The Severance Floor: My Ex-Boyfriend Erased 8 Hours Of My Memory Every Day At Synapse Health
👉 Previous Decision: You chose the path to secretly audit the historic physical building records (or through Chapter 6 after Sarah’s publication was blocked).
The restraining order, or the prior decision to keep my access secret, only solidified my resolve. Under the cloak of night, I used the pneumatic tube. It was a tight fit, but my “In-nie” self had already ensured the passage was clear for me. I slid through the dusty, narrow shaft, bypassing the main security grid.
I emerged in the facility’s deepest colonial archive cellar. The air was cold and still, heavy with the scent of damp earth and decaying paper. Rats skittered in the shadows, their eyes glinting.
Following the 1892 blueprints, I located a crumbling brick wall behind a lower furnace unit. The mortar was weak, like powdered sugar. I pried it open, stone by painful stone, until my fingers touched cold metal.
Inside a rusting iron lockbox, beneath a layer of moldering cloth, lay a water-stained letter. It was dated 1892, signed by an architect: Thomas Danforth. His elegant, faded script detailed how Arthur Pendelton’s great-grandfather had explicitly designed the building to conceal an ancient, binding subterranean vault. The letter contained precise legal descriptions of land fraud and human mind covenants.
“The entity below,” Danforth wrote, “requires the surrender of temporal thought. A continuous feast.”
He warned of the Pendelton family’s intention to secure their fortune for generations, built upon stolen consciousness and illegal deeds. My hands trembled, not from the cold, but from the horrifying clarity of it all. This was the proof. This was the lineage.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 9 to continue the story
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