(Historic dimension)
A group of people stood outside a modest yet disciplined-looking house. It wasn't grand, but it carried authority—like the place belonged to someone important. Their faces showed impatience, fear, and doubt.
"Where is our leader now?" one of them asked loudly.
"It's been a month. Not a single message. Not even a sign."
Murmurs spread through the crowd.
Just then, six men stepped out of the house. All of them looked experienced, aged between thirty and thirty-five. One among them raised his hand, signaling silence.
"He is not missing," the man said firmly. "Before leaving, he told us clearly—this work would take time. Days, weeks, maybe even months. He entrusted us with your safety until he returns. So you must remain calm."
The crowd hesitated, but slowly their voices died down. One by one, they began to leave.
Once the area was empty, the six men went back inside and closed the doors.
The calm instantly broke.
"I warned him," one of them snapped. "I warned him not to go to the Fire Stone Nation. That place is dangerous."
He paced across the room.
"I told all of you to keep an eye on him. But you let him walk straight into danger. Now tell me—do we even know if he's alive?"
No one answered.
"If we lose him," the man continued, his voice lowering, "everything we planned… every sacrifice… it all becomes meaningless."
He turned sharply toward two men standing near the wall—twin brothers, identical in appearance, calm but alert.
"You two," he said. "Go to the Fire Stone Nation. Search every place if you have to. If he's there, bring him back."
One of the twins spoke.
"What if he refuses?"
"I don't care," the man replied coldly. "Bring him back—with or without his permission."
The twins exchanged a glance and nodded together.
"Yes, sir. We'll handle it."
Without another word, they left.
Far away, in the Fire Stone Nation, the atmosphere was calmer.
Mira stood in an open field where children usually played during the day. At this hour, it was quiet. The ground still held warmth from the sun.
She waited.
After some time, Alexander approached, his steps slow, his face tired.
"Did I come late?" he asked.
Mira crossed her arms.
"Yes. You did."
She handed him a small food container.
"I made your favorite dish. Eat it properly this time."
Alexander accepted it with a faint smile and began eating.
"You're destroying your health," Mira said softly. "If you don't take care of yourself, all this work won't matter."
Alexander paused.
"If Erika were here," he said quietly, "half of the chaos in my head would disappear."
Mira looked at him for a moment before speaking.
"You're struggling because she's been gone for a month. But think about her. She lived with this pressure for years. She once told me—never try to become like her, because only she understands how heavy her life truly is."
Alexander looked down.
"She'll return," he said. "I know she will."
They moved to a nearby table and sat down. The silence between them felt heavy but peaceful.
After a while, Alexander leaned back slightly.
"I feel exhausted," he said. "Can I rest for ten minutes? Just wake me up if I don't."
Mira adjusted her position and nodded.
"Ten minutes. Not more."
Alexander rested his head against her elbow and slowly closed his eyes. His breathing steadied, and for the first time in days, his face looked calm.
(Robotic dimension)
The bell rang again—short, mechanical, emotionless.
Nolen paused his work and turned toward the entrance. Outside stood a delivery machine, tall and rigid, its eyes glowing faint blue. A small metallic box rested in its hands.
"Delivery registered for Scientist Bergail," the machine announced.
Nolen scanned the package, signed digitally, and watched the machine walk away without another word. Something about it felt… rushed.
Inside the lab, Bergail was adjusting a console when Nolen placed the package on the table.
"Delivery for you," Nolen said.
Bergail looked at the label and frowned for half a second—just long enough for Nolen to notice.
"…Right. Thanks."
He picked it up quickly.
"I think it's from my cousin," Bergail added. "He mentioned sending some vacation images."
Then, with a light smile that didn't quite feel real,
"Sorry, man. Might be private."
Nolen shrugged, but his eyes followed Bergail as he walked toward the inner chamber.
Inner Chamber
Sergain and Olive were already inside, surrounded by holographic screens.
Bergail placed the package on the central table.
"Sir," he said, "it arrived safely."
Then, lowering his voice,
"Why did you want it delivered under my name?"
Sergain didn't answer immediately. He instead deactivated two wall sensors.
"If it arrived under my name," Sergain said calmly,
"or Olive's… or if anyone traced it back to him—we'd already be dead."
Bergail stiffened.
"Since yesterday morning," Sergain continued,
"I confirmed something. We are being monitored."
Bergail frowned.
"You suspected that earlier—the camera crashes, the toy shop incident. But now?"
Sergain reached beneath the table and placed a small, flat object in the center.
"This."
Bergail recognized it instantly.
"A voice tracker?"
"More than that," Sergain said.
"It records, compresses, and transmits conversations in real time."
A heavy silence fell.
Bergail asked quietly,
"Then why are you holding it?"
Sergain clenched his fist.
The device cracked, sparked once—and died.
"It won't transmit anymore."
The Package
"Open it," Sergain said.
Olive carefully unsealed the box.
Inside were two items:
A transparent tube filled with a faintly glowing liquid
A coin-shaped device, smooth, cold, with a small green button
Sergain handed the tube to Olive.
"Analyze this. Now."
As Olive left, Sergain picked up the coin-shaped object, turning it slowly.
"What is this even made of?" Bergail asked.
"Not standard alloy," Sergain muttered.
"Don't activate anything," Olive warned from the doorway.
"I'll be back in minutes."
Analysis
When Olive returned, his face had lost all color.
"This liquid…" he said slowly,
"It's a preservation compound."
Sergain's eyes sharpened.
"For what?"
"For living entities," Olive replied.
"Plants. Animals. Humans. Even robots."
Bergail whispered,
"But that technology is forbidden."
"We abandoned it," Olive confirmed.
"Because preserving life like this violates every ethical protocol."
Sergain leaned back.
"Then he's preserving something important."
The Letter
Bergail noticed a folded sheet inside the box.
He read aloud:
"The room was filled with transparent fragments—
too many for a single mirror.
It was as if one mirror shattered into sixteen or seventeen parts.
But it wasn't glass.
It only looked like it."
Sergain closed his eyes briefly.
"This isn't just about stolen documents," he said.
"This is a chain reaction."
The Device Activates
Suddenly—
Click.
The green button lit up.
Before anyone could stop him, Olive had pressed it.
A hologram erupted into the air.
A birthday celebration.
Laughter. Applause.
But no cake.
Instead, a slab of raw, strange-looking meat lay on the table. The birthday celebrant smiled widely as he cut into it, the crowd cheering with unsettling excitement.
The image froze.
Then vanished.
No one spoke.
Finally, Sergain asked softly,
"What did we just witness?"
Olive swallowed.
"This device stores memories… recordings… events."
Bergail whispered,
"That didn't look like a celebration."
Sergain stared at the now-dark device.
"When this case began," he said,
"I had no assumptions."
He looked at each of them.
"Now we have evidence."
He clenched his fist.
"And whoever is behind this… is far more dangerous than we imagined."