New Directive Uploaded: Prioritize Survival. Moral Cost Will Be Assessed.
Evan's eyes snapped open at the sudden vibration of the device. The words hovered in the air, stark and cold. No explanation. No context. Just the command.
He rose immediately, tension coiling in his shoulders. Outside, the city hummed like a living thing, indifferent to the rules the System had imposed. Today would not be simple. Today would be measured in consequences, not steps.
The first alert came seconds later. Two locations appeared on the device map, blinking red: a warehouse where a fire had broken out, and a hospital emergency entrance where a child was trapped under debris. The log did not say which to choose. It did not say he could attempt both. It did not say what would happen if he chose wrong.
Evan's stomach clenched. The child was no more than seven, the image from the device showing tiny limbs pinned beneath rubble. The warehouse workers were screaming, chaos spilling into the streets. Each option demanded instant action. Every second mattered.
He ran toward the warehouse first, feet slapping against wet pavement. Flames licked the ceiling, and smoke stung his eyes. He lifted beams, shouted instructions, pulled coworkers from danger. But as he worked, a nagging awareness gnawed at him the child. Each saved adult, each calculated move, meant precious seconds lost.
Finally, the warehouse was clear. Exhausted, bleeding, muscles screaming, Evan glanced at the device. The child's location was still active, timer ticking. He sprinted across town, rain beginning to fall in heavy sheets.
The child's cry reached him before the sight of the debris. Evan froze. Around him, a mother screamed, paralyzed with shock. The beam pressed against the boy's chest, the weight too heavy for anyone else to lift. He could save the child. He could attempt it but doing so might leave him trapped as the building partially collapsed in a previous explosion nearby, a scenario the System had already introduced in simulations. Attempting rescue could mean death. Walking away could mean survival but moral failure.
He inhaled, feeling the weight of both directives pressing down: Prioritize survival. Moral cost will be assessed. Act without recognition.
His hands shook as he shifted under the beam. Every muscle burned. He gritted his teeth and lifted. The wood creaked, threatening to snap. The boy's eyes were wide, terrified, staring directly at him.
Evan didn't think of reward, didn't think of recognition. He only moved.
The beam lifted, the child wriggled free, sobbing, shaking. Evan carried him to safety, ignoring the splinters tearing his palms. He could feel the System recording every choice, every second, every risk. The moral cost would be assessed later. Survival not his own, but theirs was the currency today.
When he set the child down in the mother's arms, Harper appeared from the edge of the crowd. She didn't speak immediately. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, as if the scene itself was a test. Finally, she said, "Well. You chose the right moral cost. But the System doesn't reward heroism. It calculates patterns. It will note hesitation next time."
Evan stood in the rain, drenched, shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline. The System had escalated. The stakes were no longer survival alone. They were choices that could end lives, and it was watching.
Tomorrow would demand more.