Chapter Text
The first thing she registered was a blistering pain in the back of her head, and the hard surface she had been laid upon.
It was far too soon to open her eyes and the lights burned so bright it seeped past the thin skin of her eyelids, unable to let her fall back asleep. Then, there was static pulsing in and out from in front of her, coming and going like waves.
Pain.
There was still pain.
“Who are you?”
The noise fell into the background of her mind. It began again.
“Who are you?”
What?
With a sharp inhale, she raises her head, eyes fighting to focus on the rectangular object laid on the deep brown wood she laid on. A table, she briefly registered, with a wire attached to the box and flowing down somewhere she doesn’t see. Static sounds still filled the room.
She brushes the strands of hair away from her face, willing herself to move off the table at least to look at her surroundings, but every muscle in her body feels like it's weighing her down and pinning her in place– Then there’s that voice again, clearer now as she stares at the speaker it comes from.
“Who are you?”
“Hello?” Her voice is foreign to her and panic finally sets in, finally giving her the strength to sit up as her eyes widen.
“I’m sorry, I got ahead of myself.” There’s an awkward shuffle on the other side of the microphone before the man continues. “Hi there, you on the table. I wonder if you’d mind taking a brief survey—”
“Who are you?”
The voice ignores her. “Five questions. Now, I know you’re sleepy, but I just bet it’ll make you feel right as rain.”
The room is bland, full of chairs tucked neatly into the table below as the grey carpet runs along the entire room. A door stands on the farthest wall, padded with an offwhite color that blends together in a haze.
Her eyes narrow, legs swinging off the edge of the table and hands gripping at the backs of each chair to remain stable, attempting to drag one foot in front of the other.
She nearly falls face first before catching herself on one of the armrests, but she doesn’t slow down.
“You may still be experiencing some memory loss and difficulty speaking, so for your own safety, please return to the table.” The voice from the stereo speaks up.
“Who’s speaking?” Her eyes locked onto the door as she grabbed onto the handle, shaking it with all her might, pushing it up and down as it throttled against the frame. “Open the door and let me out.”
“I’d be just thrilled to chat once we’ve run the survey. Shall we begin with question one?”
“I won’t be answering anything until you let me out of here.” She demands, frantically looking around the walls for cameras or some other sign that this disembodied voice knew what she was doing. They had to be watching her, and there had to be a reason why she woke up so alone— and so scared.
Once again, he seemed to ignore her, repeating his last words. “Shall we begin with question one?”
A deep breath, holding for a few seconds but letting the stress disperse out with the exhale. If she got through this, maybe they’d let her go, or at least tell her what was going on. “Five questions?”
“Five questions.”
She debates it for a second. “What do I get at the end?”
“Depends on your answers.” He replies.
Maybe she shouldn't have gotten her hopes up, but she finds herself nodding along, knowing that there was probably no other way out of this unless she complied.
“Great. Off we go.” He clears his throat for a second, shuffling a few papers around with the mic still on— he sounds nervous, she notes. “Now to start, who are you?”
“That’s the first question?”
“First name will do.”
It should be on the tip of her tongue— one of the first things you know about somebody, at least beyond their physical appearance, and yet there’s nothing that comes to mind. Her mouth opens, ready to try and spill out the answer, but nothing comes of it. There’s that pain lingering at the back of her head, but her mind remains blank.
It should be obvious. The answer should be easy, but there’s nothing.
She has no memory of who she is.
There’s a dull throb at the back of her head as her eyes blink away the tears of frustration brewing.
“I don’t…”
“It’s okay. If you can’t answer the question, feel free to say so, there is no judgement here.” The way he says it is so casual her stomach drops a little. It’s not like an intervention anymore, so who were these people?
“What is this?” Her voice wavers as she swallows down the fear.
Nobody seems to acknowledge it. “Okay, unknown. Question two, which country were you born in?”
With no other choice, she moves to sit down as her legs begin to shake beneath her weight. The whole world feels as if it’s tilted on its axis— gravity wasn’t tethering her body to the ground anymore, everything was moving in waves around her as her body was swept away in the currents.
This couldn’t be real— it just couldn’t be happening, especially not to her.
“Which country, please?” He prods.
“I don’t know.” Her own voice sounded so far away, so foreign to her. Maybe it was whatever they used to sedate her that made her atmosphere seem so wrong and crooked.
“Unknown. Question three, please name any US state or territory.”
