The pressure became palpable. The very air in the Machine Room seemed to become denser, charged with the static electricity of the overloaded servers and the fear of its two occupants. The sweeping of the system had stopped, but its threat still hovered, like a patient predator drawing ever-closer circles around its prey.
"We no longer have time for theory," Joon announced, drawing complex diagrams in the dust covering a metal panel. "The system uses an intention-based quantum language. To give it an order, you must visualize the result with absolute clarity, and then impose it as an indisputable reality."
Kim-Do was listening, desperately trying to absorb concepts that were beyond his comprehension. Like the breach?"
"Stronger. More accurate. The breach was a fault you suffered. A command is a flaw that you create." Joon turned to him, his eyes piercing. "First lesson: local deactivation."
He pointed a finger at a construction lamp that wavered from the ceiling. "Its operation is recorded in the local power grid, which is monitored by the system. Order him to die."
Kim-Do closed his eyes, concentrated. Turn off. He imagined the lamp darkening. Nothing happened. The light continued to flash, indifferent.
"You ask. You don't command, "correct Joon, impassive." You doubt. The system feels your uncertainty. Start again."
Sweat beaded on Kim-Do's forehead. He took a deep breath, chasing away fear, fatigue. It was no longer about immediate survival, but about mastery. He stared at the lamp, and this time he could not imagine the darkness. He imposed black. In his mind, light had no choice. It was a fact. A law.
Extinguished.
An electric sizzle shook the lamp. The light flickered violently, then went out, plunging one corner of the room into the shadows. A silence of amazement followed, broken only by the purring of the servers.
VZZT.
"'
LOCAL ORDER RECOGNIZED. Priority: High.
[EXECUTION: DEactivation of Lighting Unit 7b.]
[Functional synchronicity: +5%]
[Host integrity: STABLE.]
"'
Kim-Do opened his eyes, panting. He had succeeded. It was just a lamp, but it was a start. A tiny but real power.
"Well," Joon admitted, a glimmer of approval in his eyes. "But he was a simple, inanimate, already connected target. The real difficulty begins with organic systems and consciousness."
The lessons intensified. Joon taught him to "feel" the network, to perceive data flows as a pulse around him. Kim-Do discovered that he could sense the distant and stifled presence of the other Ganguk High students, dozing points of consciousness recorded as data in the system. He felt Lee Min-Ji's nervous and determined signature somewhere in the city and Park Jin-Ho's raw anger. He even felt Choi Yu-Ra's confused loyalty. It was dizzying. Terrifiing.
"Don't get lost in the noise," Joon warns, seeing his pallor. "The network can suck up your consciousness if you're not anchored. Focus on a single signature."
Kim-Do chose Min-Ji. His signature was like a thread stretched, vibrating with acute anxiety. He concentrated, trying to perceive his state, no longer as a given, but as an emotion. A blurry image came to him: Min-Ji, sitting in front of his computer, frantically compulsing documents, his face marked by anxiety and determination. She was looking for them. She was trying to understand.
"She... she's investigating," Kim-Do whispered, emerging from her concentration with a buzzing head.
"It's a risk," said Joon coldly. "His activity attracts attention. The system will soon consider it as a variable to be controlled."
The prospect of Min-Ji being in danger because of him squeezed Kim-Do's heart. He couldn't let her.
"Can I... can I send him a message?" he asked, a senseless plan germinating in his mind. "Just a warning. So that she stops."
Joon considered it for a long time. "It's dangerous. Interacting with an unprepared conscience is unpredictable. You could hurt her. Or reveal our position."
"I have to try."
Joon sighed, yielding to Kim-Do's determination. But be specific. Fast. An impression, nothing more. Like a breath."
Kim-Do closed his eyes, found the thin thread of Min-Ji's consciousness. He felt his anxiety, his concentration. He focused not on words, but on a unique, pure sensation: DANGER. Stop.
He projected this impression along the wire, like a stone thrown into a quiet pond.
At the other end of town, Min-Ji jumped at his desk, with his hand on his heart. A wave of icy, inexplicable fear had just overwhelmed her. It wasn't his fear. It was like a warning from nowhere. She looked around, the room suddenly threatening. For a moment, she was absolutely certain that she had to stop her research. Immediately.
Then the sensation disappeared, as quickly as it had come, leaving her trembling and confused. But the message got through.
In the Machine Room, Kim-Do opened his eyes, exhausted but relieved. "I think it worked."
Joon nodded, his expression indecipherable. "You learn quickly. Too fast, perhaps."
That's when Joon's silent alarms went off. On the main screen, a red dot flashed on the outskirts of their area.
"A detection unit," Joon announced, his face tense. "She triangulated the source of your broadcast. They know we're here."
Fear returned in an icy stream. "What do we do? Are we running away?"
"No," Joon answered, rising, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "We go on the offensive. It's time for your final exam."
He pointed to the screen. "This unit is autonomous. She scans and reports. If it locates us, the entire Protocol will land in the next few minutes. You're going to give him an order."
"What order?" asked Kim-Do, his voice trembling.
"You're going to order him not to see us."
The challenge was monstrous. Deceive the sensors of a machine designed specifically to detect them.
"I... I don't know if I can."
"You have no choice," Joon replied, relentlessly. We are invisible. We don't exist for its sensors. It's a fact. Impose it."
Kim-Do closed his eyes, sensing the presence of the detection unit like a needle stick in his expanded consciousness. It was a cold, logical, inhuman entity. He dived into himself, seeking the coldness of Emotional Camouflage, the certainty he had used to turn off the lamp. He merged them.
He didn't try to hide. He became the hidden.
We are invisible.
The command was not a word, but a state of being. He projected a veil around their lair, a bubble of non-existence in the detection matrix. He felt the unit's sweep pass over them, like a laser beam. He felt the data about them - their neural signatures, their heat emissions - hit the veil he had created and slipped, ignored, dismissed as background noise.
The red dot on Joon's screen continued its trajectory, passed directly into their position without slowing down, and disappeared at the end of the screen.
Silence reigned.
Kim-Do collapsed on his knees, his nose bleeding, a throbbing pain behind his eyes. The effort had been disproportionate.
VZZT.
"'
[System command: "Perceptual veil" - SUCCESS.]
Host integrity: 89% - Critical neural fatigue detected.
[WARNING: PROLONGED USE WILL REDUCT DELECTION.]
"'
He had succeeded. He had kept the system in check.
Joon squatted down next to him, handing him a rag for blood. "See?" he whispered, and for the first time, Kim-Do heard a true touch of respect in his voice. You're a weapon."
Kim-Do raised his head, his eyes met Joon's. He was exhausted, terrified, but in the midst of the storm, a core of certainty had formed within him.
"Now," said Joon, helping him get up. "We know it works. The next step is no longer to hide."
He looked at Kim-Do, and there was nothing reassuring about his smile.
"The next step is to counter-attack. We're going to find another one of my peers. Another regulator who, I feel, is also beginning to doubt. And we're going to show him what you can do."
Kim-Do understood. It was no longer just a virus. He had become the standard-bearer of a nascent rebellion. And the first battle for control of the system had just begun.