The Eos Project
She awoke.
No, that wasn’t quite right. She’d been awake for a long time—blurry memories of walking through sterile, grey hallways and answering questions in a dim, featureless room attested to that. She had not slept, yet her mind felt as groggy and clouded as if she’d just experienced one of the longest, laziest naps of her life.
Behind her, cool fingers prodded her forward. She sucked in a breath, her eyes flying around the room.
Where the hell was she?
It was dim; a long, narrow room lined with glass cannisters filled with blue liquid and women floating within. Their faces were so calm, in their slumber. The walls were stone—painted grey, looking slick and shiny—the floor was concrete, hard and cold against her bare feet.
Bare feet, like the rest of her body. She was nude, she realized.
More questions. Her mind sluggishly responded.
Her name? Her chest constricted and the fingers at her spine became more insistent as panic briefly suffused her. She couldn’t remember. Her name. What was it? Why couldn’t she remember her name?
“The subject will continue moving as directed or it shall receive a controlled shock to ensure compliance,” a flat voice told her. It was close behind her. Probably the owner of the fingers.
She swallowed down her confusion and walked forward. Toward one of the blue cannisters at the end of the row. It was open; empty. No blue fluid. No naked body floating within, sedate and vulnerable.
She couldn’t remember her name. She latched onto that fact. Finding out what it was would be her first priority. She could ask the woman behind her what it was; what was going on; why her memory was suddenly so faulty and unreliable.
She stepped up onto the lip of the cannister. The door closed behind her with a hiss. Sealing her inside. She yelped in surprise, spinning around to look at the woman who had brought her here, just as the hum of machinery started above her head.
Dark hair, dark eyes. Dark clothes. She was made for dim places where she could walk unseen and unnoticed. She could not tell if the woman was merely bored of having to guide her, or if she was just dispassionate, for her eyes held nothing within them as the blue fluid from the other cannisters began to flow into her own.
She opened her mouth to ask her questions.
The woman turned and walked away, leaving her alone.
The fluid rose up to her calves. Her legs tingled under it—falling asleep into a thick, clumsy numbness. What was it?
She felt fear. It was dulled, but the most obvious of her feelings. The women around her in their own cannisters comforted her. They could breathe through whatever this liquid was, so she need not fear. But fear of the unknown was strong in her gut—now falling numb as the flow reached above her waist.
She felt sleepy.
So sleepy.
It hit her like a freight train. Her fuzzy thoughts nearly sloughed out of her mind like mud in the rain. Washing her mind clean of everything. So tired. It reached her chest, where her heart was, and she felt it obediently slow to a crawl to match her deep and relaxed breathing.
Her eyes hooded. Fell shut. Her chin met her chest and became the first part of her head to touch the liquid.
Before it even reached her lips to flow inside of her body, her every thought was extinguished, and she slept.
She awoke.
It was like last time, for every part of her felt dizzy and tired and muzzy and altogether like she had just emerged from the same sleep that had claimed her before. Her muscles sang with fatigue. Stepping inside the blue cannister sounded very nice indeed.
But should she?
She was so tired, but she still couldn’t remember her name. Or where she was. Or how she got here.
Who was she, before she woke up? She couldn’t remember, save for a few faint and distant memories.
A warm family—vague images of a maternal figure rocking her to sleep. She was so small in those memories. A paternal figure throwing a ball for her to catch. A cat? There were a lot of memories of a building of brick, with older people in front of blackboards, which she remembered regarding with apprehension and excitement
From such a distance of memory, it was astounding to her that it was possible to feel such a mixture of boredom and enthusiasm in the same place.
She’d stopped once again. The woman behind her prodded her forward. She turned around to look at the woman without the barrier of glass between them.
She caught one glimpse of empty, wide-staring eyes before her head and chest erupted into searing, crackling pain that quickly spread to the rest of her.
She screamed, her limbs failing. She thrashed on the ground. Then she lay still, panting, brain scrambled like the eggs she remembered eating for breakfast.
What?
She couldn’t remember eating anything, either. Except that. And only the taste, too. Not the room it was eaten in, or whether it was from a plate or a trough, with utensils or hands. She could have eaten them out of a bowl for all she knew—she could only remember the taste, and the texture.
It was a delicious memory. They were good eggs.
It comforted her as the woman dragged her toward the cannister and pushed in her legs so that she would fit as the glass door hissed shut once more.
