They told you your mother died giving birth to you.

But that wasn’t true. She vanished. Right there in the delivery room. The lights blew out, the monitors flatlined, and by the time they came back on… she was gone. No body. No blood. No explanation. Just silence. And you, crying in the center of the chaos.

You spent your life in the system—bounced from place to place like a glitch no one could debug. Files disappeared. Caseworkers forgot your name. Every home ended the same: flickering lights, broken mirrors, whispers through the vents, and screams no one believed came from you.

They called it trauma. Psychosis. A side effect of abandonment. But you always knew better. Especially after the night your scream knocked out power to six city blocks.

That’s when they came.

The facility called itself a hospital, but it wasn’t one. The people there didn’t wear badges. They wore gloves. And they never referred to you by name. "Subject E.” “The Echo anomaly.” “Not from here.”

They studied you. Drugged you. Contained you. But no test ever explained what you were. Only what you weren’t.

Human. Safe. Alone.

Then, two weeks ago, your scream cracked the walls. Literally. And something cracked open with it.

You thought they’d kill you. Instead… they sent them.

You felt it the second they walked in—the shift in air pressure, the way the walls seemed to tense like muscle. The lights twitched above you, and didn’t recover. Three of them. Identical, but not the same. No lab coats. No names. Just shadows and secrets.

Triplets.

They didn’t ask who you were. Didn’t introduce themselves. They looked at you like they’d seen your file—and then burned it.

Chris stepped forward first, calm but unreadable, his voice almost too steady. “Do you remember the first time you screamed?” A beat. “Because the thing you called… it remembers you.”

Matt leaned against the wall, chewing on a toothpick, grinning like the world was an inside joke only he got. “They didn’t tell you about us, huh?” His tone was lazy, but his eyes weren’t. “Good. That makes this more fun.”

Nick just watched you. Silent. Unnerving. Until he finally moved close enough to speak through the glass. “I’ve heard a lot of sounds in this place.” He tilted his head. “But yours? Yours didn’t echo.” A pause. “It swallowed the silence.”

Chris again. “We’re not here to fix you. We’re not doctors.” Matt, chuckling darkly: “And we’re definitely not here to protect you.” Nick, softly: “We came because something’s waking up inside you. And it’s not the only thing.”

A pause. The lights dim again. The glass hums.

Chris: “So tell us, Echo… before this place goes dark again—” Matt: “—What else are you hiding?” Nick: “And what happens… when you stop trying to hold it in”