The Historical Experiment

Eleanor's eyes fluttered open to a disorienting, vibrating hum. Her vision blurred before slowly sharpening to reveal the cramped interior of a van—a Chrysler, gray and unremarkable. She was completely restrained, her arms and legs bound tightly to the seat. The cold metal of the restraints bit into her skin, sending a wave of panic coursing through her veins. She struggled against them, but they didn't budge. The faint scent of motor oil and damp fabric filled the air, mingling with her mounting fear.

Through the van's windshield, Eleanor caught sight of a surreal landscape, one that seemed ripped straight out of a dream—or a nightmare. In the distance, nestled in the depths of a colossal canyon, was a strange structure unlike anything she had ever seen. A series of massive, interconnected domes spread out like pearls on a string, their white surfaces gleaming against the rugged, earthy tones of the canyon walls. Smoke—or perhaps steam—billowed from chimneys jutting out of the domes, curling into the crisp air and adding an eerie veil to the scene.

She blinked, her mind struggling to process the alien beauty of the sight. The buildings glowed faintly under the pale daylight, their pristine surfaces untouched by time or decay. The arrangement of the domes was intricate, almost too precise to be human-made. They were connected by thin, lattice-like walkways suspended high above the canyon floor. The overall effect was both mesmerizing and unsettling, as though the structures didn't belong to this world.

"What… is this place?" she whispered to herself, her voice hoarse.

Her captors weren't visible. The driver's seat and passenger seat ahead were empty, the van idling in eerie silence. Eleanor's gaze darted to the side window, but the view offered no further clues—only more of the canyon and its impossibly alien neighbourhood.

The smoke rising from the chimneys danced lazily, but there was something unnatural about it. It seemed alive, curling and spiralling in deliberate patterns before dispersing into the air. The more she stared at the scene, the more the sense of mystery deepened. This was no ordinary canyon, and this structure wasn't the work of any human architect she knew.

She heard a faint hiss behind her, followed by the sound of movement. Her pulse quickened as footsteps approached the van. She craned her neck as best she could, trying to catch a glimpse of who—or what—was coming. The rear doors creaked open, and the bright light of the canyon flooded the van's interior. Squinting against the glare, Eleanor's heart skipped a beat.

Two figures stood silhouetted against the light. Their forms were humanoid but taller, leaner, and somehow... wrong. Their skin glistened like polished marble, and their eyes—large, dark, and reflective—studied her with an unsettling intensity. They wore flowing white garments that seemed to shimmer and ripple like liquid under the light.

One of them stepped forward, inclining its head as if studying her. Its voice, when it came, was soft and melodic, yet completely alien. It spoke in a language she couldn't understand, its syllables resonating like a song trapped between a whisper and a chime. The other being moved to the side of the van, producing a device that emitted a faint hum.

"Where am I?" Eleanor demanded, finding her voice despite the fear constricting her throat. "What do you want with me?"

The first figure tilted its head further, as if considering her words. Then, it reached out a hand—slender, with too many joints—and touched her forehead gently. The moment its fingers made contact, Eleanor's mind was flooded with images: the domes, a pulsing light within their core, machines that seemed to grow and breathe, and countless figures like these beings moving through the halls of the alien city.

Eleanor gasped as a final image burned into her mind: Brandon, unconscious, being carried toward the largest dome at the centre of the canyon.

Before she could scream or resist, the figure withdrew its hand, and the world around her dissolved into white light once more.

Eleanor groaned as she regained consciousness, her head pounding and her limbs heavy. The sensation of cold metal against her skin jolted her fully awake, and she realized she was strapped to a chair—no, a medical chair, with restraints pinning her arms, legs, and torso in place. Her heart raced as she struggled against the bindings, but they held firm.

She scanned her surroundings. The room was stark white, illuminated by an intense, sterile light that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Directly in front of her stood several figures clad in strange uniforms—white suits that shimmered faintly under the light. Their faces were obscured by helmets that glowed softly, and through the translucent material of the helmets, Eleanor could barely make out vague, shifting features—lips that didn't seem quite right, as if they were still learning how to form.

The figures spoke among themselves in a slow, deliberate tone. Their voices were melodic yet disjointed, with an uncanny rhythm that sent shivers down her spine. She strained to make out the words, but the language was unlike anything she had ever heard. It was filled with elongated syllables and sharp, sudden clicks that seemed to resonate in the air.

Her gaze shifted to the opposite side of the room, where Brandon was restrained in a similar chair. His head was slumped forward, and his breathing was slow and laboured. Panic bubbled in her chest.

"Brandon!" she called out, her voice hoarse and trembling.

One of the figures turned toward her, the faint outline of its lips shifting into what might have been a smile—or a grimace. It stepped closer, its movements fluid yet eerily precise. Eleanor froze as the figure leaned in, its face inches from hers. Through the hazy helmet, she saw the lips move, forming sounds that resembled speech but were unintelligible. The voice, though soft, carried an unsettling weight, like a whisper amplified in her mind.

