Rachel walked the hall like she owned it. Head high. Shoulders squared. But the truth trailed her like a shadow—two guards at her side, Marcus just behind. It looked like a royal escort. Felt like a prisoner transfer.
They reached the west wing. The glass door slid open automatically, no clearance needed. The system had already decided she belonged here.
Inside: a sprawling living room, glowing warm and expensive. Cream couches. Digital fireplace. Light panels above mimicking noon sun, though it was near midnight.
"Bedroom's that way," Marcus said, nodding left. "Go change."
He didn't wait for a response. Just sat down like this was all routine.
Rachel entered the bedroom—and froze.
It was bigger than her old dorm. Sleek, soft, expensive. The closet opened as she stepped closer, revealing rows of designer clothes. Everything her size. Everything top-tier. Some of the labels she'd only seen in magazines behind glass.
She touched a jacket. Hand-stitched. Limited edition.
A gift? No. A statement.
The system was flexing its reach. Showing her just how deep its pockets ran.
She changed into a plain outfit—cotton blouse, black pants. No logos. No shimmer. She wouldn't dress like their prize.
Back in the living room, Marcus didn't look up. Just took a slow sip from his cup.
"You took your time," he said.
"I had to admire the chains."
He raised a brow, mildly impressed.
"You've earned favor," he said. "The system's impressed. It considers you an... asset."
Rachel didn't answer. She sat across from him, jaw tight.
Because she remembered pressing that glowing submit button. Watching the rescue unfold like clockwork. The rebels saved. Skye stabilized.
All according to plan.
And now? They were back on campus. Likely furious. Likely feeling betrayed.
But it had to be done.
A soft chime rang through the room.
Marcus stood, straightened his coat, and looked at her with a calculated pause. "They've arrived."
Rachel didn't need to ask who they were. Her chest tightened.
"This way."
He led her through a back corridor—one not lined with automated doors and warm light, but cold walls and flickering motion sensors. The security detail rejoined them halfway through, silent as shadows.
They entered a circular room—bare, clinical, too bright. A glass partition separated one side from the other. On the far side stood Skye and four others from the resistance. They were dressed in plain campus uniforms, but their faces—tired, wary, and cold—said everything.
Rachel stepped forward. The moment Skye saw her, she recoiled slightly. Not fear. Disgust.
"Really?" Skye's voice cracked over the intercom. "This is where you've been?"
Rachel's lips parted, but Marcus raised a hand. "This is a neutral chamber. You're free to speak, but no contact allowed until the Coordinator clears you."
Skye ignored him. Her eyes drilled into Rachel's.
"We almost died, Rachel. You know that, right? We were choking. passed out. Kai stopped breathing. You said you had a plan—but the plan was to join them?"
Rachel stepped closer to the glass. "You're alive. That was the plan."
"Oh, screw you," snapped Sky. "You pressed the button. You bent the knee. That system—whatever it is—it's eating people, erasing them. And you just… submitted?"
Rachel's voice stayed low, but her words had teeth. "If I hadn't, you'd be ashes by now."
"Then maybe that would've been better," Skye muttered. Her eyes were rimmed with red, but her fury held steady.
Rachel clenched her fists. "You think I wanted this?"
"I think you chose this," one of them spat.
A silence stretched.
On the far side, one of the resistance members—a quiet girl named Alana—spoke for the first time. "They dressed you in silk. Gave you a suite. You think that's freedom?"
Rachel flinched.
Marcus turned to her then, his voice neutral. "Enough emotional indulgence. They'll be returned to containment until further review."
"No," Rachel said suddenly. "Let them stay. With me."
Marcus arched a brow. "Excuse me?"
"They're not threats. They're not pawns. If I'm your precious anomaly, I want them reassigned to my residence. All of them. Full access. Observation only."
"You're not in a position to bargain," Marcus said, but something flickered behind his eyes.
Rachel stepped closer. "Then maybe I stop cooperating."
The room stilled.
He studied her, like one might a volatile chemical, then nodded once.
"Granted. For now."
As the guards led the group around to her wing, Skye looked back once, eyes narrowed.
Rachel couldn't tell if it was suspicion… or sorrow or a mixture of both.
Later that night, the suite was silent. Too silent.
Rachel sat alone in the bedroom, the lights dimmed to a soft amber hue. She could hear the others on the far side of the quarters—muffled footsteps, a door slamming, someone muttering something angry—but none of them came near her room. They avoided her like she carried a virus.
That was fine. Let them stay away.
Their mistrust was her freedom.
She waited until the security feed above her mirror blinked green—looped, just as she'd programmed earlier. Then she moved.
Rachel walked to the closet, pushed aside the rows of luxury silk, tailored jackets, and absurdly expensive sneakers. All part of the system's bribe. She scoffed, fingers grazing the polished edge of the wall behind the clothes. She pressed a tiny notch just beneath the closet rail.
