Wake Up Call

Below drowned city, quarantine ward never slept. Emergency lamps kept burning long after sea swallowed upper floors, and every bed held a patient wired to cracked alarm clocks. They had arrived with ordinary exhaustion. Then siren began. It rang once every hour, deep enough to vibrate through bone, pulling sleepers upright before dreams could finish. Crishim found them sitting in silence, eyes wide and bloodshot, listening for next command. Their eyelids had been stitched open with static. Their veins pulsed to red digits on wall: WAKE UP. Nobody remembered who installed clocks. Nobody dared unplug them. On seventh night, alarms stopped. Then every patient stood at once and walked into black water, awake for first time.