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墨書 Inktalez
The liquid in the coffee cup was still steaming, yet the café had clearly been abandoned for some time. I approached the table and discovered a key hidden beneath the cup, with a label that read: "Archive Room B103."
This was not the key to the hospital's archive room—the one in Area A. I had never heard of a B Zone before.
Outside, I could hear Police Sirens. Through the dust-covered window, I saw several black cars parked at the hospital entrance. People in white coats were coming and going, seemingly searching for someone. I needed to uncover the truth before they found this place.
I carefully examined every corner of the café and found a hidden door behind the bar. The rusty hinges creaked loudly as I opened it, revealing stairs leading down into darkness. The light from my phone illuminated the steps, revealing graffiti on the walls that read: "Remember the truth," "She is still alive," "L Project"... These were all my handwriting, written at different times, some already fading.
The basement contained a long corridor that led to the hospital's underground. It turned out that this café was the starting point of the entire experiment—here, they had first attempted to control patients' memories through scene fabrication.
B103 was at the end of the corridor. As I turned the key, lights flickered on automatically. This was no ordinary archive room; it resembled a hidden repository. On the innermost shelf sat a row of videotapes, all labeled with the same name: Yang Ling.
I randomly selected one and inserted it into the player. The screen displayed a familiar Consultation Room: "Today is Day 30 of the experiment," my voice echoed from the screen, "Yang Ling's condition is very unstable. I think we should stop the experiment; the side effects of these drugs..."
Suddenly, the footage cut off and switched to another scene—a hospital conference room where Dr. M was speaking: " Doctor Lin's concerns are understandable, but we must continue with the experiment. The development of the Memory Reconstruction Drug has reached a critical stage..."
The next segment shocked me even more. Yang Ling sat in the Consultation Room, looking dazed: " Doctor Lin, I feel like I'm not myself anymore. Which of those memories... are real?"
My voice was filled with regret: "I'm sorry, I can't continue this experiment anymore. It's too dangerous..."
The final scene took place on that Wednesday afternoon. Yang Ling suddenly broke down and pulled a scalpel from her bag: "They are controlling my memories; I must... I must end this..."
I rushed forward to stop her, and during our struggle, the blade sliced through my left hand's webbing. Then... the screen froze on a splash of blood.
So that was the truth behind that scar. It wasn't L's mark; it was a wound from my attempt to prevent a tragedy.
Beside me, there was a filing cabinet containing a complete report. As I opened the first page, it boldly stated:
Memory Reconstruction Experiment - Final Report Principal Investigator: Dr. M Assisting Researcher: Zhang Ming (Head of Psychiatry) Special Observer: Lin Miao (Psychologist, later became an experimental subject)
The report detailed the entire experimental process: they developed a drug capable of selectively erasing and reconstructing memories, and tested it on psychiatric patients. I, as a Psychologist, participated in the early experiments but sought to report the drug's side effects. To silence the truth, they instead made me a subject of their experiments.
There was a stack of photographs behind it. The first was a picture of me and Yang Ling, standing at the entrance of a café, our smiles radiant. It turned out that this café had once existed; it was a place where Yang Ling and I often discussed her condition. The second photo showed Yang Ling lying in a hospital bed, her wrists covered in needle marks. The last one was a gruesome scene photograph, with the back inscribed: "Experiment Subject L committed suicide; project terminated."
Everything became clear. Yang Ling was not merely a depressed patient; she was one of the first subjects of the Memory Reconstruction Experiment. Those drugs had destroyed her consciousness, leaving her unable to distinguish between reality and illusion. And I, in my attempt to expose the truth, had also been drawn into this mad experiment.
They erased my memories with drugs, making me believe I was a doctor who had gone insane due to a patient's suicide. That fake café therapy room was merely a prop to reinforce this false memory. And L might symbolize my remaining true consciousness under the drug's influence.
"I knew you would come here."
I spun around abruptly to see Wang Ling standing at the door. She held out a document. "You should take a look at this."
It was an internal memo from the psychiatric hospital regarding Dr. Lin Miao's handling:
1. Erase all memories related to the experiment.
2. Implant alternative memories: mental breakdown due to patient suicide.
3. Continue drug experiments to observe memory reconstruction effects.
4. If signs of memory recovery appear, immediately implement Plan B.
"Are you here to take me back for more experiments?" I stepped back.
"No," Wang Ling said with a bitter smile, "I'm here to help you. For years, I've been collecting evidence to expose the truth behind this experiment. Yang Ling... she is my sister."
Footsteps echoed from afar. Wang Ling urged, "Hurry, through the café's Underground Passage you can reach the parking lot directly. I'll hold them off."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because you are the only one who has tried to stop all of this." She handed me a USB Drive. "This contains all the evidence."
At that moment, Dr. M and Dr. Zhang appeared at the door with a team of security guards.
"Dr. Lin," Dr. M's voice remained gentle, "your condition hasn't improved; you need further treatment."
"Stop pretending," I scoffed. "I've remembered everything—your experiments, Yang Ling's death, all of it."
"That was just a hallucination caused by the medication," Dr. Zhang said. "You truly broke down because of the patient's suicide..."
"No," I interrupted him. "The real breakdown is this lie. Yang Ling didn't commit suicide; she was killed by your drugs. And I'm not a mental patient; I just know too much."
They began to move closer. Just then, police sirens approached from afar. Wang Ling had called the police without me noticing.
"It's over," she said. "I've sent the evidence to the media and the authorities."
In the chaos, I noticed the orange cat had appeared at the doorway at some point. It quietly watched everything unfold, just as it had observed all that happened in the lab over the past three months. It turned out to be the most faithful witness.
Days later, all the truths were revealed by the media. Dr. M and Dr. Zhang were arrested, and the experimental facility was shut down. As for me, I could finally face my true self—a psychologist who tried to prevent tragedy but got caught in a larger conspiracy.
The café reopened after renovations. I often went there, sitting in a corner, watching the orange cat nap in the sunlight. Sometimes I would feel as if I were still that chaotic L, but the scars on my hands reminded me: truth is always worth pursuing, no matter the cost.
The coffee in my cup still had its familiar taste, but this time, there was no bitterness from drugs.
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