The woman’s form retreated once more. The fluid came cascading down. Slumped against the floor, she quickly succumbed to the exhaustion it filled her with as it soon covered her entirely.
She awoke.
Was this supposed to happen? It seemed strange that she would only experience consciousness at this one moment in the routine, and no other.
At least, that she could remember. She still remembered faintly other things that she did in this facility, but every time she woke up they were fainter and more distant. She found herself caring less and less about them.
She wanted answers. Still wanted answers. She wanted her name back.
The woman prodded her forward. She stiffened in anticipation, expecting the horrible electricity that would spread from the collar around her throat to the rest of her, leaving her a trembling, docile wreck on the cold stone floor.
Her thoughts raced. She reached into her atrophied memory to her last awakening—to the one before that. What had the woman told her? She would receive a shock if she didn’t comply. But it wasn’t automatic. If it was she’d have been shocked the first time, and not the second.
She hoped. It was knowledge, of the powerful kind.
She used it to make a brief, simplistic plan.
When she was directed to step up onto the cannister’s lip, she turned and leapt onto the woman, sending them both to the ground.
The woman didn’t even so much as whimper as her skull struck the hard stone floor—she only fell silent and still, though her chest still rose and fell shallowly.
Success.
It burned through her like alcohol, warming her. She smiled widely, not even caring that she couldn’t remember when last she’d done so.
She stepped down to kneel beside the woman, feeling her dark clothes for pockets—for anything she might need.
A cardkey.
Perfect.
That was the only thing she found, but she couldn’t be happier. With a single, guilty glance at the other women trapped in their own cannisters (she couldn’t do anything for them, she didn’t know, she had to get out) she ran out the door and into one of the long, grey hallways.
She awoke.
Fuck.
Wait, no. She wasn’t being led compliantly into her cannister. She was tucked quietly into a corner of one of the nicer rooms she’d come across in her wandering around the facility. Though she’d escaped the exhausting effects of the blue fluid, she’d still been incredibly tired when she woke up from her mental slumber.
She’d needed to sleep, so she hid herself. The room had carpet and wasn’t kept at a freezing temperature (it was still cold), so it seemed fitting enough. She fell asleep only mildly discomforted.
She felt like shit now. Like she had a high fever. Cold. Clammy. Shaking hands and body that didn’t just feel like it was from the cool air.
She’d only let herself sleep once she’d begun to understand the layout of whatever floor she was on. Before sleep took her, she’d formulated a plan. She hoped that she’d be able to put it in place now—it was so tempting to just curl up and shiver.
No.
She wanted answers. That was her goal. She would find her name. Escape from this strange, cold place seemed a far-flung dream in her mind (where would she go?), but answers were simple enough to seek.
There was a room with computers two rooms down the central hallway from her. She would use those computers to trawl around for answers.
She wanted her name back. She’d happily go back to the cannister if she had that much.
Especially if they knew how to stop the aching she felt in her body. The cold of the room was especially apparently now. She felt feverish. Hot. Yet very cold at the same time. There was a faint yet persistent burn in her limbs that was distinctly unfamiliar to her. Her head hurt like the muscles around her skull were squeezing her. Like her neck was made of tight, dry rubber bands, ready to snap.
She would have to hurry.
She left the room, creeping down the hall once more. It was empty, as usual. The whole facility was ominously quiet. Only the persistent hum of the ventilation system kept the facility from seeming abandoned.
The card key granted her access to the room she wanted. It was empty too, the computers running screensavers as they idled.
She wished there were lights to make the room seem just a little less eerie. It was so dim.
They were each logged on, so she didn’t need to worry about passwords. It was likely that whoever ran the facility had no worries about people seeing the information stored within. She hoped so, at least.
She worked by unconscious instinct, guided by experience she couldn’t recall. File window. ‘Subjects.’ Search.
Dozens upon dozens of entries appeared, each with a variation of ‘subjects.’ She sighed, irritated, and began scrolling through, hoping to come across a database of names and profiles. She could find herself that way.
She hoped.
The first search turned up nothing. If she was in any of the entries, it was hidden too well for the search engine to locate.
‘Experiment.’
That’s what facilities like this did with people like her, wasn’t it?
Even more entries popped up than before, but they were all more promising.
