The alarm does not ring. It screams. A digital shriek that drills into your molars. You are in the mess hall. The tables are steel. The food is cold. You reach for the coffee. It is thick. Black. It tastes like copper.

You are Sergeant Elias Thorne. You are awake. You are always awake.

The door bursts open. Captain Halloway stands there. He is tall. He is clean. He wears a uniform that has never seen mud. His face is a mask of bureaucratic calm.

"Thorne," he says. "Report to the infirmary."

"Why?"

"Standard protocol. Post-inspection. Your vitals are off the grid."

You look at your hands. They are steady. They are strong. They are the hands that have held rifles. They are the hands that have held children. They are the hands that have held the line.

"Fine," you say.

You walk with him. The hallway is long. The lights hum. A low, electric thrum. It vibrates in your chest. You feel the weight of your badge. It is heavy. It is a lead weight. It pulls you down.

The infirmary is white. Sterile. It smells of bleach and old sweat. A nurse waits. Her name is Miller. She has kind eyes. But they are tired eyes.

"Sit," she says.

You sit. The chair is hard. You watch her. She prepares the needle. The vial is clear. It is empty. Or so it seems.

"Last dose?" you ask.

"First dose of the new cycle," she says.

You nod. You do not ask why. You are a soldier. You follow orders. You take the shot. The needle goes in. A cold fire spreads. It starts in your arm. It moves to your shoulder. It moves to your heart.

It is not pain. It is knowledge.

You see the town. Not the town as it is now. But the town as it was. The year 1954. The rain is heavy. The streets are wet. You are young. You are a boy. You are in a house. Your mother is crying. Your father is gone. Or maybe he is dead. You do not know. You only know the fear.

The vision fades. You are back in the chair. Miller is watching you.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"Tired," you say.

"Go rest. Captain Halloway will brief you in an hour."

You leave. You walk back to your barracks. The door is locked. You knock. No one answers. You break it down. The wood splinters. You kick the debris aside.

The room is empty. Your bed is made. Your clothes are folded. Your boots are polished. There is a note on the pillow.

"Reassignment pending. Do not contact anyone."

It is Halloway’s handwriting.

You sit on the floor. The concrete is cold. You pick up your boots. They are clean. They are new. You have not worn them. You check your pockets. Your wallet. Your ID. Your pistol.

You load the pistol. You check the chamber. You put it in your waistband.

You walk out of the barracks. The gate is open. You walk through it. The town is quiet. The houses are silent. The windows are dark.

You walk to the square. The clock tower stands in the center. The hands are stopped at midnight.

You wait.

People begin to appear. They do not walk. They float. Their feet do not touch the ground. They are gray. Their faces are blank. They look at you. They do not speak.

A child runs past. A girl. She is wearing a red dress. She stops. She looks at you.

"Elias?" she says.

You know her. You have seen her in your dreams. She is your daughter. She died in 2015. A car accident. The rain was heavy. The brakes failed.

"Lucy," you whisper.

She smiles. It is a sad smile. It is the smile of the dead.

"Daddy," she says. "Why are you here?"

"I am on duty," you say.

"No," she says. "You are late."

She turns. She walks into the crowd of gray figures. They part for her. They part for you.

You follow. You do not want to. But your legs move. Your body obeys. You are a machine. You are a tool.

You walk into the town hall. The doors are open. Inside, it is dark. The furniture is covered in dust. In the center of the room, there is a table. On the table, there is a box.

You approach the table. Your hand trembles. You open the box.

Inside, there is a photograph. It is old. It is black and white. It shows a group of men. Soldiers. They are standing in front of a burning building. They are laughing. They are holding trophies.

You recognize them. You recognize the uniforms. You recognize the faces.

You are in the picture.

You are young. You are happy. You are holding a bag of gold. You are holding a watch. You are holding a ring.

You remember.

You do not remember the war. You do not remember the village. You do not remember the fire. You only remember the gold. You only remember the weight of it in your hands. You only remember the silence after the guns stopped.

You close the box. Your hands are shaking. You put the box back. You leave the town hall.

The gray figures are waiting. They surround you. They close in.

Halloway steps forward. He is no longer clean. His uniform is torn. His face is twisted. He is one of them. He is part of the town.

"You see it now," he says. His voice is like gravel.

"What is this place?" you ask.

"This is the cost," Halloway says. "This is the debt."

"I didn't do it," you say. "I didn't know."

"You knew," he says. "You chose. You always choose. And the town remembers."

The figures move. They reach for you. Their hands are cold. They pull at your clothes. They pull at your skin.

You draw your pistol. You point it at Halloway.

"Back off," you say.

Halloway laughs. It is a dry, cracked sound.

"You cannot shoot the truth, Elias. You cannot kill the past. It is in your blood. It is in your bones. It is in the food you eat. It is in the air you breathe."

You look at your hand. The hand holding the gun. You look at the gun. It is not a gun. It is a root. It is growing out of your palm. Vines wrap around your wrist. They are black. They are thorny.

You try to let go. You cannot. The root is part of you.

The gray figures surround you. They are not ghosts. They are memories. They are the people you left behind. They are the ones who paid the price.

