I never thought I’d find purpose in a place built to strip it away.

They called me a traitor. Said I leaked state secrets. I didn’t. I was the doctor who treated Director Mei’s daughter—the one who died after whispering something only I heard. I don’t even know what it meant. But they believe I do. That’s why I’m here, in 修正院, wearing the gray uniform, obeying the bell, pretending to break.

Tonight, during lockdown, Jie slipped a folded paper into my hand. On it, a single line: 'The chapel floor moves.'

I waited until the third patrol passed, then crept through the dark. The old chapel smells of damp wood and something sharper—antiseptic. I pressed the loose stone beneath the front pew. A click. A section of floor slid back, revealing a ladder descending into blackness.

At the bottom, a single monitor glows. Footage plays on loop: inmates sitting in chairs, wires on their temples, eyes wide and unblinking. A timestamp reads: 'Subject J-9: Memory Erasure Cycle 3.'

Jie’s file.

A voice crackles from a hidden speaker: 'You weren’t supposed to see that. But now that you have… will you help us remember? Or will you report it and earn your early release?'