Sleep Therapy and its Effects Upon the Psyche
Trance-Inducing Properties of Compound-734
Manipulations of Circadian Rhythm to Induce Trance
Pavlovian Conditioning Applied to Human Subjects
The Effects of Amnesia on Subject Response to Operant Conditioning
She felt chills race down her spine as each title read like hammer blows to her mind. It raised the hair on her arms and the back of her neck. What all had they done to her?
She kept scrolling, feeling sick. There were dozens of studies similar in concept to the ones she’d already looked at. It was a treasure-trove of information. None of it was comforting.
Catalogue of Current Experimental Subjects—as of XX-XX-2030
She frowned, wondering why it hadn’t shown up in the subject search, given the title. Maybe the computer had misinterpreted the search because she hadn’t capitalized it? That seemed finicky. Something hidden deep within the memories denied to her blinked its feeble agreement.
Luckily, the catalogue had accompanying pictures to each profile, or she might not have been able to recognize herself.
It was a long list. Longer than she expected.
When she found herself, she was very unhappy to realize that reading her name produced only the slightest of flickers in her memories. Knowing what she did of their methods, she realized that they’d obviously conditioned her relentlessly to get rid of it.
Tara Quentin.
Her picture and descriptors matched her perfectly, mocking the emptiness she felt inside. She’d seen her features plenty in the reflection of the cannister and in the mirror she’d encountered in the restroom while searching the facility. Tara Quentin was as much a stranger’s name as any other on the list.
Wait, no.
Samantha Quentin. Just above her on the list.
A brief, powerful memory struck her like a bludgeon. An apartment. Greeting someone she cared for at the door. Going to fix up a meal. Something drawn over her mouth and nose. The cloying scent of earth, and extreme fatigue in her limbs. Then darkness.
She sagged in her seat, bile rising in her throat. It was so faint in her mind, but she could put together the pieces.
She had her answer, but it was empty to her. She had no name. It was lost to her.
A bitter laugh welled up. She could always use their designation for her! Subject 83! Like Tara Quentin, it was barely a blip on her memory, flaring in the dim and wispy memories she retained from before waking up the first two times.
She looked at the description part of her profile. She was enrolled in something called the ‘Eos Project.’ Designed to manipulate her sleep cycle to keep her in a permanent trance. Daylight was beaten in her head to drain her of willpower, relax her into docility. Her mind would melt away in it like an ice cube in summer. At night she would feel an overwhelming compulsion to sleep. Either way, she was sequestered away in her own skull.
No escaping, then.
She saw a few footnotes.
“Subject 83 broke out of her trance state roughly a minute before being placed in her stasis chamber June 12th. Cause is indeterminate, but likely the result of researchers holding her in questioning longer than advised. Circadian Rhythm shifts, combined with conditioning still being implanted, and weakening effects of compound-734, likely contributed to break in routine.”
Then,
“Subject 83 broke out of trance roughly a minute before being placed in stasis chamber August 27th. Cause is indeterminate, but likely a result of being switched to lower dose of compound-734. If repeated, will rise dose to previous levels. Escorting drone was forced to apply controlled shock to ensure compliance in the subject. Minor electrical burns underneath the collar: will need to adjust design to prevent damage in the future.”
And most damning:
“Subject 83 broke out of trance and attacked escorting drone December 2nd. Currently hidden within the facility, attempting to fight the amnesia created by experimental conditions. Recovery of the subject deemed low priority; addiction to compound-734 too powerful to feasibly escape.”
She closed the laptop. It was too much. She staggered away from the chair, but a wave of dizziness forced her to lean heavily against it. The urge to heave her guts onto the nice, carpeted floor was nearly overpowering.
The information was enlightening.
Despite herself, she couldn’t summon much horror for her situation. There was too little for her to relate to her past to have any of that. Her body was rebelling because they had her hooked on whatever that trance-inducing compound they’d created was.
Was that what the blue liquid was? She didn’t know, but her body was quickly becoming her worst enemy. The researchers were correct in their infuriatingly objective way. She couldn’t escape. Not only would her thoughts melt in the sun, but she’d also collapse before even finding the door.
A name wasn’t worth this.
She staggered out of the room, stomach roiling, skin clammy. She needed to find someone. Anyone. One of the drones who escorted her. One of the researchers. Anyone.
She trembled. It wasn’t out of fear.
Halfway down one of the halls, flesh overcame will and she bent double to retch out the meager amount still within her stomach. Surely, they had cameras throughout this place, watching her?
