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墨書 Inktalez
The orange cat became my first clue in the pursuit of the truth.
I began searching online for related news reports. Strangely, I couldn't find any news about myself or Yang Ling; even the official website of that psychiatric hospital was inaccessible. However, in a corner of a forum, I stumbled upon a post:
"Secret treatment programs at the psychiatric hospital; they test new drugs on patients..." The post was deleted shortly after it was published, but I remembered the last sentence: "Pay attention to the scenes they use to cover up, like that nonexistent café."
This discovery sent chills down my spine. I decided to infiltrate the hospital for an investigation. This time, I didn’t enter through the front door but through the back fire escape. The hallway was as harshly lit as usual, but now I noticed a detail: all the surveillance cameras were pointed in the same direction—toward the so-called "café" treatment room.
Just as I was about to turn and leave, I suddenly heard familiar voices coming from around the corner. It was Doctor Zhang and Wang Ling. I quickly hid behind a wall and held my breath.
"How is the experiment progressing?" asked a strange male voice.
"The drug is responding well," replied Doctor Zhang, "but recently she has started to develop resistance; we need to increase the dosage."
"No way," said the male voice. "The dosage is already excessive. If she ends up like Yang Ling..."
"That won't happen," Doctor Zhang interrupted him. "This time we are fully prepared. The scene induction has been very successful; she has completely accepted that identity. As long as she continues to believe she is a patient..."
Footsteps grew closer, and I swiftly slipped into an adjacent room. Once they had moved on, I realized this was an archive room, but unlike last time, it contained records of drug experiments.
I randomly pulled out a document filled with dense data and charts. At the top was written: "Memory Reconstruction Experiment - Phase Three." Flipping to the next page, I saw my name alongside a series of drug codes, one of which was the antipsychotic medication I took daily.
What was even more unsettling was the next page: it had a photo of Yang Ling taped to it with the words "Experiment Failed" written beside it, along with a line in red: "Subject exhibited severe adverse reactions leading to suicidal tendencies."
My hands began to tremble. The suicide that day was not an accident; it was a side effect of the drug trial? What about the medication I’m taking now...
Suddenly, footsteps echoed in the corridor. I quickly snapped a few photos and returned the documents to their place. Just as I was about to leave, a fallen piece of paper caught my attention. It was a note, hastily scribbled: "Eight o'clock tonight, old place, bring the latest experimental data. —M"
Back home, I immediately checked the photos I had taken, only to find my phone empty; the pictures had mysteriously vanished. Yet, the contents of those documents were etched deeply in my mind. I began to recall the strange occurrences over the past three months:
Why had I never seen any other patients? Why did treatment always have to be at three o'clock in the afternoon? Why did I have an instinctive fear of that time?
I opened my drawer and poured out all the pills for a closer inspection. In the sunlight, I noticed that each pill had an extremely tiny mark on its edge: MTX-137. This was not any known drug code.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Peering through the peephole, I saw Wang Ling. However, her stance seemed odd, as if she were deliberately avoiding something. I didn’t open the door; instead, I sent her a message: "Let’s meet at the hospital."
She quickly replied: "Okay, old place, eight o'clock tonight."
That time... matched what was on the note.
I decided to go to the hospital early and wait. At seven-thirty, I hid in the shadows of the parking lot. Soon, a black sedan pulled up. Doctor Zhang stepped out, holding a file bag. He headed toward the back entrance of the hospital but did not go through the main door; instead, he turned down a small path I had never noticed before.
I kept my distance and followed him. The path led to a basement. Through the gaps in the iron bars, I saw a laboratory inside, its walls lined with monitors displaying different patient rooms. In the center screen was live footage of my home.
"She’s definitely suspicious," a voice said. "We need to activate the backup plan."
"No!" It was Wang Ling's voice. "She can’t handle a second memory wipe..."
Memory erased? A sudden pain shot through my head. Fragmented images flashed before me: the bright lights of the laboratory, the cold gleam of a syringe, countless nights controlled by drugs. And the most important memory: Yang Ling did not commit suicide; she was...
A hand rested on my shoulder. I turned to see a man in a white lab coat; his name tag read: Dr. M.
" Doctor Lin," he said, "or should I call you Experiment Subject L?"
I turned and ran. Behind me, I heard the chaotic sound of footsteps and the crackle of a walkie-talkie. I knew I couldn't go home; they must have set a trap there. But I had one place to go: the café. Yes, the real café, not the imitation inside the hospital.
If I remembered correctly, it was just around the corner across from the hospital. Sure enough, there was an old-fashioned café with a dusty window and a ginger cat in the display. But strangely, the place looked abandoned for quite some time; dust covered the glass.
I pushed open the door, and a bell chimed. The dimly lit interior was empty, and a musty smell filled the air. Yet on a table in the corner sat a cup with golden edges, steam still rising from the liquid inside.
On the table lay a card that read: "Welcome back, Doctor Lin. Remember, this is where reality lies."
It was my handwriting.
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