ERASED- Act 1 – The Fractured Mind

Chapter 1 – The House of Mirrors Effect

I woke up gasping, my breath sharp in the sterile air.

White walls. The soft hum of a machine. The faint antiseptic tang clinging to my throat. The kind of place where nothing bad should happen, and yet—

I swallowed. My head ached. My skin felt wrong as if I had been scrubbed clean of something important.

A screen flickered beside me. Welcome back, Lydia.

I blinked. The name felt… fine, like a coat that fits well enough but wasn’t mine.

The door slid open with a soft hiss. A man stepped inside, his white coat pressed, his smile curated. “Lydia, how are you feeling?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it. The words weren’t there.

“I—” I cleared my throat. “I don’t remember… waking up here.”

A slight tilt of his head, almost imperceptible. “That’s expected.”

Expected.

A tremor slid through me. I shifted under the crisp sheets, the fabric stiff and unfamiliar. My hands—were these my hands? The lines on my palms felt foreign, as though I were seeing them for the first time.

“What is this place?” My voice came out steadier than I felt.

He smiled. “A clinic. A safe place. You volunteered for a procedure, Lydia. A therapeutic intervention.”

A word surfaced in my mind, slow and sticky.

Erasure.

My fingers dug into the sheets. “What did you take from me?”

His eyes softened. Not with warmth—with something else. Something closer to pity.

“The things you didn’t want anymore.”

My breath hitched.

Memories didn’t feel gone. They felt like half-open drawers, waiting to be filled with something I couldn’t name.

I forced myself to sit up. The movement made my head spin, but I ignored it. “I want to know what you erased.”

He exhaled a slow, measured thing. “You asked us not to tell you.”

The room tilted.

“No,” I whispered.

I didn’t just lose memories. I left something behind. I wanted this.

But why?

My mind was a house with all the doors locked, the key discarded. And the worst part?

I knew I was the one who threw it away.

Chapter 2 – A Mind Full of Holes

I dressed in the neatly folded clothes at the foot of my bed. The fabric was soft and slightly oversized, like something chosen for comfort, not style. That detail bothered me. Had I ever cared about style?

I had no way of knowing.

The doctor—Dr. Ansel, my mind supplied, though I had no memory of learning his name—stood by the door, watching me with the kind of patience that felt practised. He wasn’t in a hurry. He wasn’t uncomfortable.

He had done this before.

“I know this feels disorienting,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “It’s part of the process.”

“What process?”

A flicker of something—annoyance? Amusement?—crossed his face before it vanished. “Reintegration.”

The word sat uneasily in my head, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot.

“I want my records,” I said. “If I consented to this, I want to know why.”

Dr. Ansel gave me another one of those curated smiles. “Of course. That’s part of reintegration, too. In time.”

In time.

I pressed my fingers to my temple. A dull throb had begun to build, not quite pain, more like pressure—like something trying to surface but hitting a barrier just before breaking through.

“Do I have a family?” I asked.

Dr. Ansel nodded. “Yes.”

Something in me loosened. “Can I see them?”

A pause. “Not yet.”

The tightness returned. “Why not?”

He tilted his head. “You don’t remember, do you?”

A slow trickle of cold spread through my chest. “Remember what?”

He watched me as though deciding something. Then, finally, he said, “Your request wasn’t just to remove memories, Lydia. You asked us to erase people.”

My throat went dry.

“That’s not possible.”

His expression remained kind. Understanding. Professional.

“You chose to forget them.”

Something inside me splintered.

I didn’t just erase the pain.

I erased everyone who could remind me of it.

Chapter 3 – The Empty Spaces Where They Were

The world outside the clinic was too bright, T and sharp like it had been overexposed. The edges were too defined, and the colours were too vivid.

Or maybe I was the one who had faded.

I walked down the hallway, each step feeling like it belonged to someone else. At the end, a door stood open. Beyond it, a waiting area.

