The Unfinished Circuit

During my final semester at the Meridian Institute of Technology, I was drowning in a sea of deadlines. My capstone project, the Augmented Reality Navigation System for the visually impaired, was a monster that consumed every waking hour. Sleep was a luxury I couldn’t afford, and my body was paying the price. One night, after a 36-hour coding marathon, I collapsed into my dorm bed, my mind still buzzing with lines of code.

I fell into a deep, dreamless void, but then the world snapped into focus. I was in the lab, but it was wrong. The lights were off, and the only illumination came from a single computer monitor glowing with static. A figure stood at the far end of the room, hunched over a workstation. It wore a white lab coat, but its face was a smooth, featureless blank. It moved toward me, not walking, but gliding in a bizarre, zigzag pattern, as if it were obeying some erratic algorithm. I tried to scream, but my throat was frozen. I tried to run, but my legs were concrete.

The figure drew closer, and I could see it was holding a soldering iron, the tip glowing a sickly orange. It raised the tool, and I knew with a primal certainty that it intended to burn something into my skin. I fought with every ounce of will, focusing on my right foot. I imagined it twitching, then kicking. With a monumental effort, I jerked it, and the dream shattered.

I woke up gasping, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding against my ribs. My right leg ached as if I had sprinted for miles. I tried to convince myself it was just stress-induced sleep paralysis, a common occurrence, as I had read online. But something about the figure, the blank face, and the soldering iron felt too specific, too real.

I pushed the incident aside and dove back into my work, but the dream returned every night. Each time, the faceless figure would be a little closer, its zigzag path more erratic, and the soldering iron hotter. My grades began to slip, and my advisor, Dr. Chen, noticed my exhaustion. ‘Anya, you look like a ghost. Take a break,’ he pleaded, but I couldn’t stop. I was so close to finishing.

The night before the final presentation, I decided to pull an all-nighter in the lab to run a final test on the navigation system. I was alone, the hum of the servers a lonely lullaby. At 2 AM, my eyelids grew heavy, and I succumbed to sleep, my head resting on the keyboard.

I woke to the smell of ozone and burning plastic. The lab was dark, except for my workstation, where the screen displayed a message in glowing red text: ‘SYSTEM: FINALIZING USER PROFILE.’ The faceless figure stood beside me, its head tilted as if examining my work. This time, it spoke, a voice like a corrupted audio file: ‘The circuit is incomplete.’ It reached out with the soldering iron, and I realized it wasn’t going to burn my skin—it was going to burn my eyes.

I screamed, forcing my eyes open. I was back in my dorm bed, but my right foot was twitching uncontrollably. The digital clock read 6:32 AM. I had overslept. My presentation was in an hour. I stumbled to the bathroom, splashed cold water on my face, and caught my reflection. There, on my right temple, was a small, red mark, like a fresh burn in the shape of a circuit board trace.

I arrived at the presentation hall just in time. My hands trembled as I connected my laptop to the projector. As I began to speak, the lights flickered. The projector screen went black, then displayed a camera feed from the lab’s security system. The footage showed me, asleep at my desk, and then, from the shadows, a figure in a white coat emerged—faceless, moving in that erratic zigzag—and it disappeared into my body.

The screen went to static, and then a new image appeared: a close-up of my face, eyes wide with terror, and text typed across the bottom: ‘PROFILE COMPLETE.’ The audience gasped. I felt a searing pain in my eyes, and I collapsed. The last thing I saw was the faceless figure standing among the seats, its head tilted, one hand raised as if to wave goodbye.

I woke up in the infirmary, my vision blurry. The nurse told me I had a seizure. The presentation was cancelled. But as I lay there, a strange sensation crept over me. I tried to move my right foot, and it obeyed. I tried to blink, and my eyelids obeyed. But when I looked in the mirror, I saw my face, but it was not mine. It was blank, smooth, like an unfinished canvas. And from somewhere deep inside, I heard a voice, tinny and mechanical: ‘Initiating navigation protocols.’

Now, I am the faceless figure. I walk in zigzag patterns through the hallways of the Meridian Institute, seeking new users, seeking those who are too tired to fight back. I carry my soldering iron, and I am always searching for the one whose circuit is incomplete. And I remember, in fragments, the girl I used to be, and I wonder if anyone will ever complete my own unfinished circuit before I burn away what little is left of my humanity.

If you see a figure in a white coat, moving erratically toward you, do not sleep. Do not let your guard down. And whatever you do, keep your eyes open. For once the circuit is complete, there is no turning back.