Days blurred into nights, and for Alexander, time became an uninterrupted, emotionless flow. He no longer asked questions, no longer sought answers, and barely spoke at all. He merely existed—quietly, passively—like a machine programmed to perform tasks without hesitation. Whatever he was asked to do, he did. Without resistance. Without interest. Without feeling.

  Several days after the departure of Cassie Raynor, Dr. Loran returned. Her reappearance stirred no reaction in Alexander; he accepted it as yet another fact of this strange reality he no longer bothered to process. She looked just as perfectly composed as before—white lab coat, tightly pinned hair, a neutral gaze behind thin-framed glasses. There was something uncanny about her presence, as though she herself had become a product of the very system she served. And yet, at times—barely perceptible—there was a flicker of something human in her voice. A ghost of emotion. A shadow of concern.

  From that moment on, her work intensified. Now that the subject of her years-long observation could finally respond—however reluctantly—she wasted no time. Alexander was put through every conceivable test: physical exertion, cognitive drills, reflex assessments, stress simulations, memory probes, intelligence evaluations. He performed each task in silence, without the faintest trace of resistance. Sometimes with alarming precision. The results were astonishing. His body—resilient, as if carved from steel. His mind—sharp, yet shrouded in an impenetrable veil of indifference. Everything about him pointed to perfection. And yet, nothing about him made sense.

  Still, the most important question remained unanswered. Who was he? What was he? Why did every part of him defy the laws of nature?

  Meanwhile, Amanda began lifting the veil on the reality of this new world. She spoke plainly, with the tone of someone reading from a clinical report. She told him about the time after the Fracture. About the reform of biocodes. About vanished cities and the rise of dome-covered habitats. Alexander didn’t ask, didn’t interrupt—but he listened. Always listened. And Amanda kept speaking, as if she knew: somehow, all of it would stay within him. Or perhaps, return when he finally became someone he was created for.

  But inside Alex, something entirely different was unfolding—deep, personal, and impervious to any outside analysis. He had no interest in the past, nor was he moved by the present. From the moment he awoke, he knew: this place was not his own. He didn’t belong to this world—never had, and likely never would.

  Still, he absorbed everything. Every piece of information shown or told to him, he memorized with mechanical precision. In this, Dr. Loran proved invaluable—patient, methodical, emotionless.

  And yet, despite what appeared to be quiet compliance, something heavy and inevitable was brewing within him. He couldn’t say for certain what it was he wanted—if he even wanted anything at all. But one thing was clear as the pale daylight pouring through the panoramic glass: he hadn’t woken up just to be a specimen.

  On one of the sterile, white days—indistinguishable from countless others—he found himself once again inside a glass chamber. It was packed with equipment that looked like it belonged in a futuristic fever dream. Machines chirped and blinked, their cables coiling around him like mechanical serpents, piercing into his skin and scalp. He looked less like a man and more like a biological construct being reverse-engineered.

  He opened his eyes and stared through the glass wall in front of him, unblinking. On the other side stood Dr. Loran—just as composed, her attention fixed on the data streaming across multiple screens, as if searching for some divine revelation. Then he spoke—his voice even, calm, carrying the sharpness of a scalpel:

  "I could almost say you’re enjoying this."

  The words snapped her focus. She lifted her eyes from the monitors and turned toward him slowly, studying him through the glass.

  "And yet your cool head is baffling," he added.

  Her response came with the same robotic precision she applied to everything. Her voice filtered through the room’s speakers, slightly distorted—making it feel less human, more artificial:

  "As a person dedicated to science, of course, this brings me a certain satisfaction."

  Not a twitch on her face confirmed or denied those words. Alex gave a dry, skeptical chuckle:

  "I bet it does."

  Amanda stepped closer to the glass, as if sensing that his long silence had finally cracked. Their gazes locked—flat and emotionless, yet tense with something unsaid. For a brief moment, a current seemed to pass between them—an unseen shift stirring the still air.

  Alex didn’t look away. He sat still, composed as ever, but there was something resolved in the way he held himself. And then, with quiet finality, he said:

  "I’m ready."

  Amanda’s brow lifted slightly, the only indication of surprise. He continued:

  "Tell the Supreme... I’m ready to speak with her."