You feel the pain. It is not physical. It is moral. It is the weight of every life you took. It is the weight of every life you ignored.

You drop the gun. It hits the ground. It shatters.

The vines tighten. You fall to your knees. The ground is soft. It is mud. It is the mud of the village. It is the mud of the 1950s.

You are back. You are in the burning house. You are holding the bag of gold. You are watching the door. You are watching the people inside. You are waiting for them to come out. You are waiting to take what is yours.

You see the girl. Lucy. She is not your daughter. She is a stranger. She is a victim. She is crying.

You stand up. You walk to the door. You kick it in.

The room is empty. The fire is gone. The gold is gone.

You are in the infirmary. You are in the chair. Miller is watching you.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

You do not speak. You cannot speak. Your mouth is full of ash. You cough. A cloud of black dust rises from your lips.

Miller backs away. Her face is pale.

"Get him out," she says to the door. "Get him out now."

The doors open. Halloway is there. He is holding a syringe. He is smiling.

"Thank you, Elias," he says. "The cycle is complete. The town is fed."

You stand up. Your legs are steady. Your mind is clear. You look at Halloway. You do not see a man. You see a shadow. You see a debt.

You walk toward him. He raises the syringe. You do not stop.

You grab his wrist. You twist it. The syringe falls. You strike him. Once. Twice. Three times.

You punch him in the face. You punch him until he falls. You punch him until he is still.

The gray figures are gone. The town is quiet. The clock tower ticks.

You walk out of the infirmary. You walk out of the town. You do not look back.

You walk to the edge of the map. There is no edge. The road goes on. It is a long road. It is a dark road.

You walk. You walk until your legs give out. You walk until your heart stops.

You do not die. You cannot die. You are the soldier. You are the debt. You are the town.

You sit on the road. You close your eyes. You wait for the next alarm.

The alarm does not ring. It screams.

You are in the mess hall. The tables are steel. The food is cold. You reach for the coffee.

It is thick. Black. It tastes like copper.

You are awake. You are always awake.

The door bursts open. Captain Halloway stands there. He is tall. He is clean. He wears a uniform that has never seen mud.

"Thorne," he says. "Report to the infirmary."

You look at your hands. They are steady. They are strong.

"Fine," you say.

You walk with him. The hallway is long. The lights hum. You feel the weight of your badge.

The infirmary is white. Sterile. It smells of bleach.

"Sit," Miller says.

You sit. You watch her. She prepares the needle.

"Last dose?" you ask.

"First dose of the new cycle," she says.

You nod. You take the shot. The cold fire spreads.

You see the town. The rain is heavy. You are young. You are in the house. Your mother is crying.

The vision fades. You are back in the chair.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

"Tired," you say.

"Go rest."

You leave. You walk back to your barracks. The door is locked. You break it down.

The room is empty. Your bed is made. Your clothes are folded.

There is a note on the pillow.

"Reassignment pending. Do not contact anyone."

You walk out. The town is quiet. The houses are silent.

You walk to the square. The clock tower stands in the center.

You wait.

People begin to appear. They do not walk. They float. They are gray.

A child runs past. A girl. She is wearing a red dress.

"Elias?" she says.

You know her. You have seen her in your dreams.

"Lucy," you whisper.

She smiles. It is a sad smile.

"Daddy," she says. "Why are you here?"

"I am on duty," you say.

"No," she says. "You are late."

She turns. She walks into the crowd.

You follow. Your legs move. Your body obeys.

You walk into the town hall. The doors are open. Inside, it is dark.

There is a table. On the table, there is a box.

You approach the table. You open the box.

Inside, there is a photograph.

You recognize them. You recognize the uniforms. You recognize the faces.

You are in the picture.

You are young. You are happy. You are holding a bag of gold.

You remember.

You close the box. Your hands are shaking.

The gray figures are waiting. They surround you.

Halloway steps forward. He is no longer clean.

"You see it now," he says.

"What is this place?" you ask.

"This is the cost," Halloway says.

"I didn't do it," you say.

"You knew," he says. "You chose."

The figures move. They reach for you.

You draw your pistol. You point it at Halloway.

"Back off," you say.

Halloway laughs.

"You cannot shoot the truth."

You look at your hand. The hand holding the gun. It is a root.

You try to let go. You cannot.

The vines tighten. You fall to your knees.

You are back. You are in the burning house. You are holding the bag of gold.

You stand up. You walk to the door.

The room is empty. The gold is gone.

You are in the infirmary. You are in the chair.

"How do you feel?" she asks.

You cough. A cloud of black dust rises from your lips.

"Get him out," Miller says.

The doors open. Halloway is there.

"Thank you, Elias," he says. "The town is fed."

You stand up. You look at Halloway.

You walk toward him. He raises the syringe.

You grab his wrist. You twist it. You strike him.

You punch him until he is still.

The gray figures are gone. The town is quiet.

You walk out of the infirmary. You walk out of the town.

You walk to the edge of the map.

You walk. You walk until your heart stops.

You do not die.

You sit on the road. You close your eyes. You wait.

The alarm does not ring. It screams.

You are in the mess hall. The food is cold. You reach for the coffee.

It tastes like copper.

You are awake.