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(English is not my first language. This story is entirely mine; AI was only used for translation.)
I had last read it in a line from a book: "When the hero dies, the music slows." I couldn't grasp what it truly meant for a long time. When it finally made sense to me, it had been ten years ago.
Setting aside the difficult circumstances I was in, I scrutinized the document handed to me with my own eyes. Everything seemed to slow down. Time was at my command. I wanted to make sure I hadn't overlooked a single detail.
"Ms. Aysal, I believe you skipped a signature," said the official, her voice serious. Her words lingered in my ears like sediment left behind by muddy soil. I resisted the urge to close my eyes as I gripped the pen. Giving in to that urge would gain me nothing. I felt the boundaries had disappeared.
After clearing my throat, I signed and handed the paper to the woman watching me, standing up as I did. My fingers tingled. The sound of my heartbeat echoed endlessly in my ears, and my temples throbbed. The paper was taken from my hand as if it were an unimportant machine part, and I leaned back, leaving even myself behind.
The woman approached the rectangular black metal desk and placed the document into a thick-bound folder. She spun her chair to face me directly and began speaking: "You know why you're here."
When I looked at her without responding, I felt less proud than crushed. The weight of her words could repair no feeling.
She continued, as if to encourage me: "Those who come here know this…"
But I am not one of them, I thought. Instead of speaking, I buried my feet between the chair's legs. "I know what I need to know," I murmured, but then it seemed better to let her remind me of the rules. "I'm listening…" I said. We had to successfully navigate our shared responsibilities.
With a practiced motion, she pulled a small remote from her pocket and projected a screen onto the blank wall cleared even of the shelves on its left side. It reminded me of the leftover visuals from dull university lecture slides. Biting my lip, I stared at the screen as she began reading:
"Patients may not inflict physical harm on one another. That is the first rule. Patients may not remove their neurochips, which record neurocognitive activity, may not request their removal, and may not assist others in doing so. Furthermore, sharp objects, jewelry, necklaces, rings, and similar items are prohibited. Let me also add," she said, turning the page.
A crossed-out phone icon appeared on the screen."Contacting someone from outside is also prohibited… For the last phone call, you may speak with a relative from the new recording room. In fact…" She paused. I understood that I was expected to grasp everything. "In fact, to say goodbye," she finished.
I exhaled, but the dark, heavy mood inside me didn't lift.
Had my choice been right or wrong?
I laughed at myself.
To choose? Hadn't I already left my chance to choose far behind?
Thinking a little more carefully, I remembered that life was like a black-and-white film.
"I spoke to them before coming," I lied.
There was only one path I hadn't tried to rid myself of everything that tortured me every day: suicide.But no—this would be a rather tragic ending.
I pulled myself together once more, waking as if I had fallen into an ice-cold bathtub. The woman looked into my eyes and asked me to repeat the following sentence:
"My name is Aysal Çetin. Despite receiving treatment for depression for approximately ten years, my condition has shown no improvement, and as a last resort, I have been assigned to the 'system' by the chief physician. Furthermore, the pessimistic thoughts, lethargy, indifference, and pain accompanying me pose a risk of harming both myself and those around me, which is why the necessity of my admission to the system has been evaluated as 8 out of 10. The remaining 2 out of 10 were determined by me. I now wish to participate in the system and allow it to heal me. I consent to having a chip implanted to measure the effects of my depression on my brain and to track my progress."
I repeated her words exactly, along with her, in my faint voice. Finding myself in the innocence of a primary school child learning the alphabet made my chest suddenly burn. My eyes grew heavy; a sting settled in my nose. Before my eyes appeared my mother's sorrowful face and the disappointment etched into my father's. Even though we had never truly become a family, we were people who had believed that—perhaps even bearing responsibility for each other's ruin—we would still form a whole together.
I was diminishing myself; I buried my pain inside.
The woman stood up from the desk, turned to me, and said, "Let's go," in a distant tone. For a short while, I heard nothing but my own breathing. Then I followed her. We exited the white-doored room and stepped onto parquet floors drenched in the harsh spill of fluorescent lights lining each corridor. It felt as though my legs were no longer under my control.
"This is where the chip will be implanted," the woman said, looking at me. Our eyes met. She added another explanation: "Your neurocognitive activities will be monitored from here… Our doctor will assist you in the best possible way regarding this."
"Neurocognitive activities?" I asked. I had read about it once in a newspaper. "For what purpose?"
"So that we can measure how your brain functions and assess the effects of your duties within the system," she explained briefly.
My skin crawled; it felt as if a thorn were piercing straight into my flesh.
We entered the empty room next door. I first removed the necklace from my neck. Then I stared at the silver-colored ring on my ring finger and drifted into thought. Even while it rested there, on my finger, I didn't feel safe. A part of me was missing.
That ring, though… I had once believed my wedding ring would heal me through all those passing years. And now, arriving here—at the system—without warning, I hadn't even said goodbye to my husband.
Once I had stripped myself of everything I carried on me, I walked toward a spine-like corridor connecting the room to an inner chamber. My steps were slow and deliberate, as if I were walking down a dangerous street.
