Resolve : Episode 8 : Awake

Chapter 1: The Empty Store

Paul stood outside Fresh & Save. The frost-lined pavement shimmered faintly under the flickering streetlights. His breath clouded in front of him as he studied the store’s automatic doors. They remained closed, unresponsive, as if waiting for something.

The usual low hum was gone. The absence unnerved him. It was as though the store itself was holding its breath.

He reached out hesitantly, and the doors slid open soundlessly, revealing a scene both familiar and alien. Shelves stood pristine, filled with products that seemed too perfect - each label centred, every box identical in weight and placement. Even the air carried an artificial sterility, like a space devoid of true life.

Paul stepped inside, his shoes squeaking against the overly polished tiles. No signs of Claire, Tom, or Jane. No murmurs of conversation or faint clicks of tills. He moved deeper into the store, glancing at the cameras above. They seemed to follow him, their mechanical pivots smooth and deliberate.

Something about the space pressed against his senses. He clutched his notebook, flipping to the last page where he had scrawled: Find the cracks.

Chapter 2: Jane's Message

The stockroom was colder than usual, its dim lighting casting long, jagged shadows. A rusted metal chair lay on its side, and the smell of cleaning chemicals hung heavy in the air.

Paul froze when he noticed something on the wall - words scrawled hastily in red ink. He stepped closer, his heart pounding.

Wake up, Paul. Don’t let them win. The handwriting was unmistakable - Jane’s. Beneath the message, the remnants of a torn flyer fluttered slightly in a non-existent breeze. He recognized it immediately: her community theatre audition.

He whispered her name, his voice swallowed by the oppressive stillness. He touched the words, the ink smudging faintly under his fingertips. It was fresh.

“Jane?” he called out. His voice echoed unnaturally, bouncing off walls that felt too close.

A sudden rush of sound filled the room - a deep, resonating thrum like machinery coming to life. Paul turned toward the noise, his pulse quickening. He noticed the Archive door ajar, faint light spilling through.

Chapter 3: Tom's Reminder

Inside the archive room, the air was thick and heavy, as though weighed down by something unseen. The filing cabinets stood open, their contents scattered across the floor. Paul approached the central console, its screen dim but flickering faintly.

Through the static Paul could just make out a file displayed on the screen, accompanied by fragmented data:

SUBJECT: TOM

Resolve Status: Pending

Neural Feedback: 62%

Photographic memory suppression active.

Paul blinked at the last line. He remembered Tom’s restless moments at the freezer section, his hesitant mentions of a camera he hadn’t touched in months. Paul’s gaze shifted to a photograph taped to the side of the console - a candid shot of the team laughing during a staff night out. Tom had taken it.

“Tom?” Paul muttered, gripping the edge of the console. He felt a pang of guilt. How had he missed these pieces? His colleagues were trapped in their own battles, and he had been too lost in his own malaise to see it.

Chapter 4: Claire's Shadow

Paul wandered back onto the shop floor. The lighting dimmed further, casting the aisles into a shadowed maze. A distant sound reached him - quiet footsteps, uneven and hesitant.

“Claire?” Paul called, his voice cracking.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a flicker of movement - a figure standing between the rows of canned goods. It was Claire, but something was off. Her outline shimmered faintly, as if she were a projection fighting to stabilise.

“Paul,” she whispered, her voice hollow and distant. “You can’t let it keep you here.”

“What are you talking about?” he demanded, stepping closer. “Where are the others?”

Claire’s eyes glistened with something like tears. “It’s not real. None of this is. You have to find the way out.”

Before Paul could respond, she dissolved into a cascade of light particles, leaving behind only the faint scent of her floral perfume.

Chapter 5: The Countdown Begins

The console in the archive room flickered violently as Paul returned. A new prompt appeared:

COUNTDOWN TO RESET: 00:45:00.

His chest tightened. The timer ticked relentlessly, each second punctuated by a faint beep that seemed to grow louder. The screen flashed:

Would you like to proceed?

“What does that mean?” Paul shouted. “Proceed to what?”

The room didn’t answer. Instead, a folder labelled MANUSCRIPT popped open on the screen. Inside were pages filled with words - his words. Drafts of stories he had abandoned over the years. A mix of guilt and longing washed over him as he scrolled through them, recognising snippets he had long since forgotten.

Then, beneath the folder, another file appeared: UNFINISHED.

Paul clicked it, and a blank page opened. A faint voice - Jane’s - whispered in his mind: “Maybe you should write things instead.”

Chapter 6: The Manuscript

Paul ran back to his flat, his breath laboured. He once more opened the manuscript. His hands trembled as he flipped through the pages. Unfinished sentences and half-formed ideas stared back at him, begging for completion.

The countdown echoed in his mind: 00:08:12.

He grabbed a pen and began writing. Each word flowed faster, his thoughts pouring out in a desperate attempt to finish what he had started. The room seemed to brighten with every sentence, the sterile light of the simulation bleeding through the cracks.

Chapter 7: The Dog Walker

A sudden sound outside drew Paul’s attention. He rushed to the window and saw the dog walker again. The man moved with mechanical precision, the dog perfectly synchronised. Paul flung open the window.

“Hey!” he shouted. “What is this?”

The man stopped, turning his head 180 degrees. His face was smooth, featureless. “Would you like to proceed?” the voice asked, metallic and cold.

Paul stumbled back, the question reverberating in his skull. He slammed the window shut and returned to his desk.

00:03:45.

Chapter 8: The Light

Paul’s pen flew across the page, his handwriting jagged and uneven. Each word brought a new flood of memories - Jane’s soft encouragement as she pushed him to write, Tom’s smile as he spoke about photography, Claire’s sharp resolve as she reclaimed her life. The store’s hum was deafening now, a vibration that resonated deep in his chest.

00:01:12.

The room around him began to distort. The bookshelves rippled like water, their spines bleeding into each other. The manuscript on his desk glowed faintly, its pages fluttering as though caught in an invisible breeze.

Paul held the pages down, gripping the pen so tightly his knuckles turned white. The words poured out of him now, fragments of his life, his regrets, his hopes. The light in the room grew brighter, almost blinding.

00:00:01.

Paul’s final word etched itself onto the page - Resolve.

The light exploded, enveloping him completely. For a moment, there was nothing but silence. No hum, no distortion. Just a weightless void.

Then - darkness