Chương 2: Chapter 1 - The White Room (I)

The scene in front of him shifted abruptly. Everything had changed. He stood silent and paralyzed, unsure of how to react.

'I passed out?'

'Was this a coma-induced dream?'

'Did I die?' The current situation made no sense. He couldn't wrap his mind around it. Moments ago, he was standing on the edge of a cliff, having finished a good hike with his friend. They were chatting and observing the night sky. But now... He looked at his prosthetic leg. It was still there. After a deep breath, he shook his head and stood up. He looked around warily. The setting was bland and empty. There was no wind, no sounds. Everything was white, enclosed like a box with spotless white walls.

It reminded him of those futuristic movies where everything was depicted in stark white. And for some reason, it also brought to mind the padded rooms used to isolate and contain dangerous or mentally ill individuals. But this room was much bigger, and the walls were smooth. There was no bed, no door, no windows. Everything was plain and empty. He clenched his fist. The sensation was too real. His mind was clear with no hint of dizziness. This was not a dream.

It didn't take long for him to reach the boundary of the room. He extended his hand and touched the white wall. The sensation was rather peculiar. It wasn't metal or plastic, neither cold nor warm. It was just… bland. He then crouched and touched the floor. It felt the same.

'Was this the afterlife? Emptiness?' He looked up. The ceiling was quite high, over three meters tall. He couldn't reach it even if he jumped. Not that he wanted to try; jumping still felt strange with his artificial leg, despite how accustomed he had become to it.

"Hello," he called out, his voice tinged with a hint of wariness.

"Is someone there?" His words echoed slightly around the room, but there was no answer. He made a fist and pounded the wall with the heel of his hand. The sound was much softer than expected.

"Can you hear me? Is someone there?" he shouted, his voice growing louder. He pounded on the walls, moving frantically around the room, shouting. Each strike and call echoed back at him, but nothing changed. He dropped to the floor, his breathing heavy. Panic started to creep in. He scanned the room again hoping for any sign of an exit or another person, but found nothing. The bland walls stared back at him, indifferent.

'What the hell was this?' May 13, 2024 - Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas A young technician noticed an unusual signal on his monitor. The control room was quiet, with the other technicians focused on their tasks or taking a nap. Intrigued, he began to filter and analyze the data using advanced signal processing techniques. He scrutinized the incoming data for signs of interference or technical failure, ensuring it was genuine. As he smoothed the signal and isolated any patterns, his eyes widened in surprise.

He stared at the screen, shocked for some time, rubbing his tired eyes that had been supported by a heavy dose of caffeine. The signal resolved into a clear, structured pattern. He blinked and leaned closer to the screen.

"Unicode? What the …" he whispered as he stared at the screen. His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard with a frown on his face as the binary sequence was converted. But the situation just got weirder. Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings. The message before him was unmistakable, and it was in English!

He looked around, wondering if anyone else had noticed the odd signal, but the room remained undisturbed, everyone else engrossed in their tasks or sound asleep. He whispered, "Is this a joke?" He knew he had to wait for confirmation before escalating the issue. Minutes later, after verifying the data multiple times, he contacted his supervisor.

"Sir, you need to see this," he said, keeping his voice steady as he spoke into the phone.

"We've got something unusual, and I've ruled out technical failures." The supervisor arrived a while later, his expression shifting from curiosity to seriousness despite his sleepy demeanor as he examined the data, but then it transitioned to a tired smile.

"You called me here for this?" he said, looking at the technician with an amused face.

"This is obviously a joke. Find out where it came from if you have the time, and send them a happy face." He motioned to leave, but the technician interrupted.

"Sir, the estimated location of this signal is not exactly anywhere near..."

"Then whoever sent it wants to brag they got a new redirecting technique, probably the Russians or Chinese," the supervisor sighed.

"Why do these things happen so late?"

"Sir?"

"How far are we from achieving this?"

"I have absolutely no idea how this can be faked," the tech answered honestly.

"So a major breakthrough," he said, his tone tired.

"Repeat the analysis and follow all the protocols for once. I will wake up Chiara and have her check it out." July 29, 2024 -?

"Okay, just calm down," he told himself, steadying his breathing.

"Let's go step by step."

"Question 1: Is this real?"

"Most likely answer: yes. Why? All my senses are functioning perfectly, I can feel, see, and hear everything clearly, and I have coherent memories from my past."

"Question 2: Last memory?"

"Talking with Pablo during the night, on top of Sugarloaf Peak."

"Question 3: How did I get from there to here?"

"Cause uncertain and most likely memory loss. It could be the same as that day, where I lost all the memories from the accident..." He had to stop himself there and breathe deeply again to calm himself.

"Question 4: Why am I perfectly fine? No injuries, no dizziness, nothing."

"... Kidnapped? Drugged or hit in such a way that I lost consciousness and was brought here? As much as I want to think of something else, nothing comes to mind. At least nothing that could be explained without going to the fantastical or religious… well, there's also the case of AI taking over and starting the Matrix, but it's too soon for that." Somehow, he managed to chuckle despite the situation he was in.

"Question 5: If I was kidnapped: Why? Why am I fine? Why is the room like this?"

"Sell my organs on the black market? An experiment from a crazy rich eccentric guy who lives alone in the middle of the mountains? A Turing test? Am I going to be conditioned? Or is this some sort of psychological study?"

"Question 6:... What do I do now?" He paused, considering his options. The room was featureless, offering no clues. He thought about the movies where characters in similar situations found ways to escape or communicate with their captors.

"Maybe I should start by looking for hidden cameras or microphones. There must be something here." He began to methodically search the room, feeling along the walls for any irregularities. But there was nothing. The room was spotless. It was so immaculate and smooth that he even wondered where the air or oxygen was coming from... because it had to be, right?

There were millions of reasons he could be anxious or worried, but somehow, he had this strange ability to stay composed once he calmed down after the initial crisis. He often joked that his mom got so worried about everything, she had absorbed all the anxiety, leaving none for him.

"So, if I was kidnapped, there's little I can do but wait," he said, looking around the room again.

"I might as well pass the time searching instead of just sitting here." With a groan, he pushed himself up. He paced the room, searching for any mark, any imperfection, any tiny detail he might have missed. His fingers traced the walls, seeking something different, but all he felt was the smooth, featureless surface. After what felt like half an hour of checking the room, he gave up and reclined against the wall, sliding down to the floor.

"Not even a chair, really? Guess whoever designed this was some kind of OCD perfectionist," he muttered, glancing at his stomach.

"I hope they're as meticulous with the food. Because there will be food and water... right?" So, what do you think?"

"It's as genuine as it can get," Chiara said, her fingers moving rapidly over the keyboard.

"If I had to guess, I'd say we were hacked. The idea of someone actually faking a signal like this… it's impossible with our current technology," she sighed and reclined back in her chair.

"For reference, a signal sent by Alexander the Great at near light speed wouldn't have covered a millionth of the distance from which this signal came."

"But how can a signal sent from over 2 billion light-years away be so…"

"Perfect," Chiara interrupted her colleague.

"That's why I think it's a hack. It's really the only case that makes sense."

"But what a weird message to send as a hack. I'm sure they could have come up with something better, right?"

"Well, I think that's the purpose of the joke they're playing on us—to make it weird and interesting. And to be honest," she glanced at the screen, "I kind of like the message." [You have been invited. The Tower will appear in 77 days. You will be tested.]