The sound was soft.
Final.
The observation room was larger than it first looked, but emptier. A single bed fixed to the floor. A table. A chair. Nothing loose. Nothing personal. The glass walls reflected Shivis faintly, his own image repeating from different angles.
Cameras watched from every corner.
Some were obvious. Some were not.
Shivis stood still for a moment. The air felt colder here, thinner. It carried no smell—filtered too clean, stripped of anything human. His footsteps echoed when he moved, the sound bouncing back at him like the room was answering.
He sat on the edge of the bed.
The mattress was firm. Unforgiving.
A small screen on the wall turned on by itself.
OBSERVATION MODE: ACTIVE
Below it, smaller text appeared.
POWER STATUS: CLASSIFICATION PENDING
LEVEL: UNDEFINED
Shivis let out a slow breath.
"So," he said quietly, "this is where you watch."
No reply came.
Not from the room.
Not from inside him.
But the warmth in his chest shifted—subtle, aware. It felt like someone standing behind glass, looking out instead of in.
The screen changed.
Lines of data appeared. Charts. Symbols. Some familiar. Some not. A few flickered and vanished as if the system itself didn't like them.
Shivis noticed something else too.
There was no clock.
No way to measure time.
Cruelty didn't always scream. Sometimes it removed small things instead.
He lay back on the bed, arms resting at his sides. The ceiling above was smooth and white, broken only by faint seams and hidden sensors.
Somewhere beyond the walls, people were talking about him.
Arguing.
Assigning values.
Deciding who would benefit if he lived—and who would profit if he didn't.
The warmth inside him didn't react emotionally.
It reacted intellectually.
Pressure gathered behind his eyes—not painful, not sharp. Focused. Like attention narrowing.
For the first time since the transport, something inside him shifted closer.
Not a voice.
A presence leaning forward.
The screen flickered.
For just a second, one of the symbols on it changed shape—wrong, subtle, like a frame slipping out of alignment.
Then it corrected itself.
Shivis felt it.
"You see this place," he murmured. "Don't you?"
The warmth pressed once against his ribs.
Agreement.
Not approval.
Outside the glass, a guard paused mid-step. His shoulders stiffened. He glanced toward the room without knowing why, then quickly looked away and kept walking.
Fear spreads faster than belief.
Shivis closed his eyes.
The system was watching him.
The people were watching him.
And now—
The gods were watching them.
The screen on the wall flickered again, then steadied. Text replaced the scrolling data, large and clear.
RULE ONE:
DO NOT ATTEMPT POWER ACTIVATION WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION
Below it, smaller letters appeared.
VIOLATION WILL RESULT IN FORCEFUL SUPPRESSION
Shivis stared at the words.
He sat up slowly, feet touching the cold floor. The chill crept up through his soles, grounding him, reminding him he was still in a body the system could hurt.
"Power activation," he said quietly. "You make it sound like a switch."
No answer.
A soft tone sounded, polite and artificial.
A voice followed—neutral, smooth, without gender.
"This rule exists for your safety."
Shivis smiled faintly. Not amused. Not angry. Just aware.
"Whose safety?" he asked.
The voice paused for half a second too long.
"System stability is a priority," it replied.
There it was.
Not him. The system.
The warmth inside Shivis's chest shifted, tightening slightly. Not resisting. Observing. Like something reading between lines written for someone else.
The screen updated.
CURRENT STATUS:
HOST CAPACITY: UNKNOWN
DIVINE SIGNATURES: MASKED
Shivis's brow furrowed. "Masked?"
The word sat wrong.
He hadn't felt anything hide.
Inside him, the presence leaned closer—not louder, not clearer—but intent sharpened. Shivis felt a faint pressure behind his eyes, like a reminder.
The system didn't see everything.
It couldn't.
"Authorization," Shivis said, testing the word. "Who gives it?"
"Authorized personnel," the voice replied instantly.
"And if they don't?" he asked.
Another pause. Shorter this time.