A woman sat there. Young. Dark hair. Something in her posture was familiar, a shape my mind couldn’t grasp. She lifted her head, eyes searching, hopeful.

I slowed. “Do I know you?”

Her face crumpled. “You did.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I swayed slightly, grabbing the door frame for support.

“What do you mean?” My voice was barely a whisper.

She swallowed. “I’m your sister.”

My breath stopped. I stared at her, waiting for the rush of recognition, the warmth of familiarity. It didn’t come. My mind was a blank slate where her name should be.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “That’s not—”

Dr. Ansel’s voice cut in, calm and even. “Lydia, your memories of her were part of the erasure. She is telling the truth.”

I looked at the woman—at my sister—but she was nothing to me—a stranger.

She wiped at her eyes and stood. “You asked for this,” she said, her voice trembling. “You chose to forget me.”

I had no words. No explanation. It’s just a space where love should have been.

She hesitated before turning to leave as though expecting me to stop her. When I didn’t, her shoulders slumped.

I wanted to call out, to reach for her, but my arms remained at my sides.

Dr. Ansel placed a hand on my shoulder. “Memories can’t be restored, Lydia. Only replaced.”

My sister paused at the door. “Would you want to remember?”

Silence stretched between us. I didn’t know what was more terrifying—the idea that I had lost something precious or the fear that I had done it willingly.

I didn’t answer.

She walked away.

Chapter 4 – The Fractured Path Ahead

The next step was integration. That’s what they called it. A return to a life I no longer recognised. A home that wasn’t mine. A past I had chosen to reject.

But what if I had erased the wrong things?

I had no answers. Only questions that no longer had a place to land.

I took my first step beyond the clinic doors into a world that was supposed to belong to me.

And I wondered if I had ever truly belonged to it.

The city stretched beyond me—vast, unfamiliar, and eerily structured. Buildings with smooth, glass exteriors loomed in calculated uniformity. There was no graffiti or trash. Everything was clean and eerily pristine. The streets hummed with silent efficiency.

A bus pulled up. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside, hesitating momentarily before scanning my wrist at the glowing checkpoint. The machine blinked green. Access granted.

I sat at the back, watching the rows of passengers. Their faces were expressionless. Their eyes didn’t wander. Everyone was absorbed in something—a glowing screen or a data feed projected onto their wrists.

I turned my arm over, staring at the faint outline of something just beneath my skin.

Erased.

Not completely. Something was left behind—a ghost of what was once there.

I closed my fist, feeling the weight of something I didn’t yet understand.

The bus stopped, and I stepped out. A towering building marked Public Archives stood ahead of me.

I didn’t remember why but knew I had to go inside.

Maybe the answers were there.

Maybe the questions were just beginning.

I walked through the entrance, my footsteps echoing against the marble floor. The air smelled of dust and something faintly metallic. A receptionist sat behind a curved desk, her eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the glowing screen.

“Identification?” she asked, her voice devoid of inflexion.

I hesitated, then raised my wrist. She scanned it with a handheld device. The screen flashed Limited Access in a sterile blue font. Her lips pressed together, but she said nothing.

“Why limited?” I asked.

The receptionist’s fingers stilled over the keyboard. “Your records have restrictions. Only partial data retrieval is permitted.”

“By whose authority?”

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “They don’t want you to remember everything at once.”

A shiver crawled up my spine. “Who’s ‘they’?”

Another pause. Then, “You requested it.”

I gripped the edge of the desk to steady myself. My past self had built walls to keep me out. But why? What had I buried so deeply that even now, knowing I had erased something, I still wasn’t sure I wanted it back?

The receptionist slid a keycard across the desk. “Restricted archives are on sublevel three. You have one hour.”

One hour. To unearth whatever pieces of myself remained.

I took the keycard with a steadying breath. Whatever happens next, I chose this.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing a narrow hallway lined with reinforced glass panels. Behind them, rows of data storage units blinked in a cold, mechanical rhythm. The hum of the servers filled the silence, a distant mechanical heart pulsing beneath the earth.

