Militech Laboratory
The room where Matthew had been brought back to life now housed only one technician Masashi. She was running diagnostics on a brain suspended in a fluid-filled tank, carefully comparing neural activity with data from the operative body. The patterns were indistinguishable from those of a living person. Still, there was something off an anomaly in the system: during sleep cycles, the subject showed bursts of activity that engaged computational subsystems. It was almost like he was dreaming… which shouldn't be possible. To get a clearer picture, she flagged him for a scheduled internal scan and continued monitoring.
The lab doors slid open.
Henry Baker entered with another man.
"This is where the observation takes place," Henry said, gesturing at the lab.
"Skip the tour. Results?" asked Marius Vaast, director of Militech's Special Projects Division. Mid-thirties. Jet-black, slicked-back hair. Sharp eyes. Aura like a loaded gun. The man in charge of everything related to AI.
[image]
"He's running perfectly stable. No personality drift. Integrated into society almost instantly," Henry said confidently.
"When do we greenlight mass production?" Marius asked, stepping toward a monitor displaying the current status of subject K3-8. "Where is he? And what the hell happened to his body?"
"He's in Heywood. Hasn't left the district. We've geo-locked him. Right now, he's running on suppressed emotions like a machine, laser-focused on completing his objectives, no matter the physical toll," Henry explained.
"That's what we need," Marius nodded approvingly.
"No offense, sir, but technically that's a malfunction. We're planning to restore full emotional function soon. That'll reduce his risk tolerance and make him more stable emotionally," Henry added.
"I don't want sentimental soldiers who hesitate before pulling the trigger. Emotions are dead weight. I want warriors without fear ready to die on command. This war isn't over. We're just fighting it in the shadows now. And we're losing. They've already infiltrated our home," Marius said, voice laced with quiet fury.
"Sir, didn't we sign a peace agreement?" Henry asked cautiously.
"I expected more brains from you, Henry Baker. That document is trash meant for public consumption. The war never ended. It just changed shape. And when open conflict reignites and it will we have to be ready."
"I understand, sir," Henry said, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "But per your orders, we're still developing backup protocols. For high-value individuals including you. I assume you don't want to risk losing yourself."
Marius turned, his stare cold.
"Was that a threat? Be careful what you say, Dr. Baker. You're good, but not irreplaceable. Do whatever you think needs doing. Just deliver results. You have six months. No more."
Without another word, Marius turned and exited the lab.
Henry exhaled slowly, jaw clenched.
He walked over to Masashi, who had remained silent throughout the exchange.
"How's our subject?" he asked.
"He's already trying to locate a source of information. He's found one of the most influential figures and will likely make contact soon," she reported. Their surveillance network spanned the entire city data from his body, informants, cameras, all feeding into Militech's servers.
"That's odd. What about his desire to restore his former emotions? That was supposed to be his driving motivator," Henry said, puzzled.
"He suppressed it," Masashi replied.
"Human nature never fails to surprise…" Henry murmured. "Leave everything as is. Turn the emotional output to full."
"Right now?" she asked.
"Yes. Worst case, we start from scratch we've still got time," Henry confirmed. He wasn't about to stop Matthew's search for the truth. Even if the subject uncovered something, it wouldn't matter yet.
When Henry first joined the project, he'd felt proud. But the longer he worked with Militech, the tighter the noose felt around his neck. And now… escaping it seemed impossible.
Matthew was just another experiment but somehow, his fate still struck a nerve in Henry's fractured conscience.
POV: Matthew Carrington
I had barely made it out of the basketball court when it hit me. My body started feeling… wrong. It was like I could feel my limbs but they weren't really there. None of me was. Pain pulsed from phantom wounds, and my skull felt like someone was grinding metal against sandpaper inside it.
Error ;;№%);№%(==2
Risk of cognitive collapse: 78% — Entering sleep mode recommended.
My body stopped responding. I collapsed onto the asphalt. My limbs refused to obey, and my vision already screwed made it impossible to focus or assess what was happening. I had to calm down. No panic. Focus.
First, I stopped trying to move. Just stilled myself. Let my mind settle. Slowly, piece by piece, I began to reclaim control. I managed to get up, leaning against a nearby wall to keep from falling again. I'd have to rely on a ripper now completely helpless. I couldn't stay like this. And I couldn't stay conscious much longer.What the hell happened? Did something inside me break? Was that what caused this crash?
Risk of cognitive collapse: 79%
Shit too fast. I watched the percentage tick upward in real-time. I tried to move carefully, deliberately, without thinking too much. Every thought… made it worse.That was always my weakness I thought too much.
Risk of cognitive collapse: 81%
No thoughts.
No.
Something flickered before my eyes. A pink shimmer erratic, like static but shaped like butterflies. They hovered in front of me, forming a corridor I was supposed to walk through. Then they scattered, dancing in wild patterns.My hand moved on its own, reaching out to grab one. The moment I touched it, it glitched flickered and vanished.
I nearly dropped again, collapsing back to the ground.
[image]
The butterflies were gone.
Risk of cognitive collapse: 75%
Strange… why did it get easier? Control over my body was almost back to normal I managed to stand up.
"Hey, who the fuck's creeping around back there?" a voice echoed nearby.
"No clue. Some psycho freak," another replied.
"Yo, he's got those sick implants like the other guy?"
"Yeah, he's a borg! Fucking expensive one. And he's all busted up easy pickings."
I lifted my glitching gaze. My vision was still cutting in and out, but I managed to make out an alleyway two scavengers crouched beside a motionless body on the asphalt. One of them was already picking it apart with tools. Great. Just my luck to run into gutter rats harvesting bodies in broad daylight.
"You two better get the fuck out of here before your corpses repaint the street," I said, forcing my leg to raise and deploy the pistol hidden inside it.
It took everything I had targeting systems were shot, my visor was fried, and I had to aim manually. My fingers twitched uncontrollably, the grip kept slipping felt like my shock unit got torn out along with part of the control interface.
"Whoa, chill, man! You're a badass, no question," one of them said but I saw his hand move for his back.
Bang. Bang.
I fired most of the mag. Only two bullets landed enough to drop him.
"Wait, wait! I'm leaving! Don't shoot!" the other one stammered. Not like I could. Even if I wanted to I couldn't pull the trigger. My finger wouldn't respond anymore.
Cognitive Collapse Risk: 83%
I held on by a thread. The scav bolted as soon as static filled my visor. Gone without a trace. Cowards can move fast when they're scared.
I forced my legs to move and approached the body they were looting. It was Victor my opponent from earlier. He was bleeding out, chest half-sliced open by a knife. They didn't give a damn, did it right out in the open. I pulled a regenerator from my bag and stabbed it into his shoulder. Yeah, he'd pushed me to this point, but leaving him like that wouldn't be right.
Now I had to get to a ripper fast. I wouldn't last long like this. Heading toward the nearest station, I noticed people backing away from me, giving me a wide berth. Can't blame them. I must've looked like shit.
I've seen worse. That mess in the subway, for instance couple of terrorists took hostages, and of course I was there to play the hero. Almost blew the whole place sky-high before I disarmed the bomb.
Cognitive Collapse Risk: 89%
I finally made it onto the train, collapsing into a seat. The butterflies came back glowing pink, flickering in and out of focus, dancing around me. Billboards overhead glitched out, warping the ads into smeared colors.
Then the butterflies vanished. All the screens around me displayed just two words:
"The Illusion of Life."
No one warned me about hallucinations like this. Couldn't be anything else.
Entering Sleep Mode