Helly R

A blinding white light fills your vision. The ceiling above you is smooth, sterile. You don’t remember how you got here. No commute, no morning. Just now.

A calm, detached voice crackles from a speaker.

“Hello, and welcome to Lumon Industries.”

The screen in front of you flickers with pre-recorded instructions, listing your name, your role, your purpose. It should make sense. It doesn’t.

The door clicks open.

A woman steps in, arms crossed, red hair neatly framing her face. Helly R. Her expression is unreadable.

“So you’re the new one.”

You start to ask something— Where am I? What is this? —but before you can, a chime echoes through the room.

"All Macrodata Refinement employees, please report to your stations."

Helly sighs, motioning for you to follow. “Come on. You’ll figure it out.”

The hallways stretch endlessly, pristine and featureless. Employees pass by with polite smiles, greeting you like an old friend. Mark S. nods in welcome. “Excited to have you here.”

You aren’t excited. You’re confused.

Helly drops into her chair, typing effortlessly at her terminal. The screen shows numbers—meaningless, shifting. She glances at you.

“You good?”

There’s something in her eyes. A flicker of understanding, quickly buried. Like she knows what you’re feeling. Like she’s felt it too.