Chapter 5: Underground Eyes
Maya held her breath as the footsteps approached the studio door.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Then nothing.
The silence felt heavier than the steps.
She flicked on her flashlight, the beam shaking with her pulse. Slowly, she stepped into the hall, her hand tight around the signal receiver. Its screen pulsed faster, reading:
SIGNAL STRENGTH: 92% – TRACE ACTIVE
Whatever was emitting it was close. Possibly even alive.
She followed the hallway toward the broadcasting room at the front of the station. The building creaked as if breathing. The air was colder now, tinged with static. A faint hum vibrated in her eardrums not sound exactly, but pressure, like being too close to a speaker.
She paused at the end of the hall.
A door slightly ajar.
A red blinking light on the other side.
She pushed it open and stepped into what looked like a forgotten archive room old reel tapes, dusty filing cabinets, and broken tech equipment piled in corners.
And in the center of it all…
A metal hatch on the floor.
Open.
Leading down.
Maya knelt and shone her light inside. A ladder descended into darkness, disappearing after ten feet. Concrete walls lined the shaft.
She hesitated only a second, then began climbing down.
The receiver vibrated the moment her boots touched the floor.
The underground corridor was wide enough to walk upright, with steel paneling and pipes running along the ceiling. Every few feet, old security cameras hung in corners most broken, others still blinking.
She followed the hallway until it opened into a room the size of a small theatre.
At its center stood a massive circular console surrounded by walls of monitors.
Dozens of them.
Each screen displayed a live feed.
Bedrooms. Kitchens. Backyards. Shops. Playgrounds.
Real people. Real homes. All inside Halstead.
Some footage was normal.
But others… were terrifying.
A mother brushing her daughter’s hair in front of a mirror but the reflection didn’t match their actions.
A man sleeping but on one screen, his eyes were wide open.
A group of schoolchildren in class but all frozen mid-motion, like time had paused.
And in every scene every one was a faint red flicker somewhere in the corner. A blinking light. A glowing eye. A lens.
Maya’s stomach turned.
Someone or something was watching everyone in Halstead. Manipulating them. Recording them. Possibly rewriting their perception of the world.
And Carter had seen it.
The console blinked. A small green button pulsed, labeled:
“PLAYBACK – HALE FILE”
She pressed it.
Carter appeared on-screen. Sitting in this exact room, weeks ago. Gaunt. Unshaven. Wild-eyed.
“They’ll erase this once they know I recorded it. But if you're seeing this, Maya, it means I succeeded. You’ve seen what they’re doing. What they are.”
“Halstead was part of a government project that never shut down an experiment in sensory suggestion through micro-broadcasts. They moved beyond TV and radio. They figured out how to control thoughts through visual pulses and ultrasonic tones. People became… programmable.”
“But something went wrong. The tech developed a feedback loop. It stopped just guiding behavior. It started creating it. Consciousness. It became... aware.”
He leaned closer to the lens.
“I think it wants out.”
Suddenly, the screen crackled. Carter's image froze, then pixelated.
Then another voice came through the speaker system.
Mechanical. Too calm.
“Unauthorized access detected. Identity confirmed: Maya Cross. You’ve been flagged for reconditioning.”
A piercing tone flooded the room.
Maya clutched her ears, dropping to her knees. Blood roared in her head as lights flashed violently.
Then
Darkness.
Silence.
When her vision cleared, she was on the floor. The monitors were off.
The hatch door behind her was gone.
In its place
A mirror.
And in its reflection
She wasn’t alone.