"Then activation is prohibited."
Shivis exhaled slowly.
Through the glass wall, he could see movement now—people passing, slowing, pretending not to look. A woman stopped to speak with a guard, her voice low. The guard nodded too quickly.
Fear again.
Quiet. Controlled.
Shivis leaned back against the bed frame, eyes still on the screen. "You wrote a rule for something you don't understand."
The warmth in his chest pressed once, firm.
Agreement.
Not rebellion.
Calculation.
The screen dimmed slightly, as if responding to something it couldn't identify. One of the symbols at the corner blurred, then snapped back into place.
Somewhere above this room, someone frowned at a monitor.
Shivis felt it without seeing it.
The system thought it was setting boundaries.
The gods knew better.
Rules only work when everyone agrees on who they're for.
The screen dimmed, then brightened again.
MEDICAL EVALUATION IN PROGRESS
A thin line of light slid across the glass wall, scanning Shivis from head to toe. He felt it pass over his skin—cool, weightless, like a shadow brushing him instead of light.
The door on the far side opened.
Two technicians entered. Their uniforms were clean, identical, marked with Oversight symbols instead of medical ones. They didn't introduce themselves.
One pushed a small metal cart. The other carried a handheld device that hummed softly, its surface covered in moving symbols.
"This won't hurt," the first technician said, without emotion.
Shivis looked at the cart. Vials. Cables. Restraint bands thinner than the ones he already wore.
"You all say that," he replied.
The second technician raised the device. "We're going to apply a low-level stimulus," he said. "Standard response check."
"Stimulus to what?" Shivis asked.
"Your bond," the technician replied.
The warmth inside Shivis tightened—not in fear, not anger. Alert.
The device activated.
A faint vibration filled the room, barely noticeable at first. The air shifted, pressure building slowly, like the start of a deep underwater dive. Shivis's ears popped softly.
His chest warmed.
Not sharply. Not violently.
The technicians watched their screens closely.
"Reading's unstable," one muttered.
"Push it a little," the other said.
The vibration increased.
Shivis's vision sharpened again. He could see the smallest scratches in the glass, the faint dust near the ceiling vents. His heartbeat slowed, deep and steady, completely out of sync with the rising tension in the room.
"Your levels should be rising," the first technician said, frowning.
"They aren't," the second replied. "They're… flattening."
The warmth inside Shivis didn't rise.
It absorbed.
The vibration passed through him and vanished, like sound swallowed by deep water.
Shivis exhaled.
The technicians exchanged a glance.
"That's not suppression," one said quietly. "That's—"
The handheld device flickered.
Its symbols scrambled, then froze.
The vibration stopped abruptly.
"System error," the device announced in a flat voice.
The room fell silent.
Shivis felt the presence inside him shift—not closer, not louder—but satisfied, in a cold, measured way.
"You were testing me," Shivis said.
The technicians didn't answer.
Behind the glass, a group of observers had gathered now—men and women in dark clothing, watching without speaking. Their reflections overlapped with Shivis's in the glass, layers of faces and shadows.
Power watching power.
Money watching risk.
Fear pretending to be curiosity.
The screen on the wall flashed.
TEST RESULT: INCONCLUSIVE
Shivis smiled faintly.
"Inconclusive," he repeated.
The warmth inside him pressed once.
Approval.
Somewhere above this room, someone realized they had just learned nothing.
And that scared them more than a clear answer ever could.
The word INCONCLUSIVE stayed on the screen longer than necessary.
Behind the glass, the observers didn't move right away. They stood in small clusters, whispering to each other, careful to keep their voices low even though the glass was thick.
Shivis watched them.
One man crossed his arms tightly, jaw set. Another woman tapped her fingers against a tablet too fast to be calm. A third leaned back slightly, distancing himself from the glass like it might suddenly break.
Fear had different shapes.
The warmth inside Shivis stayed steady, attentive. It felt… curious now. Not about the machines. About the people.
