Chapter 4. A Choice of One’s Own

So I’m going to die?

Ha.

What irony.

I chose my fate with my own hands.

— What are you rambling about? — the man asks. — Is this despair?

— It’s something rarer, — I reply. My voice is hoarse, but steady. — Don’t you get it? I chose this. Not someone else. Me.

He stays silent for a few seconds.

Doesn’t interrupt. Lets the words settle.

Then he snorts quietly.

— Doesn’t sound like despair, — he finally says. — Despair is when you’re pushed into an abyss.

— You… you jumped on your own.

He leans closer. Light slides across his face.

Blue eyes — deep, cold, like the ocean.

— You know, you’re lucky, — he says. — Today. Right here.

— You met me. And you’ve been given a chance to become something more.

He straightens.

— And you know what’s the most ironic part? — he continues. — The system doesn’t know how to deal with people like you.

— With those who choose.

A dull impact echoes somewhere deep in the complex. Closer now.

— CORD-7. Location confirmed.

— Preparing for purge.

— People who beg for their lives are convenient, — he says. — People who crave power are even more convenient.

— But those who say, “This is my choice”…

He pauses.

— …they break systems.

He takes a step back and looks straight at me.

— So what will you choose? — he asks. — Die here?

— Or move forward and fight, while you still have the strength, for your own life?

He extends his hand.

To choose…

When was the last time I chose anything?

I don’t even remember what I once dreamed of.

I just wanted to live.

Comfortably. Quietly.

And now — a choice.

— How can I change my life, — I ask softly, — in a state like this?

— Just make the choice, — he answers. — And then… you’ll see.

I have nothing to lose.

So be it.

— I’m in.

He smiles.

— Excellent.

— Tell me one thing, — he adds quietly. —

When they come… do you want to survive?

I don’t answer.

My gaze says everything.

A stupid question.

— Agreed, — he nods. His eyes glint for a moment.

— Then let’s begin the show. And most importantly — don’t worry.

He turns and leaves.

The door closes with a dull metallic thud.

Silence.

My body burns with pain.

The implant hums deep inside, but… strangely — it no longer presses against my heart.

What is he planning?..

Footsteps.

Behind the door.

My eyes widen.

Did he… betray me?

Just played me like a fool?..

The door bursts open.

CORD-7 operatives storm inside.

— He’s here, — one of them snaps.

My heart drops somewhere deep.

Bastard…

Bastard, he sold me out…

I press myself against the wall, instinctively searching for a way out.

Fear swells, tightens my chest, steals my breath.

— You son of a bitch, — one of the soldiers grins. — Made us run for it.

He turns to the other.

— Break his legs, or what do you think, Olme?

— Sounds good, — the other replies indifferently.

Hoarse laughter.

One of them steps closer.

Raises his weapon, turns the stock.

I see him aim at my knee.

This is it.

And at that very moment—

— Five.

A voice.

Calm.

Familiar.

Everyone freezes.

His voice is steady.

Not loud. Not threatening.

And yet — dangerous.

The CORD-7 fighters stop mid-motion.

The weapon stock hangs in the air — a centimeter from my knee.

— What the— — one of them starts.

— Five seconds, — the voice repeats. — Before I revoke the containment protocol.

Silence tightens.

Like a noose.

I feel it first.

The biocore doesn’t scream — it tunes itself.

The Cycle particles, calm until now, slowly begin to rotate. Not chaotically. In unison.

One of the soldiers jerks his head.

— Commander… HUD’s lagging.

— Same here… what the—

— Four.

The lights in the room dim.

The metal beneath our feet feels softer.

Or maybe it’s my perception of reality that’s changing.

Suddenly, I hear their hearts.

Uneven. Tense. Human.

— What the hell is happening?.. — Olme rasps. — No signal. Implants are dead. Is this… a pulse?

— Shut up and shoot! — another barks.

He pulls the trigger.

Nothing.

The weapon just… stays silent.

— Three.

The air shudders.

Something settles into place in my chest.

It doesn’t heal.

It doesn’t save.

It accepts.

The biocore no longer presses.

It listens.

— What did you do?! — someone shouts into the comm. — THE SYSTEM IS NOT RESPONDING!

And then I understand.

He didn’t betray me.

He made me the center of the stage.

— Two.

I stand up.

Slowly. It hurts. But my body obeys.

The soldiers step back.

Instinct. As old as fear.

— One.

A pause.

— …Zero.

And something switches.

Not an explosion.

Not a flash.

Silence.

And then — I see threads.

Not just of the Cycle — of connections.

Between people.

Systems.

Weapons.

Protocols.

CORD-7 no longer looks like a monolith.

It looks… fragile.

And then the voice sounds again.

Closer now.

Behind my back.

— Welcome to the stage, — the man with the blue eyes says softly.

— Now it’s your move.

He leans toward my ear.

— It’s time to act.