“I don’t…”
Before he replies, there’s another sound of pages turning, as if he’s flipping through a book before it stops abruptly. His voice is softer again, more quiet than before, like he’s talking more off script. “If it helps, you can just name the first one that comes to mind.”
“I don’t know.” A lazy hand waves in the air. It’s a stupid question, really. There’s only one that pops to mind immediately without a headache. “Washington?”
“Washington.” The man mumbles before regaining his previous eagerness. “Question four, where is Dr Lokken hiding?”
A handful of questions pop into her mind with every one of them getting more confusing by the second. She’s never heard of that name before— hell, she doesn’t even know her own name. If they were trying to pry her for information, clearly that attempt would be futile. She answers with honesty. “I don’t… That one makes no sense.”
There’s a hint of amusement in his voice as he continues. “Right? Unknown. Question five. And as a reminder, this is the final question.”
She nodded along, the room wasn’t spinning nearly as much as it was before, lulling her into a false sense of calm— right before it was all ripped out of her.
“To the best of your memory, what is or was the color of your mother’s eyes?” He asked one final question, and her reaction was immediate.
Her hand slammed down onto the table, pushing her back to her feet before marching towards the door. The door was still locked but it didn’t phase her— it shook against the frame wildly as her hand slammed against the padding of the door, one hand trying to force the handle open again as her breathing sped up in a panic. “What did you do to me?”
“Unknown.” He mutters, unbothered to her outburst. “So that’s unknown, unknown, Washington, unknown, unknown.”
She shouted. “What the hell did you do to me? Let me out right now—”
The door opened, causing her to jump back as a taller figure emerged from the dark room in front of her. It was a man, one with broader shoulders and glasses that reflected the light just enough for her to be unable to glance at his eyes, but he was staring right at her. She wouldn’t be able to push past him, and even if she did, the room was shrouded in so much darkness she wasn’t sure how he could even see in there. Her breath caught in her throat.
“That’s a perfect score.” He spoke calmly, voice clearer now that it’s not coming through from a speaker. “Now, I think I know where our disconnect is coming from.”
“Who are you?” She demanded, taking another step back wishing for nothing more than something to defend herself with. “What am I doing here?”
There was no response to her questions, instead he stepped in the room and shut the door behind him. A loud lock from the other side filled the silence as she finally saw his face.
He didn’t look intimating beyond his height, and that wasn’t even something that deliberately struck fear. His glasses were round and gold along the top as his messy hair covered parts of his forehead— he was dressed in a business suit for everything beyond the pants, which remained a light blue jean with his unevenly tied shoes making him look a bit out of place. Not that she knew what was or wasn’t dresscode, but he looked a little… off.
There wasn’t any sense of authority to him now that he was standing in front of her. If anything, he looked more nervous now than when she was shouting to the roof a few minutes prior.
She snapped out of her thoughts as he had walked along the edge of the room and sat down, glancing up at her through his glasses with an apologetic smile. “There was supposed to be a bit of a preamble that I was supposed to read before the survey— something to lead into the questions and… I unfortunately skipped that and went straight into the survey.”
“Am I in a coma?” She asked, dumbfounded.
His eyebrows shot up as he struggled to reply— “I’m sorry?”
“Is this all one big dream because I was put under for some kind of medical procedure? Or I got hit by a car and this is me dying?”
There were a few moments of stunned silence as neither of them moved. “You think you got hit by a car?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you have a habit of walking on highways, not waving your hand before crossing?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know you.”
“No, you’re alive and well. You didn’t get in some big accident, I promise you’re safe here. Good Lord.” He laughed to himself, pushing his glasses up as he opened up his binder— one she didn’t see him bring in, likely due to the shock of today’s events.
With a longer look at him, he appeared unarmed unless throwing a heavy binder full of papers was his choice of a weapon. Still, he didn’t look like the type to have a short temper or a thirst for blood. It was dangerous to guess what his motives were when she didn’t know how or why she was here. He didn’t seem bothered by her standing and analyzing him since he wasn’t even looking at her.
Then she straightened her posture, seeming to collect herself as she focused on the only task that mattered— finding out who she is, why she’s here, and how to escape.
“If I’m supposed to be safe here, then what’s my name?” Her voice managed to sound composed enough that he glanced up at her, unable to hide the smallest bit of shock at her changed demeanor.
