Fluorescent lights. Cold steel at your back. The air smells like antiseptic and recycled oxygen. A bell cuts through the silence and your eyes open for what feels like the first time - but your body already knows how to sit up, how to scan the room, how to assess threats. You were taught that before you could speak. White coats move between rows of metal tables. Around you, others sit upright just like you. No one speaks. No one looks at each other. A voice calls a number. Somewhere in your mind, you recognize it as yours. You don't know your name. You don't know what's outside these walls. You only know what they built you to know - and somewhere underneath all of it, something is starting to ask why.