Past 3 a.m.

Haim lay flat on his bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The room was still, but his thoughts churned with restless noise.

Laughter. Whispers. Words no one else could understand.

They ticked inside him like a broken clock, looping over and over again.

“The 901st night… she stopped… the mask is smiling…”

The ER scene refused to leave his mind. Nine patients. Same symptoms. Same smile.

Something had returned that night. Something he thought he had sealed away.

He tossed beneath his blanket, but sleep evaded him.

The deeper his breaths became, the clearer the memories grew. These weren’t just recollections.

They were older. And colder.

“I thought I ran far enough. I didn’t think it would last this long.”

His muttering scattered into the dark.

“But here I am. Saying the name again.”

His lips twisted slightly.

“That night never disappeared. It just… hid in a different story.”

Haim sat up slowly.

Outside, the city’s faint glow seeped into the room. Piles of papers and books cluttered the floor. And in one shadowed corner stood a drawer—untouched for years.

His eyes locked onto it.

And with it, memory poured in like floodwater through a broken dam.

The drawer groaned open.

Inside was a faded envelope, untouched and still. A worn-out label marked with smeared ink:

“TMS-A Hypnosis Merge Protocol – Internal Review Only”

He had promised himself never to open it again. But tonight, there was no choice.

“I never thought this day would come. Or maybe… maybe it’s been waiting for me.”

He brushed off the dust and opened it carefully. Photocopied reports, neural scans, experiment logs.

And at the top of them all—his name.

He exhaled quietly.

This wasn’t just research.

This was where it all began.

Before the mask. Before the patients.

Before laughter ever had a name.

In the darkness before dawn, Haim sat cross-legged on the floor.

With trembling fingers, he turned each page.

Memories rising. Truth quietly waking.

“I didn’t create the story,” he whispered.

His voice was low. Resolute.

“But I… opened the door.”

And deep within that memory—

the mask was still smiling.