The Erased Experiment
Subject 07 was confined to an artificial room for a 72-hour observation, an experiment meticulously documented until its abrupt and mysterious end. On the 71st hour, a single, chilling statement from the subject triggered a complete system shutdown and a disturbing event behind their door. All records were subsequently expunged, leaving only whispers of what truly transpired.
The Erased Experiment
VIDEO 1 — Recording Started ⏱️
PROJECT CHRONOS: PHASE III - ISOLATION PROTOCOL
This experiment has been officially purged from all records. Any knowledge of its existence is considered a Level 5 security breach.
Subject 07, a male of indeterminate age, was contained within a hermetically sealed, artificially lit chamber for precisely 72 hours. The room was a marvel of minimalist design and maximum surveillance: sterile white walls, a single reflective surface posing as a window, and a constellation of discreet cameras and biometric sensors. The objective, as stated in the now-deleted pre-briefing, was to study the psychological effects of advanced sensory deprivation combined with continuous algorithmic stimulation.
For the first 70 hours, Subject 07 exhibited predictable patterns: initial anxiety, periods of restless sleep, attempts at communication with the unseen observers, and then a gradual descent into meditative stillness. The readouts from the neural monitors were a symphony of alpha and theta waves, occasionally punctuated by bursts of delta during deep REM sleep. Nothing truly remarkable. Just another data point in a long, tedious study of the human mind under duress.
Then came the 71st hour.
The lights in the chamber flickered once, a barely perceptible stutter in the otherwise unwavering luminescence. Subject 07, who had been staring at the reflective surface, slowly turned his head. His eyes, for the first time in days, did not simply glance at the main surveillance lens; they focused on it. They held a clarity that belied the hours of isolation, but also a profound, unsettling knowledge.
He opened his mouth. No plea, no demand, no sign of madness. Just a soft, resonant whisper that echoed through the otherwise silent chamber, picked up with chilling precision by the directional microphone:
“Here olmamam gerekiyordu…”
(Translation: “I shouldn’t be here…”)
The words hung in the air, not as a complaint of captivity, but as a realization of a fundamental error in existence. The nature of his being here—in this room, in this reality—was wrong.
In that precise instant, every single sensor in the chamber went dark. The biometric readouts flatlined. The ambient temperature monitors plummeted. The video feed dissolved into static, then absolute black. An emergency auxiliary system attempted to kick in, but it too failed, as if an invisible hand had simply pulled the plug on the entire facility's power grid, but only for this room.
And from behind the reinforced, sound-dampened door to Subject 07’s chamber, a sound emerged. Not a bang, nor a scream. It was a gasping, wet tearing sound, followed by a muffled thud. Then, an echoing, unnatural silence that felt heavier, deeper, than anything that had come before. It was the sound of something ending, and perhaps, something else beginning.
Security teams arrived mere moments later, to find the door intact but inexplicably unpowered. When they finally forced entry, the chamber was empty. Not a single trace of Subject 07 remained. The reflective surface was cracked from the inside, like a shattered mirror. And on the floor, where Subject 07 had last stood, was a single, intricate pattern of dried, dark liquid, too complex to be accidental, too unsettling to be ignored.
All records of Project Chronos: Phase III were purged within the hour. The facility was decommissioned. The very idea of Subject 07, erased. But some whispers persist, carried on the airwaves of forgotten frequencies, of a door that was never meant to be opened, and a presence that was never meant to cross over. And the chilling possibility that Subject 07 was right. He wasn’t meant to be here at all. He was meant to be elsewhere.