Chương 4: Chapter 3 - The White Room (III)

He was lying on the floor, his back reclined against the wall. His stomach growled, and his mouth was dry. The knife was still in his hand, its shiny blade reflecting his tired expression. He had no idea how much time had passed. A day, maybe more? He glanced at the back of his wrist, where a cut that had stopped bleeding long ago showed the dried blood. It was one of those crazy ideas that had come to his mind.

He wanted to see if his blood served some purpose, so he had smeared it on the knife, the floor, and the walls. He had even gone so far as to write on the wall with his blood, even though he knew it was futile. [HELP] He also wanted to know if he could still bleed. He... he was no longer sure of anything. Should he take the step? He didn't want to. Even in his slow descent into madness, he still valued his life. There were too many things he wanted to do. He wanted to live.

Left with no other alternatives, he had decided to wait, to endure the hunger and thirst, to endure the isolation. He resolved to wait as long as he had to—or as long as he could. He glanced at a corner of the room that had become smelly from having to do his basic needs there. The situation was becoming increasingly unbearable. He wasn't trained for any of this. He was just... just Alonso Shemson. Why him? Why was he going through all of this?

His mind had even entertained terrible and disgusting ways to stave off hunger for a while, but he knew of nothing to control his thirst. He dreaded the moment he couldn't hold on anymore. He looked at the knife. Was that its true purpose then? Was he being offered an easier way out? June 3, 2024 - Nevada, USA Colonel David Greene stood before the assembled troops.

"Listen up," he barked, his voice carrying over the field.

"We are facing an unknown threat, and we have less than 60 days to prepare. We do not know what we are preparing for, but we will be ready for anything." The soldiers stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the Colonel. They had been briefed on the mysterious signal and the implications it carried, for which they had to sign a highly strict confidentiality agreement.

"First phase: physical endurance," Colonel Greene continued.

"We will push your bodies to the limit. Obstacle courses, long-distance runs, weight training, and combat drills. You need to be in peak physical condition."

"Second phase: mental fortitude," the Colonel said, his eyes scanning the crowd.

"We will simulate high-stress environments. You will be subjected to sleep deprivation, psychological tests, and problem-solving under pressure. You need to be mentally resilient."

"Third phase: strategic thinking," Greene continued.

"We will conduct war games and tactical exercises. You need to be able to think on your feet and make quick, effective decisions."

"Fourth phase: teamwork," the Colonel emphasized.

"No one goes through this alone. You will work in teams, supporting each other every step of the way. We succeed together or not at all." The troops nodded.

"Fifth phase: unknown variables," Colonel Greene said, his tone grave.

"We will introduce unpredictable elements into your training. You need to be ready for anything, because we don't know what to expect."

"Dismissed," the Colonel concluded.

"Training starts now." The soldiers dispersed, heading to their assigned training areas. They were a mix of elite operatives, seasoned veterans, and fresh recruits, all united by the same purpose: to prepare for The Tower.

Kola Peninsula, Russia In the desolate and icy reaches of the Kola Peninsula, a secluded Russian military base served as the training ground for an elite unit of soldiers. The harsh Arctic winds howled through the compound as the soldiers gathered, their breath visible in the freezing air. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. A seasoned general stood before them, his face stern and unyielding. Without any formalities, he commanded, "You already know. Get ready."

Gobi Desert, China The scorching sun beat down mercilessly on the soldiers as they prepared for their rigorous training regimen, their determination unwavering despite the oppressive heat. The commander stood before the assembled troops. The soldiers, blindfolded and standing at the edge of a wide, shallow pit filled with sand, awaited his orders. Without a word, the commander clapped his hands, signaling the start. The soldiers began to navigate the pit, relying solely on their other senses to guide them.

The ground was uneven, and the shifting sands made each step treacherous. One soldier stumbled, quickly recovering his balance. Another hesitated, reaching out cautiously. The minutes stretched on, the only sounds were the shuffling of feet and the occasional grunt of effort.

Thar Desert, India In the arid reaches of the Thar Desert, a secluded military base was the site of intense training for an elite group of soldiers. The hot desert winds swept across the training grounds as the soldiers prepared for the unknown. A colonel stood before the troops, staring them down. The soldiers, carrying heavy backpacks and barefoot, stood silently under the blazing sun. Minutes ticked by until the first soldier collapsed, followed by another, and then several more. Finally, the colonel spoke.

"Take them away."

June 4, 2024 - Johnson Space Center, Houston, Texas"Let me get this right," Stephen looked at Chiara with an amused smile.

"They ruled out hacking, they ruled out it being faked, and so they sent the military to train… train for what exactly?"

"Well, in less than two months we'll have our answer," Chiara said.

"That's faster than most journals take to process your papers."

"That's not the main point. I mean, sure, aliens are real. True. I even seriously believe that myself given the size of our universe. But some aliens sending a signal in English? From 2 billion light years away? Come on."

"It's unpredictable how technology and science will evolve. What we think is impossible may not necessarily be for them. Trying to make sense of it is a useless endeavor."

"So you think it's all true?"

"A part of me does." Stephen looked at her and shook his head. He sighed and sat down.

"So then what about the preparation? What are they doing? Basic military exercises in preparation for an invitation from a civilization that is so much more advanced than us that we can't even comprehend it?"

"Are you religious, Stephen?" Chiara asked.

"No."

"Why do you think religion is important?" Stephen frowned but answered, "Because people need something to believe in? To feel safe, protected? Wait…" Chiara smiled. He woke up from his nap, his head throbbing with a dull ache. His vision blurred momentarily as he tried to focus, the room spinning slightly. He licked his parched lips, but his mouth remained unbearably dry. His throat felt like sandpaper, every breath a struggle. His stomach cramped painfully, reminding him of its empty state.

He was lightheaded, his thoughts scattered and slow. He tried to stand but immediately fell back down, his leg too weak to support him. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he closed his eyes, trying to steady himself. His mind felt foggy, teetering on the edge of coherence and delusion. He was haunted by fleeting images and fragmented thoughts, unable to distinguish between reality and hallucination. The smell from the corner of the room assaulted his senses, making him gag.

He clutched his stomach, the dry heaves further weakening him. He felt a wave of despair wash over him, the weight of his situation pressing down relentlessly. The knife in his hand felt heavier now, its cold surface a stark contrast to his feverish skin. He stared at it, the blade smeared with dried blood. Was this really his only way out? No! He didn't want to die, but the agony of his current state was pushing him to the brink. Yet, he had to hold on. He could survive a bit longer. He knew his body could endure.

He... he would survive until the very end. He had to. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision as the salty drops traced familiar paths down his grimy cheeks. These were not the first tears he had shed; his clothes were already stained with the marks of his previous anguish.

"Why me? Haven't I already suffered enough? Was taking my dad and putting my mom in a coma not enough for you?" he shouted, his voice hoarse and dry. He didn't know who he was shouting at—fate, perhaps? He just needed to release the torment within him. It was then that he saw it. Was it real? No, it was probably an illusion conjured by his desires. He rubbed his teary eyes and looked again, but there it was, clearer than before. His heart pounded. He tried to stand up and, after some difficulty, managed to.

He started walking toward it but fell midway. He then started crawling, slowly inching forward, the knife still gripped tight in his hand. He reached it. He touched it. It was real. It was a staircase. He positioned himself at the bottom and looked up. The end was dark; he did not know where it led.

"Hello," he said, the words coming out with difficulty from his dry mouth. Hearing no answer, he put his hand on the railing and pulled himself up. Slowly, he began to climb.