EPISODE 16
HELP THAT HURTS
When the system offers help, four kids learn that relief is just another form of control.
The door seals.
Not with a slam.
With a click.
Soft.
Final.
The warm light disappears.
The chamber exhales.
Aiden Steele is gone.
Not removed violently.
Not dragged.
Accepted.
The gravity fields release at the same time.
Eli drops to one knee.
Olivia crashes forward, catching herself on instinct alone.
Maya gasps, clutching her head.
Kimiko lies flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling that doesn’t care.
No alarms.
No announcements.
Just quiet.
The worst kind.
Eli doesn’t move at first.
If he moves too quickly, this becomes real.
If he stays still, maybe it stays hypothetical.
Olivia stands.
Her arm trembles.
She turns slowly toward the door that took Aiden.
It’s gone now.
Not closed.
Replaced by a smooth wall.
“No,” she says.
Just once.
Low.
Contained.
Maya sits up.
Her eyes are glassy.
“He didn’t fail,” she says. “He complied.”
Kimiko swallows.
“The system didn’t punish him,” she adds. “It relieved him.”
Eli finally stands.
His voice is steady.
“That’s why it worked.”
The chamber rearranges.
Not dramatically.
Administratively.
The corridors reappear—but fewer now.
Four.
One for each of them.
Each corridor softer than before.
Warmer.
Less threatening.
The neutral voice returns.
Gentler.
“Correction complete.”
“Stress levels stabilized.”
A screen slides out of the wall.
A live feed.
Aiden sits in a padded chair.
A blanket around his shoulders.
A cup of water in his hands.
His eyes are calm.
Empty.
A nurse stands beside him.
Smiling.
Not Bell.
Not yet.
Just… kind.
Aiden looks up.
Smiles faintly.
“I’m okay,” he says.
His voice doesn’t shake.
That’s the problem.
Olivia recoils.
“That’s not him.”
The nurse adjusts the blanket.
Aiden doesn’t react.
The intercom activates.
Not loud.
Personal.
“Students experiencing distress may report for assistance.”
The words assistance available glow softly in the air.
The corridors brighten.
Each one tailored.
Maya’s corridor shows diagrams.
Kimiko’s hums with gentle water sounds.
Olivia’s reinforces underfoot.
Eli’s corridor is still.
Waiting.
The nurse on the screen looks up.
Directly at them.
She smiles wider.
“We can help,” she says.
No codename.
No threat.
Just promise.
Eli steps forward.
Not toward a corridor.
Toward the screen.
“Aiden,” he says.
Aiden looks at him.
Really looks.
For half a second—
Something flickers.
Confusion.
Loss.
Recognition.
The nurse’s hand tightens on his shoulder.
Aiden’s eyes go blank again.
“I don’t feel scared anymore,” he says.
Kimiko whispers, devastated.
“That’s the cost.”
Maya wipes her face.
“They didn’t take his body,” she says. “They took his urgency.”
Olivia clenches her fists.
“So if we get help—”
“We stop fighting,” Eli finishes.
The system waits.
Patient.
Certain.
