“You’re back in the hospital again,” Doctor Liara Vess says softly.

  Her voice works in a strange way. It doesn’t soothe—it anchors. Like dimmed light: it doesn’t warm you, but it keeps the dark from becoming terrifying. She’s standing too close, and I catch the scent of antiseptic—sterile, clean, almost comforting. It’s the kind of smell that makes people believe everything will be fine.

  Her hands are steady.

  No fuss.

  No rush.

  Hands like these are used to pulling people back from places where hope has already clocked out.

  “Apparently,” she continues, carefully examining my jaw, “your unit has a tradition of breaking newcomers’ bones.”

  I nod. Carefully.

  Even that small movement sends back a dull, sticky pain—like someone slowly turning a key inside my skull.

  Welcome to the family, I think. This is how we say hello. No extra words.

  Liara positions the regeneration device near my head. Cold metal brushes my skin—almost tender. The machine hums softly, evenly, like a distant engine running somewhere beyond the wall of reality.

  “A few minutes,” she concludes, “and you’ll be fit for duty again.”

  A few minutes—that’s a luxury, I manage to think.

  And in the very same instant—

  “Act now,” the Dark Mind informs me.

  No intonation.

  No discussion.

  A command.

  Everything inside tightens. Not from fear—from clarity. Cold, unpleasant, perfectly calibrated. The kind of clarity illusions don’t survive.

  “Acknowledged,” I reply mentally.

  And I note it myself: my voice is steady.

  No tremor.

  No bargaining.

  I clench my fist.

  On my forearm, the noemas bleed through the skin—like a shadow deciding to become an object. Geometry. Lines. Precise angles. The weapon doesn’t manifest—it simply exists. No spectacle. No warning.

  “Noetic invasion mode,” the system reports.

  Liara sees it.

  I register everything at once: dilated pupils, a sharp intake of breath, a step back. Pure, honest fear. No scream. No panic.

  That’s how smart people are afraid—when they understand too quickly.

  “No…” she exhales and rushes for the door.

  Too late.

  The discharge is dry and short. Like a light switch clicking off.

  Liara collapses.

  I spring off the examination couch faster than my damaged body should allow. Pain flares, but I don’t give it a voice. I catch Liara before she hits the floor.

  She’s light.

  Too light for someone who, a second ago, was looking me in the eye and speaking to me as if I were alive.

  I gently lower her into a chair.

  She looks… simply asleep.

  For a moment, I freeze.

  Not now, I tell myself. You’ll deal with this later. If there’s time.

  Her skin is already paling. Color drains away as if erased by a careful, practiced hand. Clinical death. Temporary. For now.

  The noemas are already working.

  Slowly.

  Methodically.

  They slip into cells, rewrite, embed, connect. Delicate work. Surgical. No rush.

  I need to wait.

  I return to the couch as if nothing happened. Lie down. Fold my hands over my chest. Retract the weapon—my skin is human again.

  If someone walks in now, it’s over.

  The door opens.

  Of course.

  A nurse.

  Young. Tired. A hint of irritation on her face—she clearly didn’t plan to stay late tonight. People like that always notice what’s out of place.

  Bad, I think. Very bad.

  She steps up to Liara. Touches her shoulder.

  A pause.

  Half a second in which the world holds its breath.

  The nurse recoils, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “She… she’s dead…”

  That’s it.

  No options.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  No “maybe.”

  I activate the weapon.

  A discharge.

  She collapses at Liara’s feet—awkwardly, almost mundanely. Like someone who simply had the bad luck to be in the wrong place.

  I stand. No hesitation now. I seat her in a chair beside Liara.

  Two figures.

  Two motionless bodies.

  I’m sorry, I think without anger. This isn’t personal. It’s timing.

  “Restore bodies. Full cycle,” I order the noemas.

  I don’t have time to lie under these primitive machines.

  Regeneration finishes quickly. My jaw snaps back into place as if it was never broken. The pain doesn’t fade heroically—it just… switches off.

  What remains is strength.

  Clean. Controlled. Obedient.

  The body responds instantly. Agility. Power. Precision. I test my shoulder, flex my fingers.

  “Operational,” I whisper. “I like it when it’s simple.”

  I take a step toward the exit.

  Almost step into the hunt.