Another figure approached, holding a device that pulsed with blue light. The two figures exchanged words, their tones growing more deliberate. Eleanor caught fragments of their conversation—words that seemed to ripple in her mind rather than her ears.

"...assimilation... group... incomplete..."

One of them gestured toward her and then toward Brandon. The others nodded slowly; their movements synchronized. The leader of the group turned back to her, its helmet glowing brighter. A voice, clearer now, echoed in her head.

"You... will join."

"Join what?" Eleanor snapped, her fear fuelling a sudden burst of defiance. "What are you doing to us?"

The figure tilted its head, as though considering her question. It raised a long, jointed hand and tapped the side of its helmet. A series of images flooded Eleanor's mind: rows of humans seated in similar chairs, their faces blank and lifeless; towering domes filled with machinery and light; a glowing core deep within the largest dome, pulsing like a heart.

Then came the words again, spoken directly into her mind: "You... will be... part of the whole. Improved. United."

"No!" Eleanor shouted, pulling against her restraints with renewed vigor. Her voice cracked as she turned her head toward Brandon. "Brandon, wake up! Please, wake up!"

The figures turned their attention to Brandon, who was beginning to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and confusion flashed across his face before morphing into fear as he took in his surroundings.

"What's... happening?" he mumbled, his voice weak.

"They're trying to do something to us," Eleanor said, her voice urgent. "They want to... 'unite' us with some group."

Brandon's eyes locked onto hers, a flicker of determination cutting through his fear. "We're not letting that happen," he said, his voice low but firm.

The figures around them continued their discussion, their voices growing louder and more agitated. One of them pointed at Brandon, and another adjusted its glowing device. Their vague lips moved uncertainly, as if debating their next move, but their body language betrayed no hesitation. Eleanor's chest tightened as the realization sank in: whatever they were planning, it wasn't going to end well.

The leader stepped forward again, raising the device and pointing it toward Eleanor's head. A faint hum filled the air, growing louder with each passing second. Eleanor's pulse thundered in her ears.

And then, in an act of sheer desperation, she screamed, "You'll never break us!"

Brandon followed suit, shouting, "We're stronger than you think!"

The sound of their voices seemed to startle the figures, who paused mid-action. The leader hesitated, its glowing helmet flickering momentarily. For the first time, Eleanor thought she saw uncertainty in their movements—uncertainty that might be their only chance.

Eleanor's world dissolved into a suffocating blackness. The last thing she remembered was the sharp, precise pain of something piercing her skin near her jaw, followed by the sensation of a presence—an unfamiliar face, barely illuminated by a faint glow in the surrounding darkness, its expression unreadable. She tried to scream, to resist, but her body betrayed her, falling limp as her consciousness slipped away.

When she awoke, her body felt strangely weightless, as though the very air around her was pressing her down and lifting her up at the same time. She blinked against the soft, diffused light filtering into the dome-like room. The ceiling arched high above her, patterned with intricate, glowing designs that pulsed faintly, resembling constellations in an alien sky.

Eleanor sat up slowly, her body weak and trembling. She realized she was lying on a simple cot, its frame a metallic silver that reflected the light from above. Around her, dozens of other cots stretched in neat rows, each occupied by a person. She scanned the room anxiously. Everyone else was either asleep or lying still, their faces pale and slack, like statues caught mid-thought.

Her hand flew to her jaw, where she remembered feeling the sharp pain. There was no blood, no visible wound, but a slight ache lingered beneath the skin. She touched the area tentatively and felt a faint, metallic bump beneath the surface, small enough to go unnoticed but foreign enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Eleanor swung her legs over the edge of the cot and stood, her knees buckling slightly. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she was unrestrained. No chains, no bindings—she was free. But the freedom felt hollow, its edges tinged with unease. She glanced at the others surrounding her. They were an odd group, their appearances varied but all somehow... wrong.

A tall man with sharp, angular features and unnaturally bright blue eyes sat cross-legged a few cots away, staring straight ahead as if lost in thought. Beside him, a woman with wild, silver-streaked hair muttered to herself, her hands twitching in small, precise movements that seemed almost mechanical. Near the edge of the dome, a child no older than ten sat silently, her wide eyes reflecting the glowing patterns above as she hugged her knees to her chest. Each face bore an expression of quiet desolation, as though they, too, were grappling with a reality they couldn't fully comprehend.

Eleanor took a cautious step forward, her bare feet brushing against the smooth, cool floor. The air inside the dome was still, almost unnervingly so, and carried a faint scent of ozone. The walls, like the ceiling, seemed to pulse faintly, as though the entire structure was alive.

"Where am I?" she whispered, her voice cracking in the oppressive silence.

The silver-haired woman turned her head sharply, her pale, almost translucent eyes locking onto Eleanor's. She tilted her head, studying her like one might examine a curious object.

"You're awake," the woman said, her voice low and rough, as though she hadn't spoken in years. She gestured vaguely to the room around them. "This is where they bring us. After they take... whatever they need."

Eleanor's stomach churned. "What do you mean? What did they take?"

The woman shrugged, her movements slow and deliberate. "Pieces of us. Memories. Maybe more. You'll feel it, eventually. The emptiness."

