The western district of LYOD City, not far from the Mono border, had its fair share of modern buildings, but PHI’s headquarters stood apart, sleek, minimalist, and unwavering in its presence. Inside, the usual current of bureaucratic chatter filled the halls, employees moving between meetings, conversations blending into a steady hum of activity.

  That is, until the sharp, rhythmic click of heels cut through the noise.

  Evelyn Browns strode down the main hallway, her grip on the tablet in her hand firm enough that her knuckles had turned white. At just shy of twenty-five, she had already built a reputation within PHI’s administrative ranks, efficient, precise, relentless. Senior staff members had long since learned to step aside when they heard her coming.

  Today was no exception.

  A few employees glanced up from their conversations as she passed, exchanging looks that were half curiosity, half concern. She barely noticed. Her thoughts were fixed on one thing: the letter from the Unoseis Union Liaison Bureau.

  It had finally arrived.

  Straight from Rosianna, the access recommendation for Cassandra fur Vasseur had been approved. But there was a catch, final approval needed to be signed off today by the Director himself.

  Evelyn quickened her pace, nearly breaking into a run as she approached the large double doors marked Director. She didn’t hesitate.

  Three sharp knocks. No response.

  Her brows knitted together. She knocked again, this time louder.

  Silence.

  Biting her lip, she glanced down at the tablet as if hoping for a solution to appear on the screen. When none did, she inhaled, exhaled, then cautiously pushed the door open.

  "E-excuse me, Mr. Nico! There’s an urgent letter that needs your approval, "

  Her words faltered as she took in the room.

  The office was exactly as it should be, desk neatly arranged, files stacked in their usual order, guest chairs perfectly aligned. But one thing was missing.

  Nico von Vasseur.

  A cold weight settled in her stomach.

  Evelyn spun on her heel and all but bolted back into the common room. By the time she reached the gathering of staff, her breath was uneven, though she forced herself to speak clearly.

  "Does anyone know where Mr. Nico went?"

  The room quieted in an instant. Conversations halted. Dozens of eyes turned toward her, blinking in surprise.

  Gust, a field operations staffer, frowned slightly. “Oh… I saw him leave a while ago.”

  Evelyn opened her mouth, but before she could press further, Gust glanced at Chuck, who was lounging nearby.

  "Do you know where he went, Chuck?"

  Chuck scratched his head, his expression somewhere between deep thought and mild confusion. “If I’m not mistaken, Mrs. Pristine mentioned something about the Vasseur palace, ”

  "The Vasseur Corporate Building, Chuck," a cold voice interrupted before Evelyn could react.

  Vanisha, her gaze never leaving her tablet screen, corrected him with the air of someone pointing out an obvious mistake. "If it were a palace, it would have been built with more taste."

  Chuck shrugged. Gust smirked. Evelyn barely heard any of it.

  Her eyes dropped to the tablet in her hands, her grip tightening. The Liaison Bureau had made one thing clear, this letter had to be signed today. But without Nico, what the hell was she supposed to do?

  "How about this…" she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. "The Bureau said it must be legalized today…"

  Before she could spiral further, a calm but firm voice spoke from behind her.

  "What’s the issue, Evelyn?"

  She turned so quickly that the tablet nearly slipped from her grasp.

  Vagan, PHI’s Deputy Director of Operations, stood before her, hands in his pockets, unreadable as always.

  "Ah, Mr. Vagan," she managed, straightening herself. "This is… a reply from the Liaison Bureau. They need approval today, but Mr. Nico is out."

  Vagan studied her for a moment before nodding, as if he'd already expected the problem.

  "I see… Alright, hand it over. I’ll sign it."

  Evelyn wasted no time, presenting the tablet with both hands.

  "Here, sir."

  Vagan took it without another word, his gaze sweeping over the text. The silence stretched between them as he read, and Evelyn, despite knowing there was nothing she could add, held her breath.

  Finally, he nodded slightly, still focused on the screen. “So, Rosianna has approved Cassandra’s access to operate in their territory, huh?”

  "Yes, sir," Evelyn confirmed, relief creeping into her tone.

  But just as the stylus hovered over the screen, Vagan hesitated. His fingers curled around it, grip tightening slightly. He exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, as if weighing something unspoken.

  "I hope Cassandra will follow these access rules… and not do anything reckless."

