I didn't feel the cost immediately.
That was the trick.
The night swallowed me as I moved farther from the sirens, my footsteps blending into the rhythm of the city. Every sense felt sharpened, tuned tighter than before. Sounds separated themselves—footsteps three streets away, the hum of electricity in streetlights, a distant argument drifting from an open window.
Power.
Clean. Silent. Addictive.
[Passive ability active: Threat Assessment.]
The words hovered briefly, then faded.
People passed me on the sidewalk. Most registered as nothing—dim, neutral impressions. A few pulsed faintly, yellow warnings of aggression, desperation, or instability. No names. No explanations. Just probability.
"So you're turning the world into data," I murmured.
[Correction.]
[The world already was data.]
That answer sat heavier than the others.
I stopped at a pedestrian bridge overlooking the road below. Cars streamed past like glowing veins, unaware of how close I stood to the edge of something irreversible.
"You didn't tell me the reward would change how I see people."
[Information disclosure was unnecessary.]
"Convenient."
[Efficiency prioritized.]
I leaned on the railing and closed my eyes.
Faces surfaced in my mind—my old life bleeding through the cracks. The apartment. The trust I'd handed out like it couldn't be weaponized. Her voice, calm and steady, even as she watched them close the coffin.
Primary betrayer.
The label burned.
[Emotional spike detected.]
"So now you monitor my emotions?"
[Negative.]
[Emotion monitoring does not equal control.]
I laughed softly. "You're always technically correct."
[Correct.]
The humor died quickly.
Something was wrong.
It started as a dull ache behind my eyes. Not pain—pressure. Like my thoughts were being gently compressed.
I straightened.
"System."
No answer.
The pressure intensified, spreading down my spine. My muscles tensed involuntarily, breath catching for half a second.
[Delayed notification delivered.]
The words appeared slower than usual, edges faintly distorted.
[Cost Applied.]
There it was.
"What cost?" I demanded.
[Capability enhancement requires recalibration.]
[Host biological systems undergoing adjustment.]
Adjustment sounded harmless.
It wasn't.
My knees buckled. I caught myself on the railing, knuckles whitening as heat surged through my veins. Images flickered in my mind—faces from the street below, all tagged, assessed, categorized.
Too much.
"You could've warned me," I hissed.
[Warning may influence host behavior.]
"Of course it would," I snapped. "That's the point."
The pressure peaked, then abruptly released.
I sagged forward, gasping.
The world settled back into focus. Sharper than before—but steadier. Controlled.
[Recalibration complete.]
[Cost Summary: Temporary cognitive overload.]
Temporary.
I wiped sweat from my brow and straightened slowly. "So every reward has a price."
[Yes.]
"And penalties?"
[Costs escalate.]
I exhaled slowly.
That was the balance. Power wasn't free. It demanded endurance, adaptability, and the willingness to suffer quietly. Anyone could pull a trigger. Few could survive the aftermath of change.
"Is this how you weed out the weak?" I asked.
[Weakness is defined by outcome.]
Figures.
I pushed off the railing and continued walking. Each step felt deliberate now, grounded. The system wasn't making me inhuman. It was stripping away inefficiency.
My phone vibrated.
I froze.
No alerts from the system. No threat pulse.
Just a message.
Unknown Number: We need to talk.
My pulse quickened—not from fear, but recognition.
Another message followed.
I heard what happened tonight. You should be dead.
I stared at the screen.
Only one person would phrase it like that.
"So this is how it starts," I whispered.
[Betrayer proximity detected.]
The words lit my vision instantly, sharp and unmistakable.
[Primary Betrayer: Awareness increased.]
They knew.
Not everything—but enough.
I typed back slowly.
You sound disappointed.
The reply came almost instantly.
Meet me. Same place. Tomorrow night.
Same place.
The bar where it had all begun. Where trust had been sold for convenience.
I locked the phone and slid it into my pocket.
"Is this a mission?" I asked.
[Negative.]
"So I can walk away."
[Yes.]
The city felt suddenly quieter.
I imagined ignoring the message. Letting time stretch. Growing stronger. Waiting until certainty replaced impulse.
Then I imagined her thinking she still had control.
My jaw set.
"I won't get rewarded for this," I said.
[Correct.]
"And I could be punished."
[Possible.]
I nodded slowly.
"Good."
The system didn't respond.
It didn't need to.
This choice wasn't about survival metrics or threat elimination. It was about something older. Something human. The line between reacting and deciding.
Tomorrow night wasn't a mission.
It was a declaration.
As I walked on, the city lights reflecting in puddles at my feet, I understood the real cost of power.
It wasn't pain.
It was responsibility.
And I was done pretending I didn't want it.