Click.
The back panel slid open with a quiet hiss, revealing a metallic doorway. The disguise was clean, seamless. Most wouldn't have noticed. The system apparently hadn't.
Or maybe it had—and simply didn't think she'd know what to do with it or it was testing her.
God forbid it was the later. She couldn't afford to cross the system now.
Her lips curled into a small smile.
She had requested a suite on the west administrative wing for a reason. Not because of the view. Not for the proximity to the atrium.
But because this wing used to belong to old command—back when human directors still pulled the strings. Before the system took over.
Her eyes flicked to the black digital wristwatch Levi gave her—still synced to underground resistance nodes.
8:00 p.m.
It was time.
Rachel stepped through the opening and let the panel seal behind her.
The elevator waited.
Sleek. Dim. Dust-lined edges. Probably offline to the general network, which was why she'd bet on it still functioning.
She pressed her palm to the ID scanner.
The screen buzzed red.
She didn't flinch. Instead, she reached into her sleeve, pulled out a thin chip the size of a nail, and slid it into the override panel below.
Override accepted.
The elevator vibrated faintly and began to descend.
Basement Level Two.
Her stomach coiled—not from fear, but from anticipation.
If the map was still accurate, this level held abandoned system mainframes, old experimentation logs, and one particular terminal rumored to still be immune to full system integration.
However, all these were rumors. No one had been in that level since the system took over. Well, today was an exception.
When the elevator doors slid open with a soft hiss, Rachel stepped into a hallway that stretched far beyond what should've existed under the campus. It was eerily quiet—no humming of electricity, no footsteps, no system voice announcing her arrival.
Just silence. The kind that weighed on her lungs.
"You made it," the voice whispered into her thoughts. That familiar, hollow echo. Neither male nor female. Neither comforting nor cruel. Just there.
Rachel didn't reply. Her eyes scanned the corridor, steps cautious.
Then one door, painted crimson, creaked open by itself.
Her chest rose, a flicker of triumph crossing her lips. She knew that door. It had to be—
WAIL!
The hallway shattered into chaos. Deafening alarms exploded in every direction. The feedback system surged online in her vision—red, everywhere. Red pulses, red overlays, red warnings crawling across her retinas like blood vessels breaking.
Security Breach. Sublevel B-2.
Deploying Countermeasures. Intruder Protocol: Neutralize.
Rachel's body locked up. Her mouth dried instantly. Not part of the plan. Not even close.
If the system realized she was the intruder—it wouldn't just erase her. It would unmake everything: her, the rebels, the thin thread of freedom they had.
"No, no, no—" She spun and slammed her palm into the elevator panel. "Open, open!"
The doors hissed, slow, too slow.
"Getting cold feet?" The voice returned, almost amused. "It's a restricted zone. You've got five minutes before security breaks the barrier."
She scoffed, breathless. "Five minutes? You expect me to believe that?"
"No," the voice said plainly. "But you didn't come all this way to run, did you?"
Her fingers twitched. Fury tangled with fear. A thousand thoughts screamed through her head. But her legs didn't move—not toward the elevator. Not yet.
One minute, she told herself.
Just a peek. One look. Whatever was calling to her from behind that door… it knew something.
She turned and ran back. Heart pounding. Limbs burning.
Rachel threw the red door wide open—and was immediately hurled back like a ragdoll.
She crashed into the opposite wall with a sickening thud. Pain bloomed at the back of her head, light fracturing in her eyes like shattered glass.
Her vision blurred.
The voice spoke again—calm as ever.
"Not everything wants to be found, Rachel. But now that you've knocked… it will answer."
Rachel panicked. The hum of activated drones echoed above, followed by the rhythmic stomp of boots. They were coming—fast. The system wasn't bluffing.
She scrambled to her feet, breath ragged, limbs trembling.
"Stand up, Rachel. You don't want them to find you in that hilarious position, do you?"
The voice again. Smug. Mocking.
Her fists clenched. She glared toward the sound, ready to snap—but her anger froze halfway.
There it was.
What she'd risked her life for.
A small, square box. No larger than a few centimeters across. Sitting alone on a raised platform. Suspended in a cage of red lasers.
That was it?
Her heart thudded in disbelief. That was what had triggered the system's wrath? That was the forbidden secret buried in Sublevel B-2?
She stared. Then scoffed.
"This is a joke," she muttered. "I'm going to die… for that?"
The voice chuckled, low and knowing. "You think power wears a crown and walks in light? That box is older than the system you're fighting. Smaller doesn't mean harmless, Rachel."
She took a step closer. The red lasers pulsed once, warning her. Her vision jittered—Feedback fighting to override her access again.
Above, metal doors groaned.
They were almost through.