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Chapter 65

Foggy memories

IAM lay stretched out on the top bunk, his body sprawled awkwardly, arms resting limply beside his head as he stared up at the canvas roof of the tent. The fabric rippled gently from the occasional breeze slipping through the flaps, but his gaze remained fixed and unfocused. His face was blank, expressionless—a mask of calm that belied the turmoil churning quietly beneath the surface.

He had been like this for several minutes now, lost in a strange half-daze that seemed to come over him at the most random times of the day. Moments when the noise of the camp—the chatter of soldiers, the clatter of weapons, the distant rumble of engines—faded away to nothing. Just silence. Quiet spaces carved out in time where his thoughts drifted, untethered.

This was not a new feeling. It was a state he often found himself in lately. A hazy fog surrounding his mind. Thoughts tangled like cobwebs, drifting between fragments and emptiness. It was as though some invisible weight pressed down on his chest, dulling his senses and making even breathing feel like a chore.

Ever since that moment in the health ward with Raj—since that conversation where too much was left unsaid—IAM had found himself circling the same questions. Questions that twisted themselves into knots and throbbed in the back of his skull. Questions that made him feel like something was missing.

Why was he here? What was the purpose of being dragged into this world without warning, without explanation? There had been no system. No mysterious guide. No shining words in the sky. No map. No manual. No welcoming voice. No tutorial.

Just... nothing.

He had arrived here empty.

Utterly, completely empty.

No purpose. No mission. No destiny written in the stars.

He wasn't chosen.

He was just here.

No memories to hold on to. No past to define him.

IAM's eyes shifted slightly as he blinked, trying to shake the sluggish fog that clouded his mind. But the harder he tried to grasp the answers, the more they slipped away like smoke between his fingers.

He had attempted, countless times, to dig into the depths of his mind, to pull out even the smallest scrap of information—any clue about who he had been before this new world swallowed him whole. But there was nothing.

No flashes of a previous life. No vivid images. No names. No voices calling to him from the past.

Only vast, yawning nothingness.

He remembered general things about Earth—how things worked, the way society functioned, the shape of modern life. Facts. Concepts. The world itself.

But anything personal? Details that made him him?

No family. No home. No friends. No school. No hobbies. No moments that belonged to him.

Gone.

Erased.

Like someone or something had ripped it out of him.

He felt hollow.

Like a book missing pages.

He felt as though he was walking blindfolded through an endless fog. A fog so thick, so impenetrable, that he couldn't even be sure the path existed beneath his feet.

Frustration gnawed at him. The relentless tug of a puzzle that would never be solved. A game with pieces deliberately hidden.

It was cruel.

To want so badly to know yourself but be denied.

He felt toyed with. Mocked by his own mind.

A prisoner trapped in his own thoughts.

After exhausting every effort to reclaim his memories about his past self, IAM shifted his focus.

He started trying to remember… him.

The original IAM.

The one who this body belonged to.

The one whose name he wore like a borrowed coat.

But even those memories were fog.

There were no faces.

No images.

No voices.

Just that same, eerie emptiness. That quiet, cold absence of identity.

Sometimes, in the earliest days after arriving, he had felt faint echoes—shadows of emotion that weren't fully his, whispers of feelings that flickered across his heart but quickly faded. A pang of joy. A flicker of sorrow. A ghost of anger.

But those sensations had grown distant.

They had vanished too.

It was like his soul had been wiped clean.

He sighed deeply, the breath slow and heavy as if it carried the weight of all the unanswered questions.

It felt like a joke.

Like the universe was dangling answers just out of reach, then laughing when he fell trying to grab them.

He added it all to the ever-growing pile of mysteries building in his chest like stones.

He closed his eyes, feeling the fabric of the mattress beneath him. The tent was quiet except for the muffled sounds of distant footsteps and the occasional hum of engines beyond the perimeter. The faint scent of dust and metal filled the air, a reminder of the harsh world waiting just outside.

The quietness was a small comfort—a momentary pause from the chaos inside his head.

Twisting and turning, he finally allowed himself to succumb to sleep's gentle embrace.

.....

Elsewhere, far from the tent and the quiet desperation of a boy searching for answers, a voice spoke:

"Three days left. Have you checked everything?"

The speaker's voice was low. Calm. Precise.

Another voice replied, eager, almost excited:

"Yes. Everything is all good. We could do it now if you want."

A long pause followed.

Silent. Cold.

Then the first voice returned—this time like steel. Unbending. Sharp.

"No… Let's wait the three days."

"Okay… I can't wait," said the second voice, chuckling softly. "I can't wait for the show to begin. I can't wait for them to—"

"Stop."

The word cut like a blade.

There was a weight behind it.

"Take control of yourself," the voice commanded. "Do not make mistakes. And keep your foolish rambling to yourself."

A beat passed.

Then, quieter:

"Yes… if you say so. My apologies."

Click.

The walkie-talkie switched off, leaving only silence behind.

And in that silence…

Nothing stirred.

Nothing moved.

The whisper of a plan, moving slowly in the shadows.

The countdown continuing.

....

IAM shifted slightly in his bunk. The unanswered questions, the lost memories, all weaving together into the thickening fog in his mind.

And time was running out.