  ***

  The door slid open with a barely audible hiss. The room was bathed in soft, diffused light, as if trying not to disturb the fragile silence that hung in the air. Alex was already standing—rigid, composed, as though he had been waiting for her. His back was straight, hands clasped behind him, feet set shoulder-width apart. The stance was that of a soldier—flawless, disciplined, carved from years of duty, even if he remembered not a single day of his past. Every motion he made carried the tension of control, a coiled precision honed by instinct.

  Cassie entered with her usual confidence, but slowed at the sight of him. She wore a deep navy suit with sharp, structured shoulders; the silver insignia of her office gleamed on her chest. She didn’t bother with a smile—she knew well that this man before her was unlike anyone else.

  “Hello, Alexander,” she said, her voice even but softer than usual, as though she too could feel the weight of this moment.

  Alex gave a curt nod—dry, wordless. No greeting, no emotion. Only a motion, mechanical in its restraint. Seconds stretched into minutes. They stood in silence, tension drawn tight between them.

  Finally, he broke it. His voice was low, hollow, each word landing with deliberate clarity.

  “I’ve found the answer... to only one of the questions you asked me.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Cassie tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes.

  “Which one?”

  “Whether I’m a friend…” He paused, eyes unmoving. “Or a threat?”

  Her breath caught. Her gaze sharpened, but her posture remained still. Only the slightest arch of her brow betrayed the sudden shift beneath her calm.

  “And… what’s the answer?” Her voice was quiet, each word cut like a scalpel.

  Alex turned his head, meeting her eyes directly. No hostility. No warmth. Just a truth, laid bare.

  “I am not a friend.”

  Cassie said nothing. She waited, expecting more. Challenging nothing. Her stare held firm, though the faint twitch of her fingers revealed the restraint behind it. He remained in that soldier’s stance, unmoved, but there was something gathering behind his words—something neither friendly nor threatening, but far greater than either.

  She only gave a slight nod, as if swallowing some invisible weight behind the words. There was no fear in her gaze—only understanding. She knew this moment would come, eventually.

  Alex stood like a statue, motionless, his back straight and his expression unreadable. His face could’ve been carved from stone: no emotion, no gestures, only cold composure.

  “Not a threat neither,” he finally said, not breaking eye contact.

  His voice was calm and measured, without a trace of doubt. Raynor raised an eyebrow, ever so slightly.

  “Then what are you, Alexander?”

  He turned slowly, deliberately, as though assessing not her, but the question itself. Several seconds passed—long enough to be deliberate—before he spoke.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I intend to find out.”

  She felt a chill crawl down her spine. Not from fear—but from premonition. He wasn’t a threat… yet. But whatever he might discover within himself, the answer could be far more dangerous than the uncertainty.

  “Do you want us to help you?” she asked in a different tone now. Less official, almost human.

  At last, Alex shifted from his stoic, soldier-like stillness. He lowered his head slightly, just enough to show he’d heard her. His jaw clenched; his hands remained clasped behind his back.

  “I want you not to interfere,” he replied, calmly, with cold precision.

  Raynor exhaled quietly and took a step back. She understood: from this moment on, he was no longer the observed.

  He had become the actor.

  “I can be a friend,” Alex continued. “A part of this society. I can be useful, where my... nature can serve your needs.”

  Raynor tilted her head slightly, studying him as one might a rare artifact—trying to anticipate the next line of a carefully measured script.

  “In exchange, you want operational freedom?” she asked, though her voice betrayed no surprise.

  Alex gave a barely perceptible nod.

  “Exactly. I want unrestricted access to the areas where my actions might otherwise be limited. No surveillance. No observers. No presence from you—or anyone else. Neither externally... nor inside.”

  He emphasized the final words. Raynor understood at once. He was referring to the neural implants—microscopic devices embedded in the bodies of nearly every citizen of the genetically balanced world. These implants regulated emotional impulses, adjusted chemical responses, and neutralized surges of anger, fear, or euphoria. Their purpose: to maintain harmony. Stability. Control.

  But not for him.

  “I can say with confidence,” she finally replied after a brief pause, “that within the boundaries of Genetic Equilibrium, every door will be open to you. We will provide everything you need. But the Border... is another matter. Out there, nature reigns—wild and unstable. Beyond that threshold, our authority ends.”

  Alex shifted slightly, as if consulting an internal map—aligning her words with his own understanding. His response came calmly, but resolutely:

  “Then this place... will be my sanctuary.”

  Raynor allowed herself a controlled smile. Not the smile of a woman—but of a diplomat signing a fragile treaty.