  The words were quiet, almost a murmur to himself.

  Then, with a smooth stroke, he signed. The black lines of his signature glowed briefly, the ink shifting, morphing, until it transformed into a QR code with a faint, almost whispered ping.

  Evelyn barely suppressed a sigh of relief as Vagan handed the tablet back.

  "Here. Tell the Bureau I signed on Nico’s behalf."

  She took it as though it weighed more than it did, her posture stiff with the lingering tension.

  "Yes, sir! Thank you!"

  Turning on her heel, she prepared to leave, already composing the message in her mind. But just as she reached the doorway, Vagan’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

  "Oh, and Evelyn."

  She turned back, pulse quickening at the unreadable look in his eyes.

  "Forward the letter to Cassandra. And make sure she reads it."

  The words hit her like a cold wind.

  She swallowed. "Y-yes, sir…"

  The room seemed a little quieter, the air heavier.

  Evelyn didn’t need to be told twice what "make sure she reads it" truly meant. She would have to face Cassandra directly.

  The Blue Rose.

  The one whose name alone made people hesitate before speaking it aloud.

  A simple task on paper. A different story in reality.

  Her fingers curled around the tablet as she turned away, her footsteps no longer sharp and commanding but slower, heavier. She took a steadying breath.

  Then, without another word, she walked toward her office.

  The common room fell into a lull, the previous hum of conversation faltering again. All eyes instinctively followed Evelyn’s retreating figure, her stiff shoulders betraying the weight of the task she had just been handed.

  No one spoke for a moment. The words "Make sure Cassandra reads it." echoed in their heads, carrying an unspoken gravity that settled uncomfortably in the air.

  A collective sigh rippled through the group, Gust, Chuck, Vanisha, and the others, like a silent acknowledgment of the ordeal awaiting Evelyn. A faint chill ran down their spines at the thought.

  Breaking the silence, Gust let out a low chuckle, though it lacked its usual amusement. Chuck merely shrugged, but Vanisha, who knew Cassandra’s reputation best, sighed before muttering, half-joking, half-genuine,

  "Good luck, Evelyn."

  The words were light, but the meaning behind them was anything but.

  Evelyn cast a fleeting glance back, attempting a smile, but it barely held together, more a grimace than anything reassuring. Then, without another word, she turned and left, her steps brisk yet reluctant, as if walking toward her own sentencing.

  As the door shut behind her, Chuck exhaled through his nose, leaning back with a smirk. "Cassandra, huh..." He tapped his fingers on the table, his tone casual but edged with intrigue. "Can’t say I ever expected the Blue Rose princess to take part in a search mission."

  Gust folded his arms, nodding slowly. "Especially this one. Rosianna’s huge. Even if she had her whole squad with her, combing through that place would take ages."

  Vanisha tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. Then, after a pause, she leaned in. "I heard..." She hesitated, voice lowering as if the words themselves felt implausible. "She went alone. No squad. Just her."

  The statement hit like a cold draft.

  Gust’s head snapped toward her, his brows pulling together. "What? Then... where’s the intelligence team?"

  A new voice entered the conversation. Across the table, Allen, who had remained quiet until now, reached for a fry from the center plate, chewing leisurely before finally speaking.

  "Nico reassigned them," he said, his voice unhurried. "Gave them another job."

  Chuck narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "What job?"

  Allen swallowed, nodding as if confirming the information in his own mind. "If I’m not mistaken... they’ve been tasked with investigating the recent string of attacks."

  Vanisha straightened at that, a flicker of realization crossing her face. "Yeah, I almost forgot about those... But..." She hesitated. "Who the hell would have the guts to pull something like that?"

  Chuck snorted, his smirk returning, but this time tinged with sarcasm. "Who else? ADA, obviously."

  Allen, however, shook his head, a small, unreadable smile playing at his lips. "Not necessarily."

  Gust raised a brow. "Oh?"

  Allen leaned back in his chair, gaze thoughtful. "ADA’s not that reckless. Say what you want about them, but they’re not anarchists."

  Gust crossed his arms, skeptical. "Then who the hell do you think it is? ADA’s the only faction with a real vendetta against us."

  Allen exhaled through his nose, gaze darkening slightly. "Have you heard about the terrorist group that targeted Starlight... and Alexsir? Back in the warehouse district?"