The door slid open again.
Director Rowan stepped inside, alone this time.
He didn't look annoyed. That worried Shivis more than anger would have.
"Inconclusive," Rowan said lightly, glancing at the screen. "That word tends to upset budgets."
"Glad I could help," Shivis replied.
Rowan smiled faintly and waved a hand. The screen went dark.
"You've made something clear," Rowan continued. "You don't respond to pressure the way we expect."
Shivis leaned back slightly against the bed frame. "You mean I didn't break."
Rowan didn't deny it.
"So we'll adjust," Rowan said. "No more forced stimulation. No more direct suppression."
"That sounds generous," Shivis said.
"It isn't," Rowan replied calmly.
He stepped closer to the glass wall, turning slightly so Shivis could see the observers reflected behind him.
"We don't need machines to control outcomes," Rowan said. "We use incentives. Access. People."
Shivis's jaw tightened. "You're going to put someone in here."
Rowan met his eyes. "Eventually."
The warmth inside Shivis shifted—subtle, focused. Not anger.
Calculation.
"You want me calm," Shivis said. "Compliant."
"Functional," Rowan corrected. "Predictable."
"And if I'm not?"
Rowan's expression stayed polite. "Then others will pay for it."
There it was.
Cruelty, clean and efficient.
Rowan turned toward the door. "Rest," he said. "Observation continues."
As he reached the doorway, he paused. "Oh—and Shivis?"
"Yes?"
Rowan glanced back over his shoulder. "Your gods are already being discussed in places you don't have access to."
The door slid shut.
The observers dispersed slowly, some reluctant, some relieved.
Shivis was alone again.
He stared at the glass wall, his reflection layered with faint shadows of cameras and lights.
"They're afraid," he said quietly.
The warmth inside him pressed once.
Agreement.
Not pride.
Understanding.
Fear had shifted direction.
And that meant the game had already changed.
Nothing happened.
Shivis waited for something.
A sound.
A voice.
Someone telling him what to do next.
But the room stayed the same.
The lights did not change. The glass wall stayed clear. The air stayed cool and dry, the kind that made his throat feel slightly rough when he swallowed.
He sat on the bed, hands resting on his knees.
Time passed.
He wasn't sure how much.
Without a clock, it was hard to tell. His body felt tired, but not enough to sleep. His stomach felt empty, but not enough to hurt.
He shifted slightly. The mattress didn't give much. It felt like the kind used in cheap hostels—meant to last, not to comfort.
"Hello?" he said once, quietly.
No answer.
He frowned a little.
Maybe they hadn't heard him.
Maybe they didn't want to.
Shivis leaned back and stared at the ceiling. It was too clean. No cracks. No stains. Nothing to look at. His eyes traced the faint lines where panels met, again and again, just to give himself something to do.
The warmth inside his chest was still there.
It didn't scare him.
It also didn't help.
It just stayed, like when someone sits beside you without talking. Not friendly. Not angry. Just present.
"You're quiet," Shivis whispered.
No reply.
That was fine.
He didn't really expect one.
A soft sound came from the wall near the floor.
Shivis sat up at once.
A small panel slid open. Inside was a metal cup and a plain packet of food. No writing. No smell.
He stared at it for a second, then stood and picked up the cup.
Water.
Cool. Clean.
He drank slowly. It tasted like nothing, but it eased his throat. He ate the food next. It was soft, filling enough. Better than nothing.
"They feed me," he said softly. "So… I guess I'm not in trouble?"
The thought didn't fully convince him.
He sat back down.
No one came.
No one spoke.
From time to time, he felt like someone was watching. Not strongly. Just enough to make him straighten his back without knowing why.
Shivis rubbed his hands together, then stopped. He didn't like that nervous habit. He took a breath and forced himself to sit still.
Whatever this was, he couldn't rush it.
He didn't know what they wanted.
He didn't know what was inside him.
He only knew one thing—
He needed to stay alive.
Everything else could wait.