But he just smiled. How infuriating, she thought.
“Stratt.” He answered. “Your name is Stratt. Well, your last name at least.”
There was a part of her that hoped she’d feel a rush of familiarity at the name, perhaps some memories popping up to replace the empty void that made up her brain, but there was nothing. He motioned for the seat in front of him, and with hesitancy, she slowly obliged.
“Thank you for taking the welcome survey. I can sense that the questions made you feel afraid or disoriented. Well, the good news is, you’re at an orientation.” His hands opened as he waved them around for effect before continuing excitedly. “You see, you have been hired to a position on the severed floor of Lumon Industries.”
“What floor?” Stratt raised her eyebrow with the certainty that she had misheard him.
He hesitated for a second while glancing around before focusing on the script in front of him. “I understand you’re confused about the severance procedure. Before we hop on that, let’s chat about something I bet you have heard of, the work/life balance. To start, imagine yourself as a seesaw.”
Stratt couldn’t take one more second of it— she grabbed the rectangular speaker that sat between them and launched it at his head before running towards the door again.
“Fuck!” He cried out, clutching his forehead where it had hit him hard. “That locks from out there!”
Her hands push and pull at the door handle. “Let me out!”
“God— Can we just take a second to calm down? Please.” His voice cracks at the end, hand clutching his bleeding forehead as a red cut had appeared at his temple. He begs again. “Please.”
Stratt’s attention is divided between the locked door in front of her and the man standing beside the table, his hands now raised in front of him as if he were approaching a scared animal, even though he had made no move to step closer to her. She turns her back towards the door, one hand still on the handle as her attention now lays on him.
He huffs, relieved. “Okay, my name’s Grace. And— You know, a few months ago, I woke up on this table. In this room. And a disembodied voice asked me 19 times who I was. And when I realized I couldn’t answer, I told that voice that I wouldn’t stop running until they let me free.”
She stands frozen, unsure of what to do with his confession as he continues. “I don’t know why I said that. I mean, I was scared. But I stopped running eventually.”
“Why?”
“I found a reason to stay.” He sounded at ease and it only caused Stratt to grow more frustrated.
“That’s so stupid.” She argues.
“No— No, look. That voice’s name was Carl, and he became my best friend. So, look, you know, there is a life to be had here, Stratt. You just have to be open to it, I mean— there’s a reason all of us choose to be here.”
Stratt’s eyes narrow. “A life to be had?”
“Well, you see, life, like a seesaw, requi—”
“Let me the fuck out of here!” She turns to bang on the door before Grace’s voice appears closer. He’s standing behind her, less than a foot away with his hands raised at his sides in surrender once again.
“Ask me again.” Grace urges her. “You’ve asked countless times when you’re shouting at the door, so look at me and just ask one more time.”
She faces him fully with her hands limp at her sides in exhaustion. This is ridiculous and she’s aware of it, but whatever stupid rules he's choosing to abide by seem to be the only thing that could get her out of this godforsaken room, and she’s willing to do whatever just to go home.
“Grace?”
“Yeah?”
“I would like to leave the building. Right now.” She demands.
He nods, giving a pained smile before realizing he left his binder at the desk and crosses half the room just to get it and flip through the pages in a panic, seeming to not know what he’s looking for as he struggles with flipping too far back or too far ahead before finally slapping his pointer finger down onto the page.
“I understand you don’t feel it’s working out for you here at Lumon. While disappointed, I’d hate to keep you somewhere you’re not happy. So, let’s get you outta here.” Grace finishes off with a deep breath and snapping the binder closed.
Stratt nearly jumps out of her skin when the door behind her unlocks loudly and is pried open, revealing another taller man wearing a dark blue suit with the jacket strewn over his forearm.
“Stratt, this is DuBois.” Grace motions between them. “DuBois, you already know this is Stratt.”
He smiles warmly at her, bowing his head slightly. “It’s very good to meet you face to face. Now, let’s get you to Commander Yao.”
✴︎
They take her out the ‘interrogation’ room, as she calls it, and bring her down winding bright hallways that seem to never end.
It’s overwhelming how big this building is, even with the tight corridors that look as if they go on forever. Stratt wants to keep track of where everything is in her head in case they’re just moving her to another room to act as a permanent jail cell, but it's impossible with how many sharp turns they make. She’s automatically disoriented.
And Grace keeps talking, which doesn’t help.