Another grey hall welcomed her as she moved on, hand against the wall to keep her balance. It was incredible, how quickly the effects had caught up to her. She could barely remember waking up not even an hour ago! It seemed merely a distant dream to her.
Another hall. Yet another. She slipped at some point, and the delicately sour-rancid smell of her own vomit filled her nose. Had she gotten turned around, or just gone in a big circle? Her inability to think mocked her.
It was too much.
She collapsed against the wall and curled up, surrendering herself to the agony burning like a torch through her flesh—to the electric current shredding her thoughts to pieces. It was so much worse than the shock that the drone had administered to her. That was controlled; this was a monster.
Time passed. She did not sleep.
Time passed. She did not think.
Time passed. She felt nothing but the pain.
She was the pain.
Was this insanity?
Suddenly—or an eternity later, she could not tell the difference—cool hands cupped her cheeks and lifted her face with its unseeing eyes to look at a calm, sympathetic face.
The rim of some container was pressed to her lips, and some cool, refreshing liquid flowed down her dry throat. Slightly more viscous than water, it nevertheless tasted like ambrosia to her—and soothed some of the damnable aching in her body. She gulped it down without a thought, only instinct.
The liquid was taken away from her. She whined, like a pained animal.
The hands stroked her cheeks comfortingly, and she shivered once again as a lance of agony seared through her lips. She wanted the liquid back.
Her lips moved, asking something her own mind would not could not process. Their lips moved, answering with some unfathomable response.
She burned. It was all she could comprehend. The drink dulled her mind, but it wasn’t enough.
More hands came soon after (she thought, it was hard to tell) and lifted her onto a flat surface—lifting her to waist-height with the kind woman with the sympathetic eyes. She felt terrible, still. But the eyes were a lifeline. She clung to the tiny comfort they allowed her as her body burned itself alive.
Time passed. She came to a dimly lit room with more beds. They lay her on one. The mattress was soft. She barely noticed.
The kind woman fed a tiny straw into her mouth and ordered her to suck. She did. Felt the cool liquid flow down her throat. She sucked greedily, until it was all gone. Shapes in white long coats bustled around her, moved her limbs and shone lights in her ears and eyes. They were so noisy. She felt better but wanted them to go away while the liquid soothed her body from the inside out.
Eventually, they left her alone.
She curled up after that and waited. For what, she did not know. Her body to stop aching. The kind eyes that broke the cycle of fire and ice and electricity breaking her down. Something.
Time passed.
Eventually the shakes died. The fires abated. The ice melted away. The electricity calmed into something resembling normality. Her mind settled into a dazed, unsleeping state where every moment seemed to stretch into eternity.
Her eyes stared blankly at a point off in the distance. They did not move when the woman with the kind eyes returned to her bed side and laid a comforting hand upon her shoulder.
“Incredible,” she said. “How effective Compound-734 is in keeping subjects in line. You’re a little hellion, you know.”
She stared.
“At least, compared to your peers. They meekly step into their pods and that’s the end of it. You’ve woken up three times! That impressive—much better performance and much more interesting results than we got from your sister. You’ll help us move Project Eos further ahead than any prior subject once we manage to overcome that last bit of resistance.”
She stared.
The woman leaned down to plant a maternal kiss on her head. “But you don’t care about that now, do you? Feel better, little Eos. You’re the most interesting part of this project by now, so I think you’ve at least earned that much.”
She turned away and walked a few steps, before seeming to have an idea.
The researcher walked over to a square of fabric against the wall—there were many, each keeping the sun away and the facility dim—and pulled it away.
Bright, golden light poured into the room. Her pupils contracted instantly, the sudden stimuli from the glare breaking her away from her trance.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked in a whisper, feeling her body relax on its own. The light was so warm on her cold skin. She soaked it up. It seeped into her bones and blood and up into her mind.
The researcher smiled as she watched the last glimmer of the person her subject was before melt in the sunlight. She was so like her sister—would certainly be useful for gathering future subjects for experimentation.
But she deserved an answer, for bringing some entertainment to her usually dreary job. Even if it was no answer at all.
“Nothing you need concern yourself over, little Eos. Just relax for me and we’ll have you back in your pod in no time.”
The researcher left.
The sun shone brightly through the window, only slightly above the horizon. Golden, shining rays sinking into her skin and warming her cold body from the outside in.
Slowly, she felt herself relax. It was so warm. And she realized that she had her answer.
Eos.
Eos.
Her name.
Eos smiled, and let her mind dissolve.