A cold dread settled over Eleanor. She glanced at the others again, this time noticing the subtle, almost imperceptible changes in their features—unnatural symmetry, overly bright eyes, and an eerie calm that seemed to cling to them like a second skin.

"Who are they?" Eleanor asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

The woman laughed, a hollow sound that echoed in the dome. "They don't have names. Not like us. But they call this place The Nursery. For building... something new. Something better."

Eleanor's throat tightened. "And us? What are we supposed to be?"

The man with the bright blue eyes spoke for the first time, his voice cold and monotone. "We are the foundation. The raw material for their perfection."

Eleanor's legs wobbled, and she sank back onto the cot, her mind racing. She thought of Brandon, her heart aching with a mix of worry and desperation.

"Where's Brandon?" she demanded, looking between the strangers. "He was with me—another man. Dark hair, brown eyes. Where is he?"

The silver-haired woman's expression softened, but only slightly. "If he's not here, he's somewhere else. Maybe in the domes. Or maybe..." She trailed off, her gaze dropping to the floor.

"Maybe what?" Eleanor pressed, her voice rising.

The man turned to her, his unblinking eyes piercing. "Maybe he's already become part of the whole."

Before Eleanor could respond, the dome filled with a soft hum, and the glowing patterns on the walls brightened. The air seemed to shift, growing heavier, charged with an energy that made her skin prickle. The others sat up straighter, their movements synchronized as though responding to an unspoken command.

And then, as the hum grew louder, the only thought racing through Eleanor's mind was clear and urgent: I need to find Brandon—and I need to get us out of here.

But there was no trace of Brandon.

The afternoon dragged on, yet time felt fluid, slipping through Eleanor's fingers as she tried to piece together what had happened. The others in the room seemed to awaken fully as the hours passed, shaking off their initial stupor. Slowly, they began to interact, their movements and words uncoordinated at first but growing more purposeful with time.

Before long, the atmosphere in the circular room changed. It became charged with an almost frenetic energy as the group started to assemble in the centre of the dome. Eleanor, still seated on her cot near the edge of the room, watched warily. In less than half an hour, the quiet murmurs had transformed into a deafening cacophony of voices, each member speaking with rapid urgency. The acoustics of the dome amplified their chatter, making it almost unbearable.

Eleanor stood cautiously; her legs still shaky. She approached the group, hesitant but curious, drawn in by the sheer intensity of their interaction. There were twelve of them, each unique in appearance but eerily similar in demeanour. Despite the seeming chaos of their conversations, there was a strange coherence to it all. The group seemed to operate as a single organism, their voices overlapping yet harmonizing, their movements distinct but synchronized.

The silver-haired woman from earlier turned to Eleanor, her pale eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not connected yet," she said bluntly, her voice cutting through the noise.

"Connected?" Eleanor asked, frowning. "What do you mean?"

The woman gestured to the group. "It's like a web. Once you're in, you'll feel it. The thoughts, the patterns... it's how they've made us. No chains, no locks, but this—" she tapped the side of her head—"it's stronger than steel."

Eleanor's stomach churned. She had noticed something odd about the group's behaviour, a subtle but undeniable unity in their actions. They finished each other's sentences, anticipated each other's movements, and reacted as though guided by an invisible thread. It was unsettling.

She took a step back, her instincts screaming at her to keep her distance. "I don't want to be connected," she said firmly.

The silver-haired woman smirked, though there was no warmth in it. "You don't have a choice, darling. You've already been marked. You felt it, didn't you? That spike in your face? It's not just a mark—it's the key. They're letting you adjust before they bring you fully into the fold."

Eleanor's hand flew to her jaw, her fingers brushing the faint bump beneath her skin. She felt her breath quicken, her heart pounding in her chest. "How do I stop it?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

The group's chatter suddenly quieted, as if they had all heard her question. Twelve pairs of eyes turned toward her, their expressions unreadable but intensely focused. For a moment, the room was suffocatingly silent, the weight of their collective gaze pressing down on her.

Then, the man with the bright blue eyes spoke, his voice calm but chilling. "You don't stop it. You can't. Once you're marked, you're part of the process. The only question is how much of you will remain when it's done."

Eleanor's blood ran cold. She stumbled back, her mind racing. I need to find Brandon. I need to get out of here before it's too late.

The silver-haired woman watched her carefully, her expression softening just slightly. "If you're going to fight it, you'll need help," she said. "The kind they won't let you have."

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. "What kind of help?"

The woman hesitated, glancing at the group before leaning in closer to whisper. "There's someone. Outside the domes. A survivor who escaped the connection. If you want answers—if you want to find your friend—you'll have to find him."

Eleanor's heart leapt at the possibility. "How do I get out of here?" she asked urgently.

The woman's lips twitched into a grim smile. "That's the hard part. They'll know the moment you try. But if you're fast enough, you might make it to the tunnels before they stop you."

Eleanor looked toward the group, now fully immersed in their synchronized chatter once more. The walls of the dome seemed to pulse, as if alive, as if listening.

"I'll find a way," she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. I have to.