I stepped inside. The moment the doors shut, the lights dimmed, leaving only the glow of embedded LED strips to guide me. The air smelled of ozone and something faintly acrid, like old plastic burning beneath detection.

A row of terminals sat at the far end. I approached the nearest one and inserted the keycard. The screen flared to life, and a list of file directories appeared, each coded in letters and numbers I didn’t recognise. ACCESS LEVEL: PARTIAL flashed in red at the top of the interface.

I clicked on the first file. A loading symbol spun momentarily, and then a video began to play.

A woman sat in a chair. She looked… familiar. Too familiar. My breath caught as I realised I was looking at myself.

But her eyes—my eyes—were hollow. Dark circles clung beneath them like bruises. Her lips parted, but her voice, when it came, was flat. Devoid of emotion.

“I consent to the procedure,” she—I—said.

A male voice responded. “State your reasons.”

She hesitated. My pulse pounded in my ears.

Then she said, “I don’t want to remember what I did.”

The screen flickered—data corruption. The film ended abruptly.

I stumbled back from the terminal. The walls felt closer, the air thinner. My heart was a drumbeat against my ribs.

What had I done?

A sudden click echoed through the chamber. The door at the end of the hallway unlocked.

Someone knew I was here.

And they were waiting for me to find out the rest.

Chapter 5 – The Ghosts of Memory

The door at the end of the hallway stood slightly ajar, revealing only darkness beyond. The air in the chamber thickened, pressing against my skin like a warning. Whoever had unlocked the door wanted me to enter.

I took a slow step forward, my breath shallow. The moment I crossed the threshold, the door clicked shut behind me. The walls pulsed with dim red light, illuminating rows of filing cabinets stacked high against steel shelves. This was not just a digital archive—this was something older, something they had not yet erased.

A terminal blinked in the corner of the room, awaiting input. I hesitated, then pressed my palm against the scanner. The screen flared to life, revealing a new set of files labelled SUPPRESSED RECORDS.

A list of names scrolled past. At the very top: LYDIA MARSH – CONFIDENTIAL.

I clicked it. The screen flickered, and then a document filled the display.

Subject: Lydia Marsh

Status: Modified Memory Protocol Initiated

Clearance: Restricted – Level Omega

Below is a series of transcripts dated months before my procedure appeared. I skimmed through them, my pulse hammering.

INTERVIEW LOG – SESSION 04

Dr. Ansel: “You understand that this procedure is irreversible?” Lydia Marsh: “Yes. That’s the point.” Dr. Ansel: “Once we remove these memories, you will not retain any trace of them. You will not ask about them. You will not question what was lost.” Lydia Marsh: “I know. I just… I don’t want to feel it anymore.” Dr. Ansel: “And you are certain you want to proceed?” Lydia Marsh: “Yes. Just erase it.”

My voice, hollow and desperate, sent a chill through me. What had been so unbearable that I had begged them to take it away?

I scrolled further until I found another recording.

INTERVIEW LOG – SESSION 10

Unknown Subject: “She can’t know. She can’t ever remember.” Dr. Ansel: “She consented to the procedure.” Unknown Subject: “That doesn’t mean she chose it. You told her what she needed to hear. But she can’t ever—” (Data corruption detected. file incomplete.)

A cold dread spread through my limbs. Someone else had been involved in my erasure. Someone who had ensured I would never question what was taken from me.

A sharp beep echoed through the room. The terminal screen glitched, then a new line of text appeared:

YOU WERE WARNED.

The overhead lights flickered. A door at the room’s far end slid open, revealing a corridor bathed in cold white light.

Footsteps echoed beyond it.

Someone was coming.

I backed away from the terminal, my breath coming in short gasps. My mind screamed to run, but my feet refused to move.

Then the voice came, calm and familiar.

“Lydia, you shouldn’t be here.”

I turned slowly, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Dr. Ansel stood at the threshold, his expression unreadable.

But in his eyes, I saw it.

Fear.