  Vanisha frowned, tilting her head. "Right... But why mention Alexsir? As far as I know, Starlight was the only confirmed target."

  Allen nodded slowly. "That’s what everyone thought at first. But the Public Security Bureau just released a report. They confirmed that the person who fled the scene... was Alexsir."

  The table went quiet.

  Allen continued, his voice steady, "And it wasn’t just a random escape. They linked it to the news about him buying the Soundwave-Jet."

  Gust let out a long sigh, his gaze distant. "...So they were after him too." He shook his head slightly, his voice quieter than before. "Man... Alexsir’s really got the worst luck."

  Chuck raised a brow. "Hm? What makes you say that?"

  Gust gestured vaguely. "Think about it. He probably ran to Rosianna to get away from them, right? But now? Cassandra’s personally looking for him. And something tells me he won’t be thrilled about that."

  Allen tilted his head, curiosity flashing in his eyes. "What’s the big deal with Cassandra, anyway? I know she’s got that whole cold, untouchable aura, but... is she really that bad?"

  Gust inhaled deeply, as if preparing himself. "Do you remember when Alexsir visited three years ago?"

  The others turned toward him, their expressions shifting as they pulled at faded memories.

  "Hmm..." they murmured in near-unison.

  Gust’s gaze turned distant, as if replaying the moment in his mind. "When he arrived... Cassandra was up on the second-floor balcony." His voice slowed. "The moment she saw him, no hesitation, she jumped down. Landed right beside him."

  The table stayed silent, listening.

  "...And I swear, the way she looked at him," Gust exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Like a predator that had been waiting forever for its prey. Just thinking about it gives me chills."

  A hush fell over them.

  "And then?" Chuck prompted.

  Gust’s fingers drummed absently against the table. "She grabbed his arm. He told her to let go. She didn’t. In fact..." He exhaled. "She pulled him closer. Hugged his arm even tighter. And the whole time? She was smiling."

  A pause.

  "But not a normal smile," Gust clarified, his tone almost hesitant, as if struggling to find the right words. "It was... off. Hard to describe. Not forced, not fake, but..." He exhaled. "It was like she was enjoying something no one else could see."

  Allen raised a skeptical brow. "Okay, yeah, that does sound a little unhinged."

  "It was," Gust said firmly. "And you know what? Alexsir looked terrified. I mean, actually pale. I’ve never seen him like that before. She dragged him down the corridor after that... and I didn’t see them again for the rest of the day."

  Allen frowned, shifting in his seat. "Huh... Still, sounds like you’re exaggerating. I mean, come on, this is Cassandra we’re talking about. You’re making it sound like some kind of... yandere horror story."

  Gust just shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line. "I swear, I was sitting right there at the reception desk. Out of everything I’ve ever seen in this place... that moment is the one that refuses to fade. Every damn detail’s just stuck in my head."

  Silence stretched between them.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Then, Chuck exhaled through his nose. "Well... now I really don’t envy Alexsir."

  Vanisha, who had been quiet for a while, finally spoke, her voice slow, as if dredging up a long-buried memory. "I think… I believe your story." She paused, inhaling deeply before continuing. "Now that you mention it, I just remembered something. Back then, I was coming out of the first-floor corridor, from the administration room. I happened to run into them."

  All eyes shifted to her as she hesitated, as if seeing the scene play out again in her mind.

  "I remember it clearly now. Alexsir’s face was, pale. Not just surprised or caught off guard, but… like he wanted to run. And Cassandra…" Vanisha frowned, the edges of her lips pressing together. "She looked happy. Too happy. At the time, I just thought they were… a strange pair. But now… I realize, that was another side of Cassandra I had never seen before."

  A heavy silence followed, a collective unease settling over the room.

  Chuck shuddered, rubbing his arms as if trying to shake off an invisible chill. "Brrr… just thinking about it gives me goosebumps. I really hope Alexsir is okay… if he ever has to face Cassandra again."

  Their conversation drifted, flowing through half-formed theories and fragmented recollections, painting a picture they couldn’t quite complete. They spoke in murmurs, in uncertainty, their words weaving between speculation and truth, never quite landing on either.

  But despite the unanswered questions, one thing was undeniable.

