The third sub-basement level revealed the true scope of Dr. Voss's operations. As Marcus descended further into the bowels of Blackwood Asylum, the institutional facade gave way to something that looked more like a medieval dungeon than a medical facility. The walls here were bare concrete, stained with substances that Marcus tried not to identify. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and something else—something organic and unpleasant that made his stomach turn.
Marcus had been exploring the sub-basements for what felt like hours, though his sense of time had become increasingly unreliable. The inflammation on his arm had spread across his chest and was beginning to affect his back, but the pain had faded to a distant awareness. More concerning was the fever that seemed to be building in his system, creating a sense of detachment from his physical body that was both disturbing and oddly liberating.
The hallucinations—for that's what Marcus assumed they were—had become more frequent and more vivid. The figures he was seeing were no longer just shadows in his peripheral vision, but clearly defined individuals who seemed to be trying to communicate with him. They appeared to be patients from different eras of the asylum's operation, wearing the institutional clothing of their respective time periods. Some moved with the slow, deliberate steps of people who had been heavily sedated, while others displayed the jerky, unnatural movements of individuals whose nervous systems had been damaged by experimental procedures.
Marcus found himself responding to these figures as if they were real, nodding when they pointed out areas of interest, following their guidance to specific rooms and equipment. The interaction felt completely natural, as if the boundary between the living and the dead had become permeable within the asylum's walls. He told himself that stress and building contamination were causing these hallucinations, but they seemed too consistent, too purposeful to be mere products of his imagination.
It was one of these figures—a middle-aged man in a patient gown who seemed to be missing part of his skull—who led Marcus to the electroshock therapy rooms. The man pointed urgently toward a corridor that Marcus hadn't yet explored, gesturing with the desperate intensity of someone who had been waiting decades to tell his story.
The electroshock therapy rooms were located in a section of the third sub-basement that had been designed for maximum soundproofing. Heavy metal doors with small observation windows lined both sides of the corridor, and Marcus could hear the faint hum of electrical equipment from behind the walls. But that was impossible—the asylum had been without power for decades.
Marcus inserted one of Dale's keys into the first door and found himself in a room that defied his understanding of medical ethics. The space was dominated by a large chair that looked more like an execution device than therapeutic equipment. Thick leather straps were attached to the arms, legs, and chest areas, designed to completely immobilize whoever was placed in the chair. But it was the electrical apparatus surrounding the chair that truly horrified him.
The electroshock equipment was far more sophisticated than anything Marcus had seen in medical museums or historical documentaries. Instead of the simple devices he associated with early psychiatric treatment, this room contained complex machinery with multiple control panels, monitoring screens, and what appeared to be computer interfaces. The equipment was clearly designed for precise control of electrical stimulation, with the ability to target specific areas of the brain and body.
Marcus found detailed schematics and operation manuals for the equipment, showing how it could be used to deliver electrical shocks of varying intensity and duration to different parts of the subject's nervous system. The documentation revealed that Dr. Voss had been using electroshock therapy not as a treatment for mental illness, but as a tool for behavior modification and memory manipulation.
"Electrical stimulation of specific brain regions can disrupt memory formation and recall," one of the manuals explained. "By targeting the hippocampus and amygdala, we can selectively erase traumatic memories while preserving other cognitive functions. Higher voltage applications can induce temporary or permanent personality changes, depending on the duration and intensity of treatment."
The clinical language couldn't disguise the fact that Dr. Voss had been using torture devices to systematically destroy her patients' minds. Marcus photographed everything, but found himself working more slowly than usual. His hands were shaking slightly, and he was having difficulty focusing on the technical details of the equipment. The fever that had been building in his system was beginning to affect his concentration and motor skills.
As Marcus examined the electroshock equipment, he became aware of sounds coming from the other treatment rooms. At first, he dismissed them as the building's mechanical systems, but the sounds were too regular, too obviously human to be explained by aging infrastructure. He could hear voices—some pleading, some screaming, some reduced to unintelligible moaning.
Marcus moved to the next room, using Dale's keys to unlock the heavy metal door. This room contained similar equipment, but the chair was occupied.
A woman was strapped to the electroshock chair, her body convulsing as electrical current coursed through her nervous system. Her eyes were wide with terror, and she was making sounds that Marcus couldn't interpret as words. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, and Marcus could see smoke rising from the electrodes attached to her temples.