When the door opened, a smell reminiscent of something burnt filled my nose. Then the light in the room switched on. In a room occupied by a gurney and devices whose names I didn't know, I looked at the man in a white coat seated beneath a brown sign. He parted a thick book with two fingers, then finally lifted his gaze to meet mine. Reluctantly, he set the book aside and stood up.
"You may go," he said to the woman, then turned to me. "And you—onto the gurney, please."
But the word please sounded as though it had slipped out of his mouth by accident. My heart was pounding, not just with fear, but far too fast.
When the door closed and the woman left the room, the doctor looked at me with an icy expression and said, "Lie down so that the back of your neck rests here." He gestured toward the hollow space. My throat was dry. My blouse made me feel cold.
I did as he said. The circular opening must have settled perfectly at the center of my nape. Since the doctor didn't say otherwise, I concluded there was no problem.
Before long, I felt a metallic coldness.
"I'm going to give you an injection now," he said, still in the same detached tone.
As my chest rose and fell rapidly, I felt the needle enter my body and travel through it, probing every muscle before withdrawing. Then, within seconds, everything darkened.
As far as I could tell, another injector was inserted into my body—but I couldn't feel it. It didn't hurt. It was the moment of birth of something that would live alongside me.
I thought I heard a sound in my ears. My eyes were half-open. After that, it felt as if I drifted into a small dreamscape.
When I opened my eyes, I realized not much time had passed. The doctor's pacing back and forth looped endlessly in my mind. Every color, every detail dissolved within that semi-conscious state.
I heard the doctor say, "The time is exactly 17:35." Numbers meant nothing to me at that moment. As digits bled into one another, the first thing I did was observe my surroundings. I tore my gaze away from the ceiling—the room was empty. The coldness of the instruments had seeped into everything. Once again, I found myself face to face with that heavy sense of cold.
The door opened, interrupting my thoughts. The doctor came back in and said it was time to leave.
As if I knew nothing at all, I wanted to ask, "Where to?"—but my legs rose in obedience alone. I lightly touched the back of my neck; I was certain there was a bandage there. This time, the doctor handed me over to a staff member waiting by the door, half of whose face was covered by a mask.
"Come with me," the voice said, and once again I began following at the same unremarkable pace.
As we moved through the tall walls, it felt as though the ceiling might collapse onto me. The parquet floors slid rapidly beneath my feet. I tried to calm myself by taking deep breaths, but the walk stretched on so long that at some point I could no longer guess when this staff member would stop, when they would leave me alone.
"This is the final stop," they said, adjusting their black mask. Then they turned their gaze to the smooth surface of the door.
When I looked at it, I thought I could see white light. My eyes shut reflexively, and the world lost all its vitality once again. The corridor lights suddenly went out. I was left alone with the darkness.
As words knotted in my throat, I stared at the door without even managing to ask what was happening. A voice echoed along the walls:
"Please take one step toward the door!"
My ears rang. Unable to take even a single step, I remained frozen in place with the pain twisting in my stomach.
I thought about the contract I had signed. To my family, I was nothing but a burden. More than that, I was often nothing at all to them. Despite all the beautiful memories, I was someone unloved by anyone except my husband. And even being loved by him so deeply hadn't been enough to save me. Because giving water to someone who is starving doesn't help.
I remembered the moment I took off that ring. I already missed it. But then… when you witness the death of all beautiful times, there is nothing left to hold on to. Only that—the door standing in front of me now.
All I wanted was to take a single step and pass through it.
But what about my legs…The sweat running down my forehead, the tear creeping toward my lips…What would happen to them?
The voice echoed once more:"Please approach the door!"
I felt the trembling in my fingers.
Driven by fear, my feet finally moved—just enough to keep me from collapsing—and the moment I took a few steps forward, the metal door shook and slid open to both sides. The noise it left behind pressed against my ears. I forgot what to say, why I had come here, everything. Embracing the darkness, I took another step inside. The door was now behind me.
A red light ignited. Dangerous enough to belong to an ambulance carrying a dying patient. Then everything began to illuminate with a hazy glow. What was I supposed to do? Where was I supposed to look?
"Hello," I said, peering inside; my wrists obeyed me now—whether out of curiosity or fear of everything. In an instant, I thought of my mother, my mother whom I loved despite everything; on the other side, my father who had never loved me at all. Somewhere else in my mind lingered the moment I first slid the ring off my finger.
No one answered me from that pitch-black darkness.
My loneliness struck me in the face. Staring at the empty walls as if I had been electrocuted, I asked, "Is anyone there?" My entire body was shaking. I wanted someone to step out and say I'm here too—I couldn't handle it either.It was pure selfishness.But sometimes that selfishness could be a kindness that saved my life.
O-or else?
I tried to chase away the thoughts forming in my mind.
"Or will I be alone here?"
Suddenly, I heard laughter coming from somewhere behind me.Was I losing my mind?
"Excuse me," I said, shivering. Was there someone behind me? And even if there was—did I have the courage to turn around?
As my heart pounded at an unbearable speed, the laughter dissolved into sobs. When I slowly turned, I saw a woman sitting with her knees drawn up to her stomach, her back pressed against the wall. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her legs, as if trying to shield herself from every possible danger. The moment she noticed me, her eyes lit up. I instinctively stepped backward, defenseless.