  And then—

  something pulls me back.

  Gently. Almost politely.

  A new noetic connection.

  Alive.

  I turn.

  Liara Vess slowly raises her head.

  Her eyes open.

  And inside them—there is no emptiness.

  **

  Liara comes to herself too quickly.

  That’s the first thing I register—not as a thought, but as a log entry.

  Too fast means something deviated from the standard protocol.

  She doesn’t tremble.

  Doesn’t look for support.

  Doesn’t clutch her head the way people do when their picture of the world has just been shattered and the shards left inside.

  She springs up from the chair as if she’s suddenly remembered something urgent—something that can’t be postponed. She walks toward me without breaking eye contact. There’s no panic in her eyes.

  There is a decision.

  She stops one step away.

  A second stretches—dense, viscous, like air before a strike.

  And through the noetic link her state crashes into me—not as words, not as isolated emotions, but as a single, solid impulse. Shock. Instant clarity. Anger. Near-euphoria. Fear. Exhilaration.

  And choice.

  Not hesitation.

  Choice.

  She kisses me.

  Sharp. Without warning. On the lips.

  I’m stunned for exactly a fraction of a second.

  Unforeseen variable, my mind notes.

  Add to the report. If we survive.

  And I respond.

  Not because I have to.

  Because I understand: this isn’t weakness. It’s an anchor. A way not to come apart right here, right now.

  Through the network I feel her—not thoughts, but vectors. She has already chosen. Already stepped into a place you don’t return from unchanged.

  Without a single word, Liara turns and walks forward.

  I follow.

  The hospital corridor seems to narrow, as if reality itself has decided to economize on space. The white walls look dirty. The light is too bright, almost hostile. Our steps fall in sync.

  Too much in sync.

  As if we’ve done this before.

  More than once.

  The first door.

  Liara opens it.

  Inside: a doctor, a nurse, a patient. An ordinary scene. An ordinary second of someone else’s life.

  I don’t even speed up.

  A discharge.

  All three fall almost simultaneously.

  Temporarily dead, I note automatically.

  A useful habit. Keeps the mind cold.

  Next door.

  Fast.

  Clean.

  No wasted movement.

  The work proceeds without friction. I notice I’m breathing more evenly than on the training grounds. The body knows what to do. Consciousness doesn’t interfere.

  A scream.

  Behind us.

  Someone walked in at the wrong moment. Saw. Understood. Now calling for help, hoping the system still works.

  Now comes the noise, I think without irritation.

  Well. It was too quiet anyway.

  Liara and I turn at the same time.

  The hall.

  Doctors. Security. Someone already reaching for the alarm panel. Faces drained of color, eyes too wide—perfect conditions for mistakes.

  A burst.

  Short. Controlled.

  No one makes it.

  Bodies fall like badly placed pieces on a board. The alarm stays silent. The air trembles, as if the building itself isn’t sure whether it should keep existing.

  The chief physician’s office remains.

  We enter.

  A woman in her fifties. Surprised, but not afraid. Too experienced to scream right away. She looks at us as if trying to calculate the exact point where she made a fatal error.

  I fire.

  The guards outside the door are neutralized before they can even take a step.

  We move on.

  Corridors.

  Offices.

  Wards.

  Bodies everywhere.

  Soon they will become part of the network. I feel the noetic structure spreading, rooting itself, preparing to accept new nodes. The city is still alive.

  But it already hears me.

  Liara suddenly grabs my hand.

  Hard.

  Pulls me into an empty office. Slams the door. The light cuts out halfway, leaving us in half-shadow.

  She presses against me—hungry, desperate—as if checking whether I even exist. Through the link her emotions roll over me in waves: adrenaline, fear, relief… and something new.

  Something terrifyingly close to freedom.

  We kiss again.

  Deeper. Quieter.

  The world outside stops existing for a second.

  Clothes hit the floor not like foreplay—like discarded armor.

  I’m the first to stop.

  I place my palm against her back. Hold her there. Count breaths. Reclaim control.

  “Wait,” I say softly.

  She looks at me. In her gaze—

  a question.

  And trust.

  The most dangerous combination there is.

  Later, I think.

  If there even is a later.

  Footsteps outside the door.

  The alarm is still silent.

  But there is no more time.