He’s…odd. I think he’s probably in his early thirties. When he speaks to me, it’s like he’s just reciting a speech he’s told hundreds of times. He apologized profusely to me about keeping me on a liquid diet for so long. Apparently I’ve now regained my strength enough for solid foods. Honestly, the liquid diet feels like ages ago. I’m just so happy to see a burger again. Smoky cheddar, crispy bacon all atop of a medium cooked ground beef patty?! My mouth is so ready for this.

My doctor informed me that my body is still undergoing a healing journey, after the traumatic event. He asked me if I could recall the event, but I can’t. Most of my memories fit together like Tetris blocks, except for this mysterious gap listed as “traumatic event”. He kept smiling at me, assuring me that my memory may come back in bits and pieces in time, but there’s also a chance it’ll never return. Either way, he said I truly have nothing to fear.

June 8, 2052

Dear diary,

I’ve been on an even more restricted bed rest for the last week. My nurses said I had a horrible allergic reaction to solid foods. Who can be allergic to solid foods? I’ve never had this problem before. The first days were the worst. I don’t think I managed any longer than an hour before I emptied my stomach of any contents left inside.

I overheard a couple nurses discussing the whereabouts of my doctor’s sudden absence earlier today. They kept assuring each other that he was fine and would return in a few days’ time.

“He’s going to be fine, Janet. Stop worrying.” They clutched each other in a tight embrace, as the nurse, who I’m assuming was Janet, began shaking heavily.

“Excuse me” I called out. “When is my doctor returning?” Neither of them moved for a brief moment, before finally coming towards me. They only gave me one verbal confirmation that he was okay. They smiled at me, Janet’s friend repeating one word as she nodded. It was a very unusual movement. “Fine.” Up. Down. “Fine”. Up. Down. Over and over.

When my eyes reached Janet’s, she gave me the same plastered smile. No head nods. Just a smile that sent chills down my spine.

I don’t know what memory I can’t remember, but I can sense something’s wrong.

June 12, 2052

Dear diary,

I have to get out of here.

I snuck out tonight. I can still feel my heart racing in my chest. It’s a miracle no one heard me. I have no idea what time it is. I can’t find a single clock on any wall inside this place. There’s no windows inside my room either. I have a projection screen with various images on it instead. I thought maybe that was just the case in my room, but I couldn’t find a single window anywhere in this entire building.

The walls were littered with stainless steel beams, drilled into white cement blocks. Either this building is to keep something in. Or something out. Truth be told, I initially went out looking for Issac. He has to be in here somewhere. I was unsuccessful. What I did find tonight, was multitudes scarier.

My nurses and doctor….they’re….not what I thought.

As I kept a steady, low pace across the polished linoleum floors, I could overhear voices. I couldn’t make out both voices, but one was clearly Janet’s. She was stuttering. “I’m…I….I’m tired.”

The other voice only spoke 1 word. 1 word in an eerily mechanical voice. “Yes.”

I couldn’t help it, but before I realized it, I was running towards the voices. As I peeked my head across the walls edge, I noticed the door was cracked not more than a few inches. Maybe 6 inches? Inside, Janet and her friend stood inside, surrounded by what looked to be lockers.

I watched Janet remove her gloves first, her hair a disshelved mess. Her white heels were kicked off to the side, taking away the extra inch of height they provided her.

“Anne, this suit is too hot.” I watched in suspense as Janet pulled at her hair, all of it sliding off in one fluid motion. A wig.

“Speak to the master about receiving an upgrade. I hear the newer suits are much more breathable.” A moment of silence before any words. “It is after hours, and our specimen is fast asleep. Turn, 0965. I shall unzip you.”

My breath caught in my throat.

They unzipped each other. Not their uniforms. THEIR SKIN. Human flesh, falling away into 2 perfect halves. What rested underneath, I have never seen anything like it.

I don’t know where I am, but I am not on Earth anymore.