Chapter 6 – The Man Who Lied

Dr. Ansel took a slow step forward, his eyes scanning the room. “You shouldn’t have accessed this,” he said, voice even, but something tight was in it—like a wire pulled too taut.

My hands curled into fists. “You lied to me.”

His gaze flickered, barely a hesitation, but I caught it. “Lydia, we can discuss this. But not here. We need to leave. Now.”

The sound of footsteps grew louder beyond the open door. Whoever was coming they weren’t alone.

I took a step back. “Tell me what I erased.”

His jaw clenched. “Lydia—”

“Tell me!” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. The screen behind me still glowed, the fragmented truth staring back at me. “What was so terrible that I begged you to erase it? And who was the person in that last recording? The one who said I didn’t choose this?”

The lights flickered again. The air in the room felt thinner, charged.

“I was trying to protect you.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

The footsteps stopped just beyond the door. A mechanical beep followed, the sound of an access override. Someone was unlocking the final security barrier.

“Protect me from what?” I asked, voice hoarse.

His eyes met mine. “From yourself.”

The lock disengaged with a heavy click. The door started to slide open.

Dr. Ansel moved first. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, shoving me behind a tall row of filing cabinets just as figures entered the room.

Three of them. Dressed in black, moving in practised synchronisation. Not just security—something worse.

“She was here,” one of them said. “Check the logs.”

I barely breathed. Dr. Ansel’s grip on my wrist tightened as he leaned in close. “Stay quiet,” he mouthed.

One of the intruders approached the terminal I had used. The screen still glowed, and Lydia Marsh—Confidential was displayed in stark white letters.

“She saw the files,” the figure muttered. “We need to contain this.”

Dr. Ansel exhaled softly. Then, without warning, he moved.

He grabbed a metal data rod from a nearby station and swung it, striking the nearest intruder across the back of the head. The figure staggered but didn’t go down.

“Run!” Dr. Ansel barked.

My body hesitated, but instinct took over. I bolted for the open door. One of the intruders lunged for me, fingers brushing my sleeve, but I twisted away, heart pounding.

Dr. Ansel moved between me and them, his stance braced. “Go!”

I ran.

The hallway blurred as I sprinted forward, my breath ragged. Behind me, the sounds of a struggle broke out—shouts, the crash of metal, a grunt of pain.

I didn’t stop.

I didn’t look back.

All I knew was that someone had tried to bury my past.

And now, I was going to find out why.

The corridor was a maze of identical doors, stretching endlessly in both directions. Panic clawed at my chest as I turned down the nearest hallway, the dim overhead lights casting eerie shadows against the sterile white walls.

Somewhere behind me, another door slammed open.

I kept running.

The sound of pursuit was growing louder. My breath came in ragged gasps, and my lungs burned as I pushed forward. I had no idea where I was going; stopping was not an option.

A doorway marked Emergency Exit loomed ahead. I threw my weight against it, expecting resistance, but it swung open startlingly. A blast of cold night air hit me as I stumbled outside.

I barely had time to process the open space before a sharp voice rang behind me. “There! Stop her!”

I turned just in time to see a figure step from the shadows—one of the operatives, gun raised.

I froze.

A sudden blur of movement to my left. Then—

Dr. Ansel.

He tackled the operative before he could fire, knocking the gun from his hands. The weapon skittered across the pavement, landing just feet away from me.

I didn’t think. I dove for it.

As the operative recovered, my fingers closed around cold metal, lunging toward me.

“Lydia, don’t!” Dr. Ansel shouted, but I was already swinging.

The butt of the gun connected with the operative’s jaw. He staggered back, dazed, and I scrambled to my feet, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Ansel grabbed my arm. “We have to go! Now!”

I didn’t argue.

We ran.

Past the cold white walls, past the city’s controlled precision, into the unknown darkness beyond.

Chapter 7 – Into the Shadows

We ran through the darkness, the wind biting at my exposed skin. The sterile glow of the facility behind us faded, swallowed by the looming cityscape ahead. My lungs burned, and my legs ached, but stopping wasn’t an option.