There actually hasn’t been a proper moment of silence since they left the room and she’s debating if it's another tactic to confuse and distract her, or if that's just the type of person he is.
His coworker DuBois left them early on too, so he’s talking to thin air right now as his words go in one ear and out the other.
“The departments are pretty spaced out, but it’ll all fill in one day. They’re planning an expansion.” Grace explains as they turn another corner.
She finally chooses to tune into this part, at least. “And I’m, what, part of that?”
“No, actually.” He straightens his back out while clearing his throat. “You’re a replacement.”
“Replacement for who? Why are you saying that like you hate it?” She interrogates before he comes to a complete stop, shifting his body so he leans against the wall with his arms crossed, looking at her.
He motions beside them to the hallway that bends around the corner. He doesn’t look in that direction. “The stairwell is down there.”
Stratt stares back at him expectantly. “You’re not coming with me?”
“I’m not allowed to see.” Grace shakes his head.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, once you leave, you…” He says, eyes unwavering while she stares back at him with twice the intensity before he gives in and sighs, closing his eyes and lowering them to the ground with an air of seriousness she finds concerning. “I just can’t watch you leave. I shouldn’t— It’s against the rules.”
“Of course it is.” She feels annoyed that Grace refused to explain any further, but that didn’t stop her from turning the corner and walking away. It didn’t matter. She’d get up the stairs and back outside and find somebody in charge, possibly this Commander Yao they mentioned, and find her way to go back home.
Grace had mentioned that she was here for a reason, that it was a choice she made. He insinuated it, at least, although there were no memories she had to confirm it.
It just couldn’t be true.
The last few steps towards the exit felt like an eternity down the hall, but she could see the stark gray concrete stairs waiting on the other side of the door. That tiny window let her hope that this was the end of a very confusing, bright tunnel that she could never return back to.
With her hands on the door pushing it outwards, the whole room felt like it was spinning before she found herself facing the bright empty walls again.
What the hell?
It must’ve been a mistake— she got turned around with the excitement and felt dizzy, that’s all that was. Stratt turned on her heel and faced the door, staring out at the staircase on the other side before pushing through.
Only to end up back in the hallway again.
She kept going straight, back to the corridor where Grace stayed leaning against the wall, staring straight ahead with boredom. He glanced over at her lazily, waiting for her to speak as she fought to find the right words festering with all the frustration she felt.
“Am I dead?”
“No.”
“This isn’t, like, hell or something?”
“No.”
“Then why the fuck can’t I leave?” Stratt snapped.
“Well, you did leave, just now, out into the stairwell.” He shrugged and sighed. “You left, but you came back.”
She shook her head vehemently. “No, I did not.”
“You did.” Grace confirmed, pushing off the wall. “Let’s go, I still have to introduce you to the team.”
✴︎
They walked through countless more vacant corridors before winding up at a large open room. There was no label on the outside, no signs to dictate where they might’ve been— just a large, open space with four desks all facing each other in a complicated square outlay that had dividers differentiating each person's work station.
A brunette woman perked up from where she sat hunched over, her wide eyes locking onto Stratt in a way that startled her. The other person she recognized as DuBois, who stood immediately with a warm grin.
“It’s good to see you two again, I was beginning to think you were lost.” He teased pointedly towards Grace.
“Not lost, just showing her around and giving her time to adjust.” Grace counteracted. “Stratt, this is—”
“Ilyukhina, the best refiner in the building.” She stood proudly in front of Stratt with her arm held out for a handshake, only to grip it tightly and wave their hands up and down viscerally when Stratt accepted it.
Grace laughed, trying to step lightly between the two as Ilykuhina started talking at a mile a minute.
“I’ve been here the longest, beyond Grace of course, because I got severed a few minutes before DuBois did. That means I’m older, even if bodily he looks older, most likely because he is. I mean, in a few years he’ll probably have gray hairs so—”
“Okay,” DuBois dragged on, pushing Ilyukhina a few steps back to her work station. “Let’s let the new hire breathe. She hasn’t even been to her desk yet.”
Stratt, confused by the whole thing, waits for Grace to start talking. He’s obliviously standing and switching his attention to each person in the room, until he notices Stratt staring at him impatiently and snaps back to focus.
“Oh, right. Uhm— Over here is your desk where you’ll find everything you need to get started for work, however because it’s your first day we won’t bombard you with your files or anything yet. We’ll let you just get settled in.” He motions awkwardly towards the empty workstation before he settles into his own chair.