  On the other side of Earth 2.0, under the dim shade of the Trappist light that hung like an eternal twilight, the Blue Rose finally stirred from her silence. Sniffing every nook and cranny of the land... searching for prey that would satisfy the hunger she had kept in silence all this time.

  Diana’s footsteps echoed through the sterile corridor of the administrative building, each step measured, deliberate. Time was the currency of interplanetary bureaucracy, and wasting it was a luxury she couldn't afford. Her posture remained impeccable, her pace neither hurried nor hesitant, just the precise rhythm of someone who understood the weight of efficiency.

  In her right hand, a sleek, transparent tablet pulsed with a cool silver-blue glow, its holographic display casting faint reflections on the polished floor. The document on the screen was no ordinary bureaucratic exchange. It was an official response from the Unoseis Union Liaison Bureau, reinforced by a mirrored approval from Rosianna’s authorities. A single signature stood between this letter and the legal green light for ADA’s field operations in Rosianna, a pivotal piece in the intricate game of strategy unfolding.

  Her destination was ahead. The door to Stevanus Ragna’s office stood ajar, exhaling the distinct scent of aged metal and synthetic dust into the hallway. It was the scent of a relic-laden room, one that stubbornly clung to the past while operating in a world that had long since moved forward.

  She knocked once, a courtesy rather than a request, then stepped inside.

  "Excuse me, sir."

  Stevanus barely lifted his gaze from the object in his hands. Between his fingers, a small, dull silver artifact rotated slowly, reflecting dim light with each turn. His movements were precise, almost reverent, as if re-evaluating its worth.

  "Another relic, sir?" Diana asked, allowing herself a thin, professional smile. It was the kind of expression that lived somewhere between polite conversation and genuine curiosity. "What’s caught your interest this time?"

  A faint, reflexive smile tugged at Stevanus' lips. "A power core from 2116 AD," he mused, still studying the object. "It was installed in one of the first-generation artificial human prototypes. Runs on an astable material reaction… and still active today."

  Diana glanced at the core briefly but understood the unspoken weight it carried. To Stevanus, it was more than just a scrap of old technology. It was history, proof of what had come before, and a warning of what could come next.

  She exhaled lightly, shifting the focus back to business. "I won’t take much of your time, sir. I just received Rosianna’s reply."

  Stevanus finally placed the core onto his desk with care. "I expected them to hold off until tomorrow."

  "So did I," Diana admitted, stepping forward and offering him the tablet. "But it arrived sooner than expected. And they made it clear, it has to be ratified today."

  Stevanus narrowed his eyes as he skimmed the digital text. The blue light from the screen reflected against his pupils.

  "Hmm… full access, huh?" His breath left him in a quiet sigh. "I’ll give them this, when it comes to bureaucracy, Rosianna is far more efficient."

  "Perhaps they've started to realize that the scale of this issue surpasses standard operational clearances," Diana replied, her gaze sharp as she watched his reaction.

  Without another word, Stevanus reached for a stylus and, with a practiced motion, affixed his digital signature. A soft beep confirmed the validation. Then, pressing his thumb to the tablet’s surface, the digital ink transformed into a black QR code, the unmistakable mark of finalized authorization.

  "Done." Stevanus leaned back, stretching his fingers. "Jeanne is already in position, correct?"

  "Yes, sir. They're only waiting for the execution order."

  "Good." His nod was brief, but final. "Send it through immediately. We can't afford delays. The last thing we need is for someone else to move before us."

  Diana hesitated for a fraction of a second before voicing what was already lingering between them. "You're referring to Cassandra. From PHI."

  A slow, knowing smirk touched Stevanus' lips. The kind that didn’t require a spoken answer.

  "Who else?" he said, his tone laced with an almost amused certainty. "If she's begun to intervene, then we’re dealing with something far bigger than we initially thought."

  The room fell into momentary silence. Diana tapped at her tablet, scrolling absently as thoughts raced behind her neutral expression. "If Jeanne finds Alexsir first… what do you plan to do?"

  Stevanus’ gaze drifted away, not to the walls, but past them, beyond the office, beyond Klauz, beyond even Unoseis Union itself. His voice, when he finally spoke, was measured but unwavering.

  "We listen to his story first. Then, we decide." A pause, heavy with consideration. "In situations like these, the best decision is always made with a clear head."

  Diana gave a slow nod, absorbing the words. "Understood, sir. I'll send the order immediately."

