03

He had always been in tune with the universe around him. His mother said he was a blessed child, and had given him the name Grigori on account of the fact that angels walked with him.

But there were no angels here.

Not here, in this cold, metallic lab. Not here, in this old leather chair.

The straps dug into his arms and legs. Another day, another experiment.

Sometimes - and it frightened him that this was an increasingly common thought - he wished he had never met Elena. What in God’s name had compelled him to walk to that trail that day, a full two weeks before he had planned to? Why had the universe pushed him towards her?

Was it all of this? So that he could find himself a prisoner? A lab rat?

There was something wrong with this place. Outside of this chair - outside of this room - he saw nothing. The usual senses he had were gone, and the universe was mute. Or perhaps he was deaf. He couldn’t receive the messages anymore - not unless he was sitting here, in this room, in this chair, with that blasted helmet over his head.

He hated the helmet. It gave him headaches. When they powered it up - it was connected to some terribly monstrous machine that made absolutely no sense to him - it rattled his brain.

And he was cold. Always so cold.

He wanted nothing more than to trudge back to his house, bury himself in the same old mattress he’d had since he’d moved in, and cover himself in warm, heavy blankets. He imagined the crackling of his fireplace, the heat emanating from it enveloping him. To sleep would be such a sweet addition. How long had it been since his last good night’s rest?

The screen across from him flickered, and soon a jumble of numbers appeared on the screen. It was always numbers. At first, he had been somewhat confused - they meant nothing to him - but the scientists had firmly demanded that he focus on them, that he tell them what he saw.

He soon realized these were coordinates, and they wanted him to do what Elena had done - remote viewing. If that was all, why did they take him in the middle of the night? Why drag him out of his home and keep him here against his will? He would have been happy to help her with her work - and though his senses were compromised, he knew, without a doubt, from that short and winding drive, that this was her building.

Did she know he was here?

How could she not?

“Focus,” a grating voice came in through an intercom. “Tell us what you see.”

He closed his eyes, exhausted. The numbers meant nothing to him. He barely even read them - couldn’t remember them if he tried. But the vision came clearly, and flowed smooth like water through his hands.

An abandoned quarry, now overgrown with lush greenery.

A group of people in black combat uniform, filing down the winding paths, towards the bottom of the quarry.

A pool of cool, still water. They walk into it, and disappear.

The vision ended. Pain radiated through Grigori’s brain.

“What do you see?” they demanded again.

Grigori sighed. He murmured something so quietly, he was asked to say it again. Then, louder, he said: “Nothing. I see nothing.”