[ A conceptual fiction with dystopian undertones and a sci-fi tone ]
The building had no windows. Only vertical lines of gray metal, like bars between worlds. At the top, the orange insignia loomed like a seal, not of a company, but of a pact. The name no longer mattered. No one spoke it. It was known simply as: The Corporation.
It was said the door below had never opened. And yet, people vanished. Sometimes a clerk, sometimes an architect, a child, a poet. None returned. No messages were sent. But on the rooftop, at night, a faint light would sometimes glow. White. Cold. Like a breath held too long.
The air around the structure was dense, almost impenetrable. Time seemed to slow when you looked at it. Memory dissolved. You forgot your questions. You forgot your name. Only the feeling remained, that you had arrived where you were meant to be.
Some claimed there was nothing inside. Only echoes and shadows learning how to think. Others swore that above, a consciousness resided, a living network that no longer needed humans, only their presence.
It was a dull day when I approached. I wasn’t looking for anything. Not answers, not salvation. Only that ordered silence. The silence that doesn’t ask, doesn’t explain, doesn’t forget. It simply absorbs you.
And then, for a moment, the door made a sound. Like breathing. Or maybe I imagined it.