Ansel pulled me into a narrow alleyway between two looming buildings, pressing his back against the wall. He motioned for me to do the same.

“We can’t stop for long,” he murmured, barely above a whisper. “They’ll be tracking us.”

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to slow my breathing. “Who are they? Why do they want to stop me from remembering?”

He hesitated, glancing toward the alley’s entrance before meeting my gaze. “Because whatever you erased—it wasn’t just about you.”

The words sent a chill down my spine. “What do you mean?”

Before he could answer, a distant sound echoed through the alley—the low hum of a hovering drone.

Ansel tensed. “Move!”

We darted through the labyrinth of alleys, slipping past dumpsters and abandoned crates, until we emerged onto a deserted street. The air was thick with the scent of rain and asphalt. Neon lights flickered in the distance, painting distorted reflections onto the wet pavement.

“Where are we going?” I panted.

“Somewhere safe,” he said. “For now.”

He led me toward an old, rusted fire escape attached to a rundown apartment building. Climbing the steps felt like scaling a mountain, my muscles screaming in protest, but I pushed on.

We reached the rooftop as the drone’s searchlight swept across the street below. My heart pounding, I crouched behind a metal vent, watching as figures in black moved methodically through the area.

“They won’t stop,” I whispered. “They’re everywhere.”

Ansel crouched beside me. " That’s why we have to find the truth before they do.”

A beat of silence stretched between us before I forced the words out. "You said this wasn’t just about me. Then tell me—what did I forget?”

Ansel’s expression darkened. “You weren’t alone when you asked for the erasure, Lydia. There was someone else. Someone you wanted to protect.”

My breath caught. "Who?”

He exhaled slowly. "Your brother.”

The world tilted.

"No,” I murmured. “That’s not— I don’t have a brother.”

"You did.” His voice was gentle but firm. “And they made sure you’d never remember him.”

The memories I didn’t have—the aching void in my past—suddenly felt suffocating. Someone had been there in my life, someone important. Someone I had willingly erased.

But why?

Ansel reached into his coat and pulled out a small, battered photograph. He handed it to me, his expression unreadable.

I stared at the image. A boy, no older than sixteen, stood beside me, his grin wide and familiar. My stomach lurched.

"What happened to him?” My voice barely made it past my lips.

Ansel’s jaw tightened. "That’s what we need to find out.”

Below us, the drone shifted, the searchlight sweeping dangerously close.

“Come on,” Ansel said, rising to his feet. “We don’t have much time.”

With the photograph clutched in my trembling fingers, I followed him into the night.

 

Chapter 8 – Echoes of the Forgotten

The city stretched before us, neon and steel, humming with an artificial life that didn’t belong to me. My hands trembled as I clutched the photograph, my brother’s face frozen in time. How could I forget him? How could I erase him from my life as though he never existed?

Ansel led me through a maze of back alleys, his movements sharp and practised. He knew where we were going, even if I didn’t. Whenever I tried to piece together a memory—something, anything—the void in my mind swallowed it whole.

“We need answers,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Ansel nodded. “And I know where to start.”

We stopped outside a dimly lit shop nestled between towering buildings. A flickering sign above the entrance read: RETRIEVAL SPECIALIST.

“This place deals in lost information,” Ansel said, pushing open the door. “If there’s any trace of your past left, they can find it.”

Inside, the air smelled of dust and old electronics. The small space had shelves lined with data drives and tangled wires. Behind the counter, a woman with piercing eyes and silver streaks in her dark hair regarded us with open suspicion.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said, her voice clipped. “They’ll be looking for you.”

Ansel placed a small, unmarked chip on the counter. “We need access.”

The woman glanced at the chip, then at me. “You’re the one they wiped. The girl who erased something big.”

A chill crawled up my spine. “How do you know that?”

She tapped the counter. “Because nothing is ever really gone. Your memories? They left echoes. Fragments buried deep. But I can pull them back—if you’re ready.”

