Chapter 18: You Always Choose Silence Over Surgery I dropped the folder. It hit the floor with a slap that didn’t echo. The pages didn’t scatter. The red ribbon didn’t flutter. It just lay there, splayed open like a wound that refused to close. I stepped back. One step. Then another. My heel caught the edge of the tray holding the scalpel. The metal clattered, but I didn’t look. I kept my eyes on Lena. She hadn’t moved. Not a twitch. Not a blink. Just lying there, strapped down, the shallow cut on her stomach already gone. Like it never happened. Like I never did it. I didn’t want to do it again. The room didn’t ask me to. It didn’t need to. It already knew what I would refuse. The counter on my chest jumped. Not slowly. Not steadily. Ten breaths ripped away in one silent, violent jerk. 187. The number burned into my skin. I felt it. Not in my lungs. Not in my throat. In my bones. Like something inside me had been yanked out. Lena spoke. Her voice didn’t rise. Didn’t shake. Didn’t carry anger or sadness or anything I could name. It was flat. Certain. Like she was reading from a script she’d memorized years ago. “You always choose silence over surgery.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I just stood there, staring at her, waiting for the room to punish me harder. Waiting for the walls to close in. Waiting for the air to vanish. Waiting for her to scream. She didn’t. She just watched me. Like she was waiting for me to understand something I still didn’t get. The walls began to move. Not fast. Not loud. They just… retracted. Sliding back into themselves like drawers being pulled open in slow motion. No grinding. No hissing. Just smooth, silent motion. The white tiles peeled away, revealing darkness behind them. Then light. Cold, clinical light. Bright enough to hurt, but I didn’t squint. I couldn’t look away. The chamber beyond wasn’t empty. It was filled with tables. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. Lined up in perfect, sterile rows, stretching farther than I could see. Each one identical to the one Lena was strapped to. Each one occupied. By her. Every table held a Lena. Same face. Same hair. Same stillness. Same straps across the chest, the wrists, the ankles. Some had their eyes open. Some had them closed. Some were looking at me. Some were looking at the ceiling. Some were smiling faintly. Some were frowning. Some looked scared. Some looked bored. Some looked dead. But they were all her. I took a step forward without meaning to. My foot landed on the folder. I didn’t pick it up. I just stood on it, the paper crunching under my shoe. I looked from one Lena to the next. Trying to find differences. Trying to find the real one. The one I knew. The one who handed me the scalpel. The one who watched me read the file. The one who didn’t flinch when I cut her. They all looked real. The counter ticked down. 186. 185. 184. I didn’t breathe harder. I didn’t panic. I just stood there, chest tight, mind racing in circles. The room wasn’t asking me to operate anymore. It was asking me to choose. Which one? Which Lena was the one I was supposed to cut? Which one would make the counter stop falling? Which one would make the walls close again? Which one would make this end? I looked back at the original Lena. The one on the table in front of me. She hadn’t moved. Her eyes were still on mine. Not pleading. Not commanding. Just… waiting. Like she already knew what I was going to do. Like she’d seen me do it before. I turned back to the rows of Lenas. They didn’t move either. Not a single one. Not a twitch. Not a breath. Just lying there. Silent. Still. Waiting. The counter hit 180. I took another step forward. Off the folder. Toward the first row of tables. I stopped between two of them. Looked down at the Lena on my left. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were slightly parted. She looked asleep. Peaceful. I looked at the one on my right. Her eyes were open. Staring straight up. Not blinking. Not moving. Like she was frozen mid-thought. I reached out. Stopped myself before my fingers touched her skin. What would happen if I did? Would she wake up? Would she scream? Would the counter jump? Would the other Lenas vanish? Would the room collapse? Would I die? I didn’t know. I pulled my hand back. Looked down the row. Looked at the next Lena. And the next. And the next. All different. All the same. All waiting for me to pick one. The counter hit 175. I turned around. Looked back at the original Lena. She was still watching me. Still silent. Still strapped down. Still waiting. I looked at the scalpel on the tray. It hadn’t moved. It was still there. Still clean. Still sharp. Still waiting for me to pick it up. I didn’t. I looked at the rows of Lenas again. Tried to count them. Couldn’t. Too many. Too far. Too much. The counter hit 170. I took a step toward the nearest Lena. The one with her eyes closed. I leaned over her. Looked at her face. Looked at her chest. Looked at the straps holding her down. Looked for something. Anything. A mark. A scar. A difference. A sign. Nothing. I straightened up. Turned to the next one. The one with her eyes open. I leaned over her too. Looked into her eyes. Tried to see something behind them. A thought. A memory. A plea. Nothing. I moved to the next table. And the next. And the next. Walking slowly down the row, looking at each Lena like I was inspecting merchandise. Like I was trying to pick the one that would break the least when I cut into her. None of them moved. None of them spoke. None of them reacted. The counter hit 165. I stopped halfway down the row. Turned around. Looked back at the original table. Looked at the original Lena. She hadn’t moved. She hadn’t blinked. She hadn’t looked away. I looked at the scalpel again. I walked back to it. Picked it up. The metal was cold. Lighter than I remembered. Or maybe my hand was shaking. I didn’t check. I just held it. Looked at the blade. Looked at the edge. Looked at the point. I turned back to the rows of Lenas. Walked to the first one again. The one with her eyes closed. I stood over her. Raised the scalpel. Hovered it over her stomach. Just like before. Just like with the original. Just enough to break the skin. Just enough to make the room believe I meant it. I didn’t cut. I lowered the scalpel. Moved to the next one. The one with her eyes open. Raised the scalpel again. Hovered it over her chest this time. Right over her heart. If I pushed down, if I sliced deep enough, she’d die. Maybe that’s what the room wanted. Maybe that’s what would stop the counter. Maybe that’s what would make the other Lenas disappear. I didn’t cut. I lowered the scalpel. Moved to the next table. And the next. And the next. Raising the blade over each one. Hovering it over different parts of their bodies. Their necks. Their arms. Their thighs. Their faces. Never cutting. Never even touching. Just holding it there. Just waiting. Just seeing if any of them would react. None of them did. The counter hit 160. I walked back to the original table. St