It’s so… bland, she thinks. There’s no photographs, no drawings taped to the walls, nothing. A few knickknacks lay in trays in the far corners of their sections, but hers remain empty. She makes a mental note to ask about it later, if she’s still here.
If she ever figures out why she’s here. It’s still nagging in the back of her mind.
DuBois already started working, his eyes glued to the pale blue and white computer screen in front of him— it's this big old box with a pixelated screen with lines of coding she can’t see on it. Grace is staring at her, not bothering to turn on his computer as he shoots a soft smile at her. Stratt decides to sit down so he can’t see over the desk divider.
“Pstt.” Ilyukhina whispers beside her, leaning back in her chair enough so they can make eye contact. “You need to read your intake statement, on your desk.”
Stratt looks down to see a cream colored paper wedged partially under the chunky keyboard and reaches for it.
‘In preparation for my procedure colloquially known as severance, I am writing this letter for Commander Yao, my manager at Lumon, to show later during my orientation. I have, of my own free accord, chosen to go through with this decision to become a severed employee. I give consent for my perceptual chronologies to be surgically split, separating my memories between my work life and my personal life. I acknowledge that, henceforth, my access to my memories will be spatially dictated. I will be unable to access outside recollections whilst on Lumon’s severed basement floor, nor retain work memories upon my ascent. I am aware that this alteration is comprehensive and irreversible. I make these statements freely, without a threat to my wellbeing.
Signed,
E. Stratt’
Her hands shook as she reread the words typed on the page over and over again, even tracing each line of her signature with great intensity before a question bubbled up in the back of her mind and rose out of her. She stood up, a wave of panic rushing over her.
“So I’ll never leave here?” She glanced up towards DuBois, only to have Grace answer her.
“You’ll leave at 5:00. Well, actually, they stagger our exits, so 5:15— But it won’t feel like it. Not to this version of you anyway. Once you go up the elevator, it’s like you were never here, and vice-versa”
Stratt takes a shaking breath, dropping the thick paper onto her desk and brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.“And I have no choice but to live like this forever.”
Grace gives her a strange look. “Well, every time you find yourself here, it’s because you chose to come back.”
“Am I trapped here? Like if it turns out I hate this and I want to quit, is that an option?”
“Look.” Grace stands and walks closer, avoiding his coworkers eyes as he leans against her desk with his arms crossed in front of him while lowering his voice. “If you're really unhappy, you can submit a resignation request with your outside self for review.”
“And good luck getting that approved.” Ilyukhina remarks, blatantly staring before being shushed by DuBois. He urges his colleague to stand and follow her to the kitchenette in the corner where they seem to be having a quiet argument now that their backs are turned, leaving Stratt alone with Grace once again.
Grace is quick to veer his focus back on her. “Well, they do tend to be rejected. Plus, you know…”
“What?”
“Well, since this perceptual version of you only exists at Lumon, I mean, quitting would effectively end your life. I mean, your life as you've come to know it. Not your actual outside self.” He explains, waving his hands around in a way that confuses her. Grace only realizes how confusing it must sound after she gives him an unimpressed look and he struggles to reiterate. “There’s two versions of you that are allowed to exist, just in their separate spaces. Even if you don’t feel like you want to be here, the version of you that’s outside of this office wants it to happen. Sometimes there's something that happens out there that you’d rather forget about for a few hours. That’s the whole appeal of being severed.”
Oh, she thinks. Knowing that there was another version of her, waiting to be awoken once the elevator brought her upstairs was unsettling to say the least. There was an entire life she’d missed out on— a small part of her wondered if it was for the better, if Grace’s words held any truth to them. If people chose to become severed just because of something to happen in their personal life, what makes her any different?
Her gaze wandered onto DuBois and Ilyukhina by the water cooler, who were now sharing a laugh quietly between themselves, thinking about what led them to working down here if they were still able to be so happy. Maybe that was the whole appeal— distancing your reality from this world so your body could experience a stress free 8 hours, five days a week, all as a way to stay sane.
But she couldn’t imagine any reason as to why she would do that to herself.
Or why Grace, the man who stayed glued to her desk as he listed off all the perks of working here, all while having dark circles under his eyes, would do the same.
Maybe the version of her living in the real world was just as miserable as the one stuck down here.
Maybe there really was no escaping it.