Chapter 4 The Voice from the Faceless Speaker

“Don’t… touch… the glass…”

The voice came from inside the aquarium. Everyone heard it, yet no one was certain whether it had actually been spoken aloud or imagined. It wasn’t a sound that traveled through the air—it resonated directly through their nerves, like a whisper injected into their minds.

Miki instinctively recoiled, stumbling over a chair and collapsing to the floor beside her broken phone. For a moment, the screen flickered one last time, replaying the footage she had just recorded, before finally fading to black—as if the device had never been powered on.

“There really is something in there…” she whispered, pale and shaking with fear.

Then, the speakers came to life once more—but this time, the voice was different.

“WELCOME TO LUCID OCEAN. You are the 12 chosen, here to observe... or perhaps, in the end, to become the ones observed.”

The announcement wasn’t spoken in a typical AI voice. It had a strange emotional undertone, something disturbingly human. Not robotic, not synthetic—more like someone speaking live through a microphone, cloaked in distortion.

“The system will now recite the 13 Iron Rules again. This is your final chance to hear them. Listen carefully—there will be no repetition.”

The room went dark, save for one glowing aquarium. The water’s surface shimmered, but instead of ripples—it displayed text.

The 13 rules, slowly surfacing on the illuminated glass:

Do not touch the glass.

Do not feed the fish.

Do not say an animal’s name aloud.

Do not walk back the way you came.

Do not look into an empty tank.

Do not take photos or videos.

Do not ask about the past.

Do not be alone.

Do not open any closed doors.

Do not speak of the outside world.

Do not touch the water in the tanks.

Do not read the text on the glass.

Do not challenge the rules.

As the final rule faded, the lights returned—and with them, a chilling new message:

“Rule = System. System = Survival. Survival = Acceptance. Do not question what you hear... for it is your own subconscious speaking.”

Silence.

Even Miki, always ready to argue, said nothing. The more the system spoke, the less anyone understood. Its logic spiraled downward into confusion.

Kawin turned to Arisa. “What did it mean just now?”

“It wasn’t speaking to all of us,” she replied. “It was speaking to each of our subconscious minds.”

“I’ve heard... the system here is the only thing that truly knows who you are,” Praewa added softly. “Even if you’ve never shared a word about yourself.”

As she spoke, a hidden projector descended from the ceiling and began casting images into the center of the lobby.

Brief video clips—each less than 30 seconds—played for every individual in the room. Each clip revealed personal secrets never spoken aloud. One showed Miki quietly crying in a restroom during a shoot. Another, Boom, a businessman with a polished image, was caught stealing from the delivery man’s bag. Mok, the middle-aged woman, was seen burning her daughter’s medical certificate.

These were things no one should have known. Not recorded. Not public. And yet—the system knew. It knew everything. There were no secrets here.

“It’s not just testing our obedience to rules,” Ith said solemnly. “It’s testing the fragility of our minds.”

Praewa stood still. “Whoever built this place… they don’t want us to survive. They want to watch us fall apart.”

Then the voice returned, softer than ever—as if it were whispering from the depths of their own hearts.

“Rule One has begun. The glass… must not be touched again. If anyone does… you will learn what transformation truly means.”

CRACK!

The lights went out.

A faint sound of glass cracking echoed through the room. Everyone flinched, turning toward the noise.

Kawin peered into the shadows.

No one was standing there.

But one pane of glass bore a spiderweb of cracks—and a damp handprint.

No one had passed by.

No one had touched it.

No one was wet.

So whose handprint was it?