Alexei remembered more than a lake with a son and his father.
He remembered the speed of water below the ice the moment he crashed through a soft spot no one saw coming. He remembered the altars of air caught beneath the sheets, the fugitive thrill of gliding under a world that would crush you if your hands hesitated.
He remembered laughing into the water because it felt like stealing.
"Time to syncope… no event," the voice noted, annoyed at boredom. "Continue deprivation."
They kept the mask on and shifted tactics.
Heat lamps flared to life, the kind used for piglets and chicks.
Their glow painted the world an ugly red color, but he refused to let that bother him.
Heat soaked his skin, climbed toward fever, then stalled, as if it had discovered a hill it didn't want to take.
He let them keep trying.
"Thermal," a second voice nudged.
"Nothing," the first answered. "As expected."
