The turning point did not come in the form of a massive explosion, but in the suffocating silence. A starless night in the underground facility, when the sound of the respirator machine in the test subject's room echoed louder than usual.
The latest test subject—a senior student who had been kidnapped after a late-night tutorial session—lay motionless with cables connected to his skull. Vellan stood behind the thick glass of the observation room, his pulse pounding in his neck. Beside him, Laksana calmly took notes.
"Isn't this excessive?" Vellan asked, his eyes fixed on the EKG screen, which began to show strange fluctuations.
"There's nothing excessive if the results can make this system stable on a population scale," Laksana replied without lifting his head. "He's just one of thousands. One is enough to perfect the Interlink phase."
Vellan turned his body. "This is human, Laksana. Not binary code."
Laksana sighed and then looked at Vellan as if he were staring at a child who didn't understand the world. "You're still tied to moral concepts. But you know, we'll never achieve progress if we keep measuring everything with empathy."
"It's not empathy that's the problem," Vellan hissed. "But you no longer consider suffering to be real. All the data we've gathered… comes from pain."
A small smile appeared on Laksana's face, but it lacked warmth. "Pain is an evolutionary signal. If this species can't accept a new form of collective consciousness, then it's time for natural selection to take its course."
Those words left Vellan stunned. He had no response. All he could do was stare at the face of the test subject behind the glass—a face still young, eyes half-open, staring at the empty ceiling, expressionless.
That night, Professor Vellan decided to stop.
But he knew, there was no turning back in an overt way. Division Delta was monitoring every step, and Laksana was too smart not to suspect betrayal. So, he began to move in secret. Doubling files. Making copies of the coordinates of hidden laboratories. Writing down the names of those involved—especially those who had become victims. He archived them in complex mathematical codes, disguised within scientific journals, and some he hid in an old metal briefcase locked with biometric security.
He couldn't stop Laksana at that point. But he could leave a trail.
Because Vellan knew, one day—when the system started to falter, and this project grew into an undeniable threat—someone would find it. Someone reckless enough to dig into the depths of the project, but sane enough to understand that the truth wasn't just data.
And that night, as he left the facility for the last time, his steps were heavy yet certain.
Behind him, Professor Laksana stood in front of the monitor, his face expressionless. Without saying a word, he pressed a button.
The test subject stopped breathing.
After Professor Vellan left, the underground facility seemed to lose its soul. No more moral questions, no more doubt. All that was left were the results to be achieved. Laksana now stood at the pinnacle, controlling the Cerebrum Shift project with an iron fist. And that fist kept tightening.
The government, initially just a financial and logistical supporter, had now become a key player in every step of the project. Division Delta had solidified its position as the ultimate power holder, directing Cerebrum Shift to become more than just a scientific experiment. It was a tool that could change the face of the nation, control the masses, and not only govern the body but also the human mind.
On that dark and cold night, in the control room filled with large monitors, Laksana looked at the latest test results with a cold gaze. On the screen, dozens of faces of the missing students—now visible, alive but empty. They no longer thought independently. Their brains were connected directly to the central network, sending and receiving commands without consciousness.
"One more step," Laksana murmured to himself, not feeling the slightest attachment to those faces. "Interlink will unite all human minds into a single entity. One thought, one decision."
Most of the researchers working under him no longer questioned the results of the experiment. They were focused solely on technical achievement—gathering as much data as possible, optimizing the brain control process, and ensuring everything ran flawlessly. However, one thing couldn't be denied: each failure of the experiment, which was becoming more frequent, was harder to conceal. External surveillance was tightening, but Laksana knew exactly how to deal with it.
That night, an important meeting was held. A closed-door meeting involving military heads, high-ranking government officials, and the director of the National Intelligence Agency. They all knew that this project was more than just a scientific experiment. It was a tool to control power—and Laksana was the mind behind it.
In that meeting room, Laksana sat upright at the end of the long table. In front of him, five serious faces stared at him. They were the forces that funded, controlled, and expected results—results not only in scientific progress but also in perfect political stability.
"Professor Laksana," a general's voice sounded heavy. "We don't care about the technical details. What we need is proof that this project can handle threats from within. If 1,000 students can spark a revolution, then 10 people who can be perfectly controlled will prevent it."
Laksana smiled faintly. "That's the essence of this project. Interlink will give us power greater than anything the current system can imagine. We don't just control the brain—we control the entire collective consciousness."
"I want you to remember one thing," the general said, his gaze sharp on Laksana. "Your loyalty to the state comes first. Don't forget that."
Laksana didn't nod, he just smiled wider. He knew that reminder wasn't for him. It wasn't for a scientist like him, who saw the world through black-and-white lenses—where everything could be explained with numbers and formulas.
"Of course," Laksana replied. "However, I'd like to remind you that what we are creating here isn't just a tool for the state. It's a tool to create a new world."
Months later, as the Interlink phase began to reach its final stage, Laksana had completely taken control of the project. The test subjects selected—missing students, political prisoners, and programmed individuals—functioned as "system units" connected to the central network. This system could access information faster than the average human brain and coordinate every action they took without personal thought.
However, despite everything seeming to run smoothly, Laksana began to feel the tension. Every system has a weak point, and he knew very well that Interlink, although promising total control, was an extremely dangerous experiment. If there was even the smallest flaw in the network, everything could collapse.
As he sat alone in his office, staring at the screen showing the connections between subjects, he reflected. This was the peak of a long journey that began with a simple ambition: to understand and control the human brain. But along the way, he had replaced the scientific goal with something bigger—and darker.
For a moment, he felt boredom. This victory did not bring satisfaction. Only emptiness loomed at the edge of his mind.
"Is this enough?" he asked himself. "Or is the world I control just an illusion?"
But the answer was already clear. There was no turning back.
With that, the Cerebrum Shift project grew even more expansive, no longer just a scientific experiment. It had transformed into a political tool determining the future, with Laksana sitting at the top as the sole controller. But even so, one thing remained clear: that control remained fragile. One small mistake, one failure, and this system would reveal its fragility—and with it, all the darkness hidden within it.