Marcus rushed toward the woman, intent on shutting off the machine and freeing her from the restraints. But as he approached the chair, the woman's image began to waver and fade, like a mirage dissolving in desert heat. Within seconds, she had disappeared entirely, leaving only the empty chair and the lingering smell of ozone.
Marcus stood in the empty room, his heart racing and his mind struggling to process what he had just witnessed. The rational part of his brain insisted that he had experienced a hallucination, a product of stress and the disturbing environment he had been exploring. But the sensory details had been so vivid, so consistent with the equipment and procedures he had been documenting, that it was difficult to dismiss the experience as mere imagination.
The fever was definitely getting worse. Marcus could feel heat radiating from his body, and his clothing was damp with perspiration despite the cool temperature in the sub-basement. His vision was beginning to blur slightly, and he was having difficulty maintaining his balance. But rather than being alarmed by these symptoms, Marcus found himself feeling strangely euphoric, as if the fever was enhancing his perception rather than impairing it.
He moved to the third treatment room, and this time he wasn't surprised to find it occupied. A young man—probably in his early twenties—was strapped to the electroshock chair while a woman in a white coat operated the control panels. The woman was tall and elegant, with silver hair and the kind of authoritative bearing that Marcus associated with senior medical professionals. Her name tag read "Dr. H. Voss."
Marcus realized he was witnessing one of Dr. Voss's experimental sessions, somehow observing events that had taken place decades earlier. The young man in the chair was clearly terrified, struggling against his restraints and pleading with Dr. Voss to stop the procedure. But the doctor ignored his pleas, adjusting the controls with the clinical detachment of someone conducting a routine experiment.
"Subject exhibits strong resistance to memory modification," Dr. Voss said, apparently dictating notes to a recording device. "Increasing voltage to overcome hippocampal barriers. Previous sessions have successfully eliminated subject's memories of childhood trauma, but family recognition patterns remain intact."
Marcus watched in horror as Dr. Voss increased the electrical current. The young man's body arched against the restraints, his screams echoing through the soundproofed room. But what disturbed Marcus most was the clinical way Dr. Voss observed the procedure, taking notes and making adjustments as if the subject were a laboratory animal rather than a human being.
"Excellent response," Dr. Voss continued. "Subject's EEG patterns indicate successful disruption of memory pathways. Increasing duration to ensure permanent modification. This technique shows promise for military applications where enemy combatants need to be reprogrammed rather than eliminated."
The young man's struggles gradually weakened as the electrical current continued. His screams faded to whimpers, then to silence. When Dr. Voss finally shut off the machine, the young man stared straight ahead with empty eyes, showing no recognition of his surroundings or the person who had just tortured him.
"Memory modification successful," Dr. Voss noted with satisfaction. "Subject shows no recognition of previous identity or experiences. Personality structure has been completely disrupted, creating optimal conditions for behavioral reprogramming. This subject can now be conditioned to accept new identity and behavioral patterns."
Marcus found himself stepping forward, trying to intervene in the procedure he was witnessing. But his hands passed through the equipment controls as if they were made of smoke. He was observing events from the past, somehow experiencing the memories that had been embedded in the building itself. The realization should have been disturbing, but Marcus found himself fascinated by the technical aspects of what he was seeing.
The fever was definitely affecting his judgment. Marcus was aware that he should be horrified by the torture he was witnessing, but instead he found himself analyzing Dr. Voss's techniques with scientific curiosity. The electrical stimulation protocols were sophisticated, the monitoring equipment was advanced, and the results were undeniably effective from a purely technical standpoint.
As Marcus continued exploring the treatment rooms, he encountered more scenes from the asylum's past. Each room contained different equipment and different victims, but the pattern was always the same: vulnerable patients being subjected to brutal procedures designed to destroy their minds and personalities. Marcus watched electroshock therapy sessions that lasted for hours, sensory deprivation experiments that reduced subjects to catatonic states, and chemical treatments that caused permanent brain damage.
But what disturbed him most was his own reaction to these scenes. The fever had progressed to the point where Marcus felt detached from his normal emotional responses. He was documenting the procedures with the same clinical objectivity that Dr. Voss had displayed, treating the torture he was witnessing as scientific data rather than human suffering.
