This page is featured!
This page was featured, making this page a pasta of the day. If this was added to a page, it will be protected.
In the cold, unforgiving expanse of Siberia, where the snow could swallow whole villages and the wind cut through flesh like a blade, the Soviet Union's darkest and most forgotten experiment was about to unfold. During the heart of the Cold War, while the Western world raced to understand the human mind, the USSR under the guidance of Dr. Chenko Kuz, an acclaimed psychologist and sociologist was determined to transcend the boundaries of what was known. Not for the sake of humanity’s well-being, but for the selfish pursuit of power.
Kuz wasn’t interested in sociology or psychology in the conventional sense. He was a man with a singular, dangerous vision: to prove the superiority of the USSR's state atheism by annihilating the human soul, as he believed the existence of an eternal soul was the root of all religious delusion. And to do that, he needed an experiment that would test the very fabric of consciousness itself.
The experiment was to be conducted on one individual, a man with a dark past. A Wehrmacht soldier. A war criminal who had been captured during the final days of the Second World War. A man who had committed atrocities in the name of Nazi Germany in Soviet territory, yet had somehow avoided the Nuremberg Trials, due to being found on Soviet territory, attempting to make a retreat to Switzerland.
He was brought to an isolated facility in the harshest part of Siberia, buried beneath layers of concrete and iron. The underground bunker, situated far from civilization, was designed to withstand any attempt to escape. The air was thick with the scent of concrete and metal, the only sound being the low hum of machines that seemingly never stopped.
His name was never recorded, only referred to as Subject A, but the memories of his war crimes were still fresh in the minds of those who had survived. He was the perfect subject for Chenko Kuz's experiment: a man whose soul had already been damned by his actions.
The facility was sterile, the walls of the observation chamber cold and impassive. The subject had been strapped into a chair in the center of a small room. Monitors flickered and beeped, tracking his heart rate, brain activity, and physiological responses. The door sealed shut behind him with a final, metallic thud. No one could enter; no one would leave.
Kuz stood at the helm, his eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality. Beside him, his team of scientists monitored the subject’s reactions, taking notes as electrodes were placed on his temples.
"Activate the machine," Kuz ordered. His voice was a quiet, controlled whisper, but it carried the weight of authority.
The machine hummed to life.
It was a device meant to disrupt the brain's natural processes, to push the mind beyond its normal limits and into a realm that had never been explored. The goal was to isolate consciousness itself, to strip away all external stimuli and peer into the inner workings of the human mind. But Kuz had more than just science on his mind—he wanted to find the moment when a man’s soul would break, when his mind would collapse under the weight of its own sin.
The screen flickered to life. For the first few moments, Subject A was unresponsive. His heart rate remained steady, his eyes blinked slowly, as though in a trance. Then, the monitors began to spike.
At first, it was subtle—slight increases in brain activity that barely registered. But soon, the numbers on the screens began to climb. The electrodes were picking up something strange, something unexplainable. It wasn’t just brain activity anymore—it was something else, something that neither Kuz nor his team could have anticipated.
Subject D-47’s eyes opened wide, a look of terror beginning to creep across his face.
"His mind is breaking," one of the technicians whispered. "This is… something else. Something we’ve never seen."
Kuz watched, transfixed, as the man’s body began to tremble. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, then snapped forward again, staring at the ceiling with a gaze that seemed to pierce the very fabric of existence. Sweat poured down his face, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
And then, he began to speak. His voice was low, hoarse, barely a whisper.
"It’s dark," the subject said. "So dark. I can't breathe. I can't... I can't escape."
The team exchanged uneasy glances. The experiment had barely begun, yet the subject was already reacting in ways they hadn’t anticipated.
Kuz leaned in closer to the monitors, his pulse quickening. "What’s he saying? Is he hallucinating?"
"It doesn’t seem like a hallucination, doctor," the technician replied, her voice trembling. "He’s describing… something else."
The man on the screen continued to speak, his words growing more frantic, more desperate.
"The walls… they close in. It’s suffocating. The heat... it burns. The fire... I can’t—"
The words came faster now, tumbling over each other, as if he were trying to speak faster than his mind could keep up with. His eyes darted wildly around the room, as though searching for something.
"What is this?" Kuz muttered, his voice rising with concern. "What is happening to him?"
The subject's breathing grew more labored. He twisted in his seat, his body jerking spasmodically. His voice rose to a crescendo.
"I see them! I see them all! The faces, the burning eyes, the screams—!"
The monitors beeped wildly, the readings spiking off the charts. The subject’s body was convulsing now, the chair rattling beneath him. Sweat poured from his face in torrents. His muscles strained against the restraints.
Then, as suddenly as it began, the subject fell silent. His body went limp, the beeping of the machines a haunting reminder of his presence.
For a moment, the room was silent, save for the hum of the machines.
"Doctor," one of the technicians whispered. "He's... he’s gone."
The monitors showed no activity. No pulse. No brainwaves. The subject had died. The experiment had killed him.
Kuz stood motionless, staring at the screen. His heart pounded in his chest, but his mind could not comprehend what he had just witnessed.
Days later, as Kuz and his team sifted through the data, something was discovered—a series of words and images that, when pieced together, formed a coherent narrative. The words the subject had spoken in his final moments weren’t the ramblings of a dying man. They were not hallucinations.
The subject had been describing something real.
Hell.
The images flashed in the data: flames, tortured souls writhing in eternal agony, faces twisted in torment, endless darkness, and suffocating heat. It was a vision of the afterlife as old as time itself. But the subject had never mentioned religion. He had never spoken of a higher power, nor had he ever acknowledged his sins.
What Kuz and his team didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that the experiment had not revealed the inner workings of the human mind.
It had revealed the truth.
The subject had died before the experiment even began. His body had been placed into the machine days after his death, his mind already beyond the realm of living, trapped in the inferno of hell. The visions he had seen, the terror he had felt, were not of this world. They were the last remnants of his tortured soul, eternally bound to the horrors of the afterlife.
And in his final moments, he had been the first man to describe what no living soul should ever know.
Hell.
But Dr. Chenko Kuz, in his unrelenting desire to prove atheism true, would never come to understand the truth. The experiment had not been a breakthrough in human consciousness.
It had been a glimpse into damnation.
And the worst part was Chenko Kuz would soon join the subject in that dark, burning place. He just hadn’t realized it yet.
Written by Djdeadpig 6934