WHITE ROOM

  —A Psychological Short Story

  They called it the White Room.

  No windows. No clocks. No sound,Its walls Smooth, Sterile, Seamless offered no hint of the outside world. Time did not exist here. Only routine. Only silence.

  And the boy.

  Test Subject 0018.

  Seventeen years old when he first opened his eyes on the white ceiling above. He woke alone, dressed in Black clothing a tray of food placed neatly before him. Five hours later, without warning, gas hissed silently from nowhere—and he collapsed, unconscious.The next time he woke, it happened again.Different time. Same cycle.

  Wake. Wait. Eat. Collapse. Every day For a year.

  Behind the walls, The Unknown watched. A shadow organization—one with no public face, no borders, and no morality. Backed by powerful, unseen figures in high places, they operated freely. To them, humans were just data. Test subjects. Variables.

  The experiment was simple: isolate the mind. Strip it of stimulus. Observe the deterioration. But what they failed to realize—what none of their surveillance, records or precision timing could reveal—was that Subject 0018 was not like the others.

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  Unbeknownst to them, his father had once been one of their top scientists. A man obsessed not with machines or weapons, but with the mind. He had been the first to understand what The Unknown was planning And the first to try to stop them.

  They silenced him swiftly and thus He became Test Subject 001.

  His son—0018—was taken Months after. What they didn’t know was that for years, his father had been practicing his work on his own son. Harmless test and experiment from childhood to adolescence his father has been mentally training his mind, Not for escape or for revenge, but for resistance.

  Since the age of two, 0018 had undergone quiet, daily training: sensory tests, cognitive exercises, mental simulations. No implants, no injections—just pure, refined mental discipline. And at the center of it all: an ability now etched into his very biology.

  Chrono-Intuition. A rare mental trait developed through extreme repetition and sensory control. His internal clock had become so precise that he could count every second without effort—even when unconscious. Even in darkness. Even under sedation.

  That’s how he survived.

  That’s how he stayed sane.

  For 364 days, the boy said nothing. His breath steady. Eyes calm. Each gas release knocked him out—but only for three seconds. Then, in perfect silence, his mind resumed its count. A rhythm. A pulse. A quiet rebellion no one could see.

  Until Day 364.

  That morning, he woke at precisely 8:00 AM, He rose, slowly and Sat in the single white chair,The tray of food waited for him Untouched, Fresh, Just like yesterday. He stared at it without blinking And then, for the first time in a year, he spoke—his voice low, measured, clinical.

  “Day 364. I woke exactly 8 AM. I’m in new clothes again, The food I ate the day before has been replaced again. There are vents on the north and west wall, micro-sized or possibly hidden assuming That’s where the gas comes from. The camera... unknown Possibly multiple and the Door to enter this space is behind me.

  A pause.

  Then a slow turn of the head.

  His eyes locked onto nothing—yet everything.

  “I’m aware of you.”

  His tone changed darker, colder. A whisper wrapped in razor wire. A smirk pulled across his face, slow and deliberate. Not angry. Not afraid. Just... ready.

  Somewhere, beyond the walls, in a dark surveillance room, “The Unknown” froze.

  No alarms were triggered. No words were spoken. But the silence cracked.

  And for the first time... they were the ones being watched. Or were they?