  “Absolutely. It would be an honor to collaborate with you.”

  Alex straightened slightly, shoulders falling into perfect alignment—military precision carved into his very being. His next words struck with unyielding certainty:

  “In that case... I’ll need two more places.”

  He gave no description, offered no plea. But in that single phrase lived a weight too profound to misinterpret.

  Raynor paused. Her gaze dimmed—not from confusion, but understanding. She knew.

  “Of course,” she said softly. But with the conviction of someone who had just sworn to protect something sacred.

  Raynor lingered, sensing the conversation wasn’t quite over. Alexander remained still, carved in stone, posture straight and unyielding, yet something in his gaze had sharpened — alert, focused.

  “Anything else?” she asked, lifting her chin just slightly.

  “Why did you agree so quickly?” His voice was calm, devoid of emotion. “Don’t you need to consult with the Council?”

  The question wasn’t accusatory. It was an observation — a logical inconsistency pointed out with surgical precision.

  Raynor didn’t flinch. If anything, she seemed prepared for it. She stepped closer, her movements measured, voice gaining a rare trace of warmth.

  “You’ve been the subject of Council debate for a very long time, Alexander. We explored dozens of outcomes. We mapped every possible trajectory, calculated every reaction. And we prepared an answer for each.”

  She paused, her eyes resting on him with a quiet steadiness.

  “This outcome was no exception,” she continued. “In your story — one that perhaps began long before we ever existed — our role is not to write the script. It’s simply to walk alongside you. We do not presume the right to pass judgment. We don’t see ourselves as your creators… or your keepers.”

  Raynor straightened, her gaze softening — not out of weakness, but with something almost human. A faint echo of regret, of something lost or never found.

  “And I can only hope that one day, we can become true friends.”

  Her words hung in the air, not as a demand, but as a quiet offering. She knew he might not respond. He might turn away. He might say nothing. But she said it anyway — not out of duty, not as strategy.

  Because it mattered.

  Alexander did not answer. But he looked at her. Long. Measured. And in that silence, there was no agreement — but there was no rejection either.

  Turning toward the window, Alexander stood still, his gaze fixed on the silent distance where the horizon blurred into a glowing haze. His figure, carved like a soldier out of steel, remained motionless—an extension of the landscape itself. Cassie Raynor, after a brief hesitation, mirrored him, stepping up beside him, leaving just enough space between them to maintain the formal distance caution required.

  "What if… I find them on the other side?" he asked after a long pause, his eyes still on the horizon. "Among those who are forbidden entry here?"

  She faltered for a moment. The answer was already formed, but her voice took a beat longer to release it. Her expression, however, remained perfectly composed, as befitted a High Council representative.

  "We can make an exception for them," she said evenly. "For your sake. After all, you are an exception yourself—by nature."

  He let out a short huff, barely a smile.

  "That simple, huh," he murmured.

  "Your distrust is justified by time, Alexander. You are not required to believe us."

  He remained silent. The minutes passed in stillness before he turned to her. His eyes were calm, but deep beneath that surface, something uncertain stirred.

  "So, we have a deal?" He drew in a slow breath and, extended his hand—palm up, steady and purposeful, a gesture that seemed almost automatic.

  Raynor raised her eyebrows in surprise, her gaze shifting between his face and the outstretched hand, as if trying to decode a forgotten language. In this world, where control and restraint had become the norm, such physical gestures—especially unprompted ones—were rare and unsettling. Touch, once natural, had long since faded from custom.

  "What does this mean?" she asked cautiously.

  Alexander kept staring at his hand, as if he didn’t quite know himself. As if his body remembered something his mind could no longer reach. His fingers were still, deliberate—no tremor, only silence. And in that silence, his answer was implied.

  "Perhaps muscle memory," Raynor offered, her voice almost thoughtful. "In your time, this gesture must have symbolized the sealing of an agreement?"

  With subtle hesitation, she mirrored him—stretching out her hand, not quite meeting his, but close. A thin veil of air separated their palms. There was something intimate in that gesture—not emotional, but meaningful.

  "It's never too late to learn something new," she said. "We have a deal."

  Alexander slowly lowered his hand, his thoughts still elsewhere—where the wind whispered and half-formed memories drifted like fog. He took a deep breath, then looked up at her again, his gaze sharp and focused.

  "What do you want me to do?"