I swallowed hard. I wasn’t ready. But I had no choice.

“Do it.”

The woman led me to a seat in the back of the shop, where wires snaked from a worn-down terminal. She then methodically attached small, cold electrodes to my temples.

“Close your eyes,” she instructed. “Let your mind open. If there’s something left, I’ll find it.”

I did as she said. The machine hummed to life, and the world around me suddenly dissolved.

Memories flickered—shattered images, out of reach. A voice, soft and desperate. “Lydia, don’t forget me.”

Then, a flash of something darker.

A struggle. A hand gripping my wrist. A scream ripped from my throat.

The memory slammed into me, visceral and raw, and I gasped, jerking out of the machine’s grasp. My vision blurred, and I blinked rapidly as Ansel steadied me.

“What did you see?” he asked.

I looked at him, my breath uneven. “Someone took him. Someone made me erase him. And I think I know where they took him.”

The woman exhaled sharply. “Then you don’t have much time.”

Ansel’s grip on my arm tightened. “We move now.”

I nodded, swallowing my fear. My past wasn’t lost. My brother wasn’t lost.

I was going to find him.

Even if it killed me.

Chapter 9 – The Hollow Truth

The streets blurred as we moved, each step quick and measured. My breath still hitched from the memory’s impact, but I had no time to process it. If what I had seen was real—if my brother had been taken—then someone had gone to great lengths to make sure I would never remember.

Ansel led me through another set of back alleys, emerging onto a deserted industrial road. Rusted metal fences loomed on either side, enclosing warehouses resembling forgotten monoliths.

“Where are we going?” I asked, forcing my legs to keep pace.

“A contact,” Ansel replied. “Someone who might have the missing piece. But we have to be careful.”

Before he stopped outside a massive, nondescript building, I barely had time to ask what that meant. The sign above the door had long since worn away, but the faint outline of words remained: BIOGEN RESEARCH FACILITY.

Something in my stomach twisted. “I know this place.”

Ansel didn’t react. “You should.”

He pressed a buzzer. Silence stretched before the door finally clicked open. Inside, the air was thick with chemicals and the faint hum of unseen machinery.

A man stood at the far end of the hall, waiting. His face was sharp, his expression unreadable. “You took too long,” he said.

Ansel exhaled. “Lydia needed time.”

The man’s eyes flicked to me. “Not much of it left.”

I clenched my fists. “Who are you?”

He stepped closer. “Someone who used to know you. Before they wiped you. Before you agreed to forget.”

My stomach lurched. “Tell me everything.”

He studied me for a long moment before speaking. “You and your brother were part of something—an experiment. You weren’t supposed to remember. But you fought it. And now you’re waking up.”

The words sent ice through my veins. “What kind of experiment?”

The man hesitated, then turned toward a control panel on the wall. A screen flickered to life with a few clicks, displaying surveillance footage. My breath caught.

It was me.

But not just me—me and my brother. Locked in a sterile room, wires attached to our temples, fear etched into our faces. A figure stood behind us, their face obscured.

A voice crackled through the speakers: “Initiate memory suppression.”

I stumbled back. “No. No, this—this isn’t real.”

Ansel caught my arm. “It is.”

The man turned back to me. “You wanted to protect him, Lydia. So, you made them take him instead. You made them erase him. And now, they’re coming to finish what they started.”

A sharp sound echoed through the facility—an alarm blaring.

Ansel swore. “They know we’re here.”

The man grabbed a set of keys from his belt. “There’s a tunnel beneath this building. It’ll take you far enough away to disappear. But if you want the truth—to find your brother—you’ll have to go deeper.”

I swallowed the terror rising in my chest. “Then we go deeper.”

Ansel nodded. “Lead the way.”

The man opened a hidden panel on the floor, revealing a ladder leading into darkness. I gripped the edges, glancing again at the screen where my past self stared back at me.

Then, I climbed down into the unknown.