"Y-you…" I murmured. Was I babbling inside a dream? "Who are you?"
The woman laughed again."That doesn't matter…"
I didn't want to leave her alone in the cemetery she had built at the corner of her own nothingness.
"How long have you been here?" I asked involuntarily. Meanwhile, I was hiding within the hardest shells of my own soul.
Biting my lips, waiting for an answer felt harder.
"Forget it," the woman said, staring only at the wall in front of her. "They'll come get me soon…"
Under the dim light, stunned, I asked, "Who?"
"Who?" Her eyes narrowed. "You don't know? Oh—sorry. My stupidity!" she said, pursing her lips. "You're new here…"She said it like an insult. Her gaze dropped toward my feet with a fierce intensity."You don't even realize what's coming."
"I came here to get better," I replied. I ignored her. I turned my back to her. I wanted to leave—but I couldn't. Where could I even go in this room? And besides… what was this woman talking about?
I turned back on my heels and looked at her more carefully. That was when she started laughing again.
"The door is behind you."
"The door?" I asked in confusion. "I don't see anything but a wall…"
This wasn't how I had imagined this place.
The woman limped as she got up from the floor and walked toward the wall behind me, wearing a filthy set of pajamas. Just as I was about to think she had lost her mind, she shoved the wall with all her strength. I held my breath and waited.
Suddenly, a rail system was revealed. The wall split in two, and a blinding artificial light poured down from above. My eyes narrowed involuntarily. My hands were frozen stiff. I raised them to shield my eyes.
The woman turned to me and pointed at the opening that had appeared at the edge of the door.
"This isn't the system," she said. "This is a prison. If you want to go to the system, you have to go outside. But choose someone…"
Her voice was trembling.
"To play—or not to play," she added in a low voice. She looked unhinged.
"What does that mean?" I asked, raising one eyebrow, pressure tightening in my chest.
"If you go outside, you can never come back in." She shook her head.
"Why?" My blood zigzagged through my veins. "What's even out there?"
She stopped then, and her face settled into absolute blankness. For a moment, it was as if she were gathering what she was about to say.
"The system was a gluttonous beast that devoured my son," she said; a faint flicker of rage passed through her eyes. I was losing all sense of time and place. "And it will keep devouring everyone who goes out there."
"If I sat here from morning till night, I'd lose my mind," I replied. I didn't know how I was supposed to react to what she was telling me.
She seemed to give up. "I wish you could understand me…" she said, stepping away from the edge of the opening. She circled around me, went to the other corner, and lay down on the dry, cold floor, closing her eyes.
Outside…Was what would heal me out there?
When her breathing grew steady, I stared into the opening with a crushing weight around my throat.
Outside…Whatever would heal me, it couldn't be this prison.
But then—how was I supposed to know? Why had no one told me anything about any of this?
Should I reconsider coming here—just once more?
I wanted to extend my hand toward the opening.
At that moment, the red light ignited again, and a robotic voice rang out:
"How would you like to step outside and meet the real world?"
The sound hurt my ears so badly…Yet after all that silence, it felt almost relieving.
Biting my lips, I asked, "What's outside?"I was talking to myself.
But the same voice answered once more:
"The outside was designed to heal you."
"To heal me?" My eyes were fixed on the sleeping woman. Wasn't she affected by the voice at all?
"There is a world outside. This place is nothing but a cage," the same voice spoke again.
"If I don't go out…" I said, gathering all my courage. "What if I don't want to go out…"
Like the woman curled up by the wall in front of me.
"You will want to," the voice echoed once more. Its coldness carved itself into every cell of my body.
"No one can know that," I denied. My voice trembled; my breathing had slipped out of control.
"We know."The voice was confident. Brazen. It spoke with the superiority of those who fit every action into a logical framework—unlike me. I couldn't tell whether it was human or something like a virtual assistant.Trust… I didn't feel safe.
"You?" I asked. How many of them were there?
Then the voice, still perfectly composed, asked, "Didn't you come here to heal?""Then taste healing. Line up to receive your first task."
Nothing about this robotic voice convinced me. And yet, when I stopped to think, I knew I couldn't stay in this dungeon. My breaths quickened. Every gear in my decision‑making mechanism began to turn. I was exhausted.
I looked into the opening once more and took a deep breath.
"Not here," I said. What if I lost my mind like that woman?Or worse—what if she hadn't lost it at all?
That possibility was far more terrifying.
What was I supposed to make of what she had said?What was outside?
The longer I locked eyes with the door, the harder it became to decide.
But the one thing I knew was this: I had come here willingly.
I had signed a contract. I had chosen this path to heal. My chest tightened. The only possibility that could heal me was hidden behind this iron door. The light was still blinking. I stood motionless.
Outside…If that was the only place I could exist, why not?
After all, I had been lost many times in this vast world.Now, it was time to be found.To find myself.
I looked down at my feet and ordered them to move.
The floor slid beneath my toes like a moving belt.
"For my life…" I said."For that small chance that could heal me…"