The outside world still existed.
That fact struck Kael harder than the cold ever had.
He learned it through a screen.
The observation room was narrow, sealed, and deliberately uncomfortable. The chair bolted to the floor was metal, unheated. Frost clung to the edges of the display panel ahead of him.
"External context exposure," the voice announced. "Cognitive grounding trial."
The screen flickered.
A living room appeared.
Warm colors. Soft lighting. A threadbare couch with a blanket folded over one arm. A woman sat hunched forward, fingers laced so tightly her knuckles were white.
An older man paced behind her.
They looked… normal.
Too normal.
"Who are they?" Kael asked quietly.
The gray-haired man stood behind the glass. "Family of Subject U-009. Formerly Unrankable. Returned three months ago."
The woman on-screen looked up as the door opened.
A man stepped inside.
Or rather—something wearing a man's body.
He was thin, posture crooked, eyes unfocused. Frost clung faintly to his hair despite the clearly warm room. His lips moved soundlessly as he walked, as if counting or whispering to something only he could hear.
"Dad," the woman whispered, standing quickly.
The man flinched at the sound of her voice.
"Too loud," he muttered. "The walls keep breathing."
He backed into the corner, pressing his palms flat against it.
Kael's stomach dropped.
"He's home," the woman said, voice trembling. "They said you were better."
The man laughed suddenly.
A short, broken sound.
"Better?" he echoed. "I don't remember what that feels like."
The screen cut to a later timestamp.
The same room—messier now. Food untouched on the table. The older man lay asleep in a chair, exhaustion etched deep into his face.
The woman knelt in front of her father, holding his hands.
"Please," she whispered. "Just look at me."
His eyes focused—for half a second.
Recognition sparked.
"Lina," he said.
She sobbed, clutching him tightly.
Then his gaze slid away.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The feed ended.
Kael sat motionless.
"This," the man behind the glass said calmly, "is the alternative to containment."
Kael's voice was hoarse. "You destroyed them."
"We returned him," the man replied. "With honors. Compensation. Medical oversight."
Kael laughed bitterly. "And a broken mind."
"An acceptable loss," the man said.
The phrase snapped something inside Kael.
"That's not loss," he said quietly. "That's abandonment."
The man's eyes narrowed. "Careful."
"No," Kael replied, standing slowly. "You be careful. Because if this is your justification—then everything you've built deserves to fall."
The observation ended there.
The whispers started soon after.
Not in the Freezer.
Outside.
Information leaked—not enough to be clear, just enough to rot trust.
Stories of Unrankables who came back better. Clear-eyed. Calm. Speaking of visions, of unity, of awakening from the cold.
They called themselves the Awakened.
"They say the Freezer is a lie," F-087 murmured during a monitored break. "That the cold isn't punishment—it's preparation."
Kael listened carefully.
"They say those who break were just too weak to accept the truth," she continued, eyes glassy with something that wasn't quite belief… but wanted to be.
Kael felt a chill that had nothing to do with temperature.
Recovered sanity doesn't look like this, he thought. This is something else.
Another experiment.
Another mistake.
Another lie.
That night, Kael dreamed again.
This time, he wasn't alone.
He stood in a field of snow beneath a burning sky. Figures moved in the distance—some walking calmly, others twitching, laughing, screaming.
Among them, a familiar face.
F-061.
He stood upright, eyes clear, smiling.
"They fixed me," F-061 said warmly. "It's quiet now."
Kael took a step back. "You're lying."
F-061 tilted his head. "No. They just showed me how to stop caring."
Kael woke with a gasp.
The system message burned brighter than ever before.
[SYSTEM STATUS: DORMANT]
[HOST RESISTANCE—EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS]
[WARNING: ISOLATION NECESSARY]
"Necessary for who?" Kael whispered.
No answer came.
F-093 returned a week later.
Physically.
She walked into the hall under her own power, posture straight, expression calm. Too calm.
Relief surged through Kael—then stalled.
Something was wrong.
She met his gaze and smiled.
It was perfect.
It didn't reach her eyes.
"Hey," she said softly. "You worried too much."
Kael stepped closer. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay," she replied. "They helped me let go."
A tremor ran through him.
"Let go of what?"
She looked around the hall, at the other Unrankables watching them with a mix of hope and fear.
"Of fighting," she said. "Of holding on to pain that doesn't matter."
Her fire flared briefly—controlled, beautiful, empty.
Kael grabbed her shoulders. "Tell me what you feel."
She frowned slightly, as if the question confused her.
"I feel… quiet," she said. "Isn't that what we wanted?"
No.
It wasn't.
He released her slowly.
That night, Kael made his first irreversible choice.
He stopped cooperating.
Not openly.
Not yet.
But he began to hide parts of himself.
He limited his fire intake deliberately. Refused certain drills. Sabotaged assessments subtly, shaving off just enough performance to avoid escalation.
And more importantly—
He began to remember for others.
Names.
Faces.
Stories.
He anchored himself by anchoring them.
If the Freezer thrived on loss, then memory was rebellion.
Somewhere deep in the system architecture, a flag tripped.
ANOMALY DETECTED:
HOST STABILITY—SELF-SUSTAINING
And for the first time since the experiments began, the government's greatest fear surfaced in full.
An Unrankable who could not be broken.
An Unrankable who could choose.