The lights wake me again.
I get up.
The cold floor.
The empty walls.
Everything feels the same.
The two scientists are here again.
Dr. Lyren and his assistant.
But—
The assistant…
He looks taller than yesterday.
Is he different?
I stare a little longer.
The face is mostly the same.
But something feels off.
Then I stop thinking.
Maybe he was replaced.
Maybe he grew.
Maybe it doesn't matter.
It probably doesn't.
Dr. Lyren holds the syringe.
Same silver metal.
Same quiet tapping as he removes the cap.
But then—
The assistant turns slightly.
He closes one eye.
Then opens it again.
A blink?
No.
A wink.
I don't understand the gesture.
I just stand there.
And I think:
"When is my life going to end?"
The white coats are fewer now.
The halls have more people in black outfits.
Big, strong, quiet.
They don't speak.
They don't look at me.
I walk behind the doctor, past the halls.
Maybe it has to do with the word I heard before.
Raid.
But I don't know what raid means.
Maybe it's nothing.
This is my life:
Wake up.
Syringe.
Experiment.
Food.
Sleep.
Repeat.
I hope I can die.
I hope it is not too painful.
We reach the experiment room.
The same chair.
The same screen.
The same picture.
Nothing changes.
No water in my eyes today.
Just the routine.
Again.
And again.
[Pov Shift]
The room smelled like coffee and gun oil.
The lights were low. The air tense.
A dozen eyes focused on the table's glowing screen. Blueprints. Schedules. Rotating camera feeds.
And at the head of it all stood her—a woman with tied-back blond hair, wearing combat gear layered over a dark armored vest. Her nameplate read:
Captain Alia Rensworth
Division 5 – Global Gate Response Unit
She tapped the edge of the table once, silencing the side whispers.
"As of 0400 this morning," she said, "we've confirmed at least fourteen living test subjects inside Facility Theta-9."
"Illegal awakenings?" a younger agent asked, voice tight.
"Confirmed. All unregistered. Off the books. No birth records, no family links. All believed to be orphans or stolen from lower districts."
Murmurs filled the room.
"We have greenlight for extraction?"
Alia nodded once. "Yes. The World Council issued final approval an hour ago."
Someone else leaned forward. "What about resistance?"
"Private security. Mostly ex-military. And a lot of hush money."
She swiped to the next image:
A wall of ID cards, data profiles, and one heavily redacted report.
"There's also a chance of a mole inside the facility. Someone's been leaking minor updates for the past few weeks. Could be a scientist, assistant, even a janitor. We don't know who yet."
The room fell quiet.
"Do we trust the intel?"
Alia didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes lingered on the blurry image of a child on the screen — small, fragile, eyes dull like glass.
"The photos weren't taken by our people. They were slipped through anonymous drops. Same with the lab maps."
"So… the mole's on our side."
"Maybe," Alia said. "Or maybe they just want out."
Someone else asked, "And the goal of the lab? Forced awakenings?"
"Worse," Alia replied. "They're trying to make awakened from scratch. Not born with it. Made."
Another voice, cold and quiet from the end of the table:
"And how many of those kids survived?"
No one answered.
Alia stared at the screen.
The image of the boy lingered there—still, ghostly, unaware.
She whispered under her breath.
"Let's hope we're not too late."
The meeting ended with low murmurs, papers shuffling, and soft clinks of empty cups.
One by one, agents and officials stood up, exchanged brief nods, and left the dimly lit war room behind.
Alia stayed standing, her arms crossed tightly. Her eyes never left the dark screen where the child's image had been. Only when the last person left did she finally let her shoulders drop.
"Is the plan still in motion?"
The voice came from behind — soft, slightly melodic.
Alia turned to see her partner, Ruki, waiting near the door.
Pink-haired, sharp-eyed, and always composed. Her right eye was hidden behind a curtain of pastel strands, a quiet choice that no one dared question.
She wore a sleek black suit, same as Alia's, but hers looked untouched by combat.
Alia didn't answer right away. She looked down, clenched her jaw.
"It must go through," she finally said.
"I need to find my little brother."
Her voice was steel. Quiet, but full of something deeper — the fire that never left her since the day she lost him.
Ruki said nothing for a moment.
She knew.
She always knew.
All these years together — raids, missions, interrogations — and Alia still woke up sometimes in the middle of the night, breathless, eyes scanning the dark like she expected to see him there.
Ruki walked up to her side.
"I hope we're not too late to stop them," she said, voice almost a whisper.
She placed a hand gently on Alia's shoulder.
Warm.
Grounding.
Alia looked at her — just for a second — then brushed the hand away.
"Let's hope so."
They walked through the halls of the Awakener Council, their boots clicking against polished floors that glinted with sterile light.
Outside, the wind was sharp with city dust and neon haze.
Ruki opened the back door of the black car without a word. Alia stepped in, her coat trailing behind.
Ruki got in the driver's seat, adjusted her earpiece, and started the engine.
The tires rolled forward — away from the tower, and toward whatever came next.