  Stevanus’ attention flickered back to the power core on his desk, his fingers twitching as if considering another rotation of the relic.

  "Remind Jeanne, time is not on our side." His voice dropped, laced with the weight of an unspoken warning. "Make sure they don’t waste their opportunities."

  "Yes, sir."

  Diana inclined her head slightly before turning, her steps brisk and precise as she exited.

  With the confirmation in her hands, the path was now wide open. Jeanne’s team had the green light. The next move was clear.

  But outside the circles of power, beyond the reach of bureaucratic signatures and calculated strategies, unseen forces had already begun to shift.

  Everyone had their own motives. Their own ambitions.

  The race had begun.

  And only those who could read the board correctly would claim victory at the end

  The city of LYOD, the administrative center of the Unoseis Union which is the heart of the government of this state, in this city the political hustle and bustle is very pronounced, especially during the presidential election, this city is very crucial even for the Interplanetary Federation, although the center of the federation government is located in another city, but still in the city of LYOD the center of the Unoseis Union government stands, The Civic Hall.

  Inside the Civic Hall, in the President’s office, Sandi Lways sat behind a sleek, minimalist desk, the glow of his tablet reflecting in his tired eyes. He scrolled through the document, his finger moving with slow precision, absorbing every word with the weight of a man who understood its implications.

  At the top, in bold, formal lettering:

  "To: Mandate of the Temporary President's Replacement"

  His jaw tightened as he skimmed further down, his breath steady but deliberate.

  A QR code appeared at the bottom right, labeled:

  "Head of Colonization and Expansion Sector – Interplanetary Executive Council"

  Beneath it, Robb Devoun and a string of sixteen identification digits.

  Sandi swiped left. Another QR code surfaced:

  "Head of Security and Protection"

  Qlaus Morgan, another ID string.

  A third. This time, centered and slightly lower. The highest authority.

  "President of the Interplanetary Federation"

  Ellenour Schmitz.

  Sandi exhaled slowly, the sound cutting through the silence of the room.

  Across from him, Anabelle Silverstone had been waiting. Her dark-rimmed glasses reflected the dim office lights, her posture rigid, calculating. She finally spoke.

  “What’s in it, sir?” she asked, her voice steady.

  Sandi glanced at her before answering. “A reminder letter from the Federation.”

  A beat of silence. Anabelle’s eyes narrowed slightly. The response was too vague, too measured. “About what, exactly?”

  Sandi’s fingers tapped the edge of the tablet as he considered his words. Then, in that same calm, almost detached tone, he answered,

  “A restriction. We are not to deploy military maneuvers or intelligence operations in any state unless under emergency conditions.”

  Anabelle’s brows furrowed. “That’s... abrupt.” Her voice was still controlled, but there was a weight behind it now. “What’s their justification? It sounds like they’re acting on speculation.”

  Sandi turned fully to face her, holding her gaze. “They’re preventing us from sending forces to Rosianna.”

  The tension in the air sharpened.

  Anabelle’s fingers curled slightly against the polished surface of the desk. “This is about Alexsir Vasseur, isn’t it?”

  Sandi gave a slow nod. “Yes. And as acting president, I have no authority to override it.” His tone remained neutral, but something about the way he phrased it suggested he had already come to terms with this limitation. “If I involve myself in Alexsir’s search, it will be seen as favoritism. The Federation is making sure that doesn’t happen.”

  Anabelle’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And Rosianna? Were they given the same directive?”

  “They received a nearly identical letter,” Sandi confirmed. “The message was clear, no large-scale military or intelligence deployments for the search of a single individual. The only exception is a joint SAR team.”

  Anabelle leaned back slightly, eyes unfocused as she processed the implications.

  “Even then…” she murmured, “the SAR team came up empty.”

  Silence.

  Sandi inhaled slowly, letting the moment settle before responding. “Maybe the terrain around Steppe is too difficult. The environment out there…” His gaze flickered toward the window, as if looking beyond the city, beyond the polished skyline, to the far reaches of Rosianna.

  “…isn’t kind to intruders.”

  The topic lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, before Sandi exhaled and shifted his gaze. He finally broke the silence.

  “What about the election committee?” His voice was even, measured. “The quiet period’s been extended... any progress?”