In one room, Marcus found a collection of audio recordings that Dr. Voss had made during her experimental sessions. The recordings were stored on old reel-to-reel tapes, connected to equipment that shouldn't have been functional after decades of abandonment. But when Marcus pressed the play button, Dr. Voss's voice filled the room as clearly as if she were standing beside him.
"Research log, March 15th, 1983," Dr. Voss's voice began. "Subject Lin Chen, case number 847. Beginning third session of genetic memory extraction. Previous sessions have successfully disrupted subject's conscious memory pathways, but deeper genetic programming remains intact."
Marcus recognized the date immediately—it was the day his aunt Lin had been admitted to Blackwood Asylum. He was about to hear a recording of her torture, documented in Dr. Voss's own words. The rational part of his mind suggested that he should turn off the recording, that listening to his aunt's suffering would be too traumatic to bear. But the fever-induced detachment made him curious about the technical aspects of the procedure.
"Subject exhibits strong resistance to memory modification," Dr. Voss continued. "Family history of institutional trauma suggests genetic predisposition to psychological fragmentation. Subject's ancestors were subjected to similar experimental procedures in earlier research programs, creating inherited memory patterns that interfere with current treatment protocols."
Marcus realized that Dr. Voss was referring to previous experiments that had been conducted at Blackwood, possibly going back to the facility's founding in the 1920s. His aunt Lin hadn't been randomly selected for the genetic memory research—she had been targeted because her family had been involved in earlier experimental programs.
The recording continued with Dr. Voss describing the procedures she was performing on Lin Chen. Marcus listened as his aunt was subjected to electrical stimulation, chemical injections, and surgical procedures designed to extract what Dr. Voss called "inherited traumatic memory patterns." The recordings included Lin Chen's voice, initially coherent and pleading, gradually becoming confused and disoriented as the experiments progressed.
"Please stop," Lin Chen's voice said during one of the sessions. "I don't understand what you're doing to me. I just want to go home. My family is waiting for me."
But Dr. Voss ignored her pleas, continuing with the procedures while dictating clinical observations. "Subject maintains strong emotional attachment to family unit despite memory disruption. Genetic programming appears to be more deeply embedded than anticipated. Increasing electrical stimulation to overcome inherited resistance patterns."
Marcus found himself listening to the recordings with the same clinical detachment that Dr. Voss had displayed. The fever had progressed to the point where he felt separated from his normal human responses, analyzing the procedures as if they were abstract scientific problems rather than the torture of his own family member.
The final recording in the series was dated just days before Lin Chen's official death. Dr. Voss's voice described a subject who had been reduced to a vegetative state, no longer capable of coherent speech or recognition of familiar faces. But even in this condition, Dr. Voss had continued her experiments, using Lin Chen as a source of biological material for her research.
"Subject expired during final extraction procedure," Dr. Voss's voice noted with clinical indifference. "However, genetic memory material has been successfully harvested and preserved for analysis. Subject's brain tissue contains unique inherited trauma patterns that will provide valuable insights into genetic memory transmission."
Marcus realized that his aunt had been killed during one of Dr. Voss's experiments, her death disguised as natural causes to avoid investigation. But rather than feeling grief or anger, Marcus found himself impressed by the thoroughness of Dr. Voss's research methodology. The fever had affected his emotional responses to the point where he was evaluating the procedures from a purely scientific perspective.
As Marcus continued exploring the treatment rooms, he encountered more patients undergoing various experimental procedures. Some were being subjected to sensory deprivation experiments that lasted for weeks, while others were receiving chemical injections that caused permanent personality changes. Marcus watched a teenager being subjected to brain surgery while conscious, observed elderly patients being used as test subjects for biological weapons, and witnessed children being tortured in the name of genetic research.
But what disturbed him most was his own reaction to these scenes. The fever had progressed to the point where Marcus felt completely disconnected from his normal moral framework. He was documenting the procedures with scientific interest, taking notes on Dr. Voss's techniques and analyzing the effectiveness of her methods. The human suffering he was witnessing had become abstract data, no different from any other research project.
The fever continued to build, and Marcus found himself looking forward to discovering what other secrets the asylum contained. There were more treatment rooms to explore, more experiments to document, and more subjects to study. He was no longer just a visitor to Blackwood Asylum—he was becoming one of its permanent research staff.