  Anabelle, still holding her tablet close, ran her fingers over the screen, scrolling through reports before responding. “They’ve just formed an investigation team.” She skimmed through a few lines, her eyes flicking across the display. “Their job is to trace the disturbances over the past few weeks, everything from the PHI attack to the interplanetary intercom disruption.”

  Sandi gave a slow nod, signaling for her to continue.

  “A separate team has been put together as well,” Anabelle added, adjusting her glasses. “Focused on infrastructure repairs and security. Damage control, essentially.”

  Sandi leaned back slightly. “And PHI? ADA?”

  Anabelle switched to another document, scanning through it quickly. “Both submitted official reports to the Liaison Bureau.” She glanced at him, gauging his reaction before continuing. “They’re demanding legalization for their troop movements outside Unoseis… specifically in Rosianna. And now, both organizations are formally requesting access recommendations from the bureau.”

  Sandi scoffed under his breath, a faint, almost amused smile tugging at his lips. “They’re really pushing the paperwork angle, huh?” He shook his head slightly. “I didn’t expect those two NGOs to be this… disciplined when it comes to bureaucracy.”

  He let the thought sit for a moment before shifting gears. “What about the candidates?”

  Anabelle swiped through another set of documents before responding. “Since the quiet period was extended, neither of the final candidates can campaign for the next eighty-seven days.” She tapped the screen lightly. “Three full months. No public statements, no rallies, nothing.”

  Sandi exhaled, rubbing his temples briefly before dropping his hand back onto the desk. “So… we’ve got eighty-seven more days of pretending to be the president and his secretary, huh?” His tone was flat, almost detached.

  Anabelle gave a small nod. “That’s what the committee decided.”

  A moment of silence passed between them before Sandi finally muttered, “I really hope Alexsir’s still alive… and that they find him soon.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke, just stared at some distant point beyond the room. “Because I’m not sure I can sit in this chair much longer.”

  Anabelle remained quiet. If she had any personal thoughts on the matter, she didn’t let them show. She simply kept to her role. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go over today’s schedule.” Her voice was crisp, businesslike.

  Sandi gave a slight nod. “Go ahead.”

  She immediately brought up the agenda. “At 18:00, you have a meeting with the Deputy Technocrat for Human Resources from Blanca and the Minister of Resource Development from Noir. They’re representing Esoterra. The discussion will cover the five-year recruitment and retirement cycle for Human Resources.”

  Sandi let out a long sigh, leaning back. “Anabelle… can you make it sound less exhausting?”

  She turned her head, her expression neutral as she met his gaze. “This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Sir. You’re sitting in a chair that many people would kill for.” Her tone was steady, deliberate. “You should take it more seriously.”

  Sandi held her gaze for a moment before looking away, lips pressing into a thin line.

  It seemed that, on the other side of the world, in the midst of the political intrigue that existed, in the midst of the ambition and enthusiasm for power, one side did not show much interest, at least with everything they knew, but what, what if they knew more than what they should know?

  The television in the corner of the cramped break room droned on, its screen flashing images of the Unoseis election. The news anchor spoke in a steady, practiced tone, narrating the supposedly "calm" state of affairs.

  Joel slumped deeper into the worn-out sofa, the scent of sterilized chemicals mixing with the faint smell of old coffee. He barely spared the screen a glance before scoffing.

  "Unoseis again," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Funny, isn't it? Their elections get broadcast all the way here, like we don’t have anything better to do than watch them fight over who gets to sit in a fancy chair."

  Oscar, lounging nearby with a tablet balanced on his lap, didn't even look up. A small smirk played on his lips. "Because it matters, Joel. Unoseis isn’t just any country. It’s the center of the Federation."

  Joel snorted, stretching his arms over the back of the sofa. "Still feels excessive. We're in Blanca, the most isolated research district in Esoterra. And yet, here we are, still bombarded with their power plays."

  This time, Oscar did glance up, his gaze shifting to the television. The camera panned to a towering structure bathed in artificial light, the Paragon Court, its gleaming glass facade reflecting the heart of Federation.

  "Because whoever wins this election…" Oscar murmured, voice dropping slightly, "eventually gets control of that."

  Joel followed his gaze, watching the building loom like an unshakable monolith on the screen. A pause, then a slow nod.

  "The Paragon Court… the Federation's control center," he mused. A dry chuckle escaped him. "No wonder they're tearing each other apart. Holding Unoseis means holding the Federation by the throat."

  Oscar chuckled softly. "Exactly. Laws, military orders, expansion policies… all of it comes from there. Meanwhile, we sit here, hoping their mess doesn't reach us."

  Joel exhaled, watching the screen in silence. "Doesn't matter. It always does."

  The conversation stalled as the television continued its loop of political speeches, debates, and empty assurances.

  The door creaked open. Jwanda stepped in, still wearing his lab coat, faint stains of synthetic organic compounds marking the fabric. The scent clung to him as he plopped into the empty chair beside Oscar with a sigh.

  Joel didn't look away from the screen. "How’s the sample?"

  Jwanda rubbed his eyes before answering. "Still the same. Gene expression fluctuating. Too many external variables at play." He hesitated. "I’m starting to think this isn't just about biological instability."

  Oscar straightened slightly. "You’re saying the artificial influence is stronger than we thought?"

  Jwanda nodded, eyes fixed on some point in the air. "Not just stronger. Intentional. The original design… it looks like it was never meant to be absolute."

  Joel frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Jwanda leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "The A gene, it’s not fully dominant. It’s designed to be… conditional. As if it was meant to be controlled externally."

  Joel’s brows furrowed. "Wait. Are you saying they engineered the gene to stay half-dormant? So it can be flipped on or off?"

  "More or less." Jwanda exhaled. "Remember last week’s inheritance model discussion? The AA, OO, and AO classifications? I’m more convinced now that those weren’t meant to be rigid categories."

  Oscar put his tablet aside. "You're talking about the threshold zone. The 40 to 60 percent dominance range."

  "Exactly." Jwanda’s voice sharpened. "Individuals in that range… they aren't locked into one state. They can shift. Organic to artificial. Artificial to organic. Flexible, depending on external conditions, or our intervention."

  Joel leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "That’s… risky. If the epigenetic regulation gets disrupted, an AO could collapse entirely."

  Jwanda nodded. "That’s what I’m getting at. The gene expression in today’s sample? It’s hypersensitive. Hormones, enzymes, even the slightest environmental shift, any of them could trigger a change."

  Oscar’s tone darkened. "Which means we need to stop thinking in binaries. Organic and artificial aren’t fixed categories… it’s a spectrum."

  "And that’s the real issue," Jwanda muttered. "We’ve been stuck in the absolute dominance mindset. 'A gene active? Artificial. Not active? Organic.' But reality doesn’t work like that. Partial dominance exists."

  Joel drummed his fingers against the back of the chair. "So as long as A expression is under fifty percent, AO individuals are still considered organic? But if something pushes it past that…"

  Jwanda nodded. "At sixty percent? The artificial traits take over. At eighty? It’s irreversible."

  Oscar exhaled slowly. "Like a sigmoid curve. Gradual shift, but once it hits the tipping point… there’s no way back."

  Jwanda leaned against the chair, his voice steady but heavy. "And that’s where the danger is. The threshold zone isn’t just about genetics. It’s about everything, radiation, environmental triggers, synthetic compounds. Any one of them could push someone over the edge."

  Joel let out a slow breath, rubbing his jaw. "So basically… anyone playing around in the threshold zone is walking around with a time bomb inside them."

  The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. The political debate on the television droned on, the voices merging into meaningless noise, as if the room itself had pulled away from the world outside.

  Oscar exhaled slowly. "So this is why Esoterra’s been tightening the leash on hybrid experiments." His voice was quiet, but there was something sharp beneath it. "If the AO population grows unchecked... and we can’t regulate external triggers..." He trailed off, his gaze locked onto the blinking data terminal. "We're looking at a mass transition."

  Joel let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Humans who can change... or be changed... depending on who has their hand on the switch."

  Jwanda shut his eyes for a brief moment, as if trying to block out the weight of that thought. When he spoke, it was almost a whisper. "We’re sitting on the edge of a species divide, Joel. And I don’t think we truly understand what that means."

  The room felt smaller, the air heavy with something unspoken, something dangerous.

  Joel stared at the floor, the tension in his jaw tightening with every passing second. Oscar rubbed his hands together, like he was trying to ground himself. Jwanda, still leaning against the wall, scrolled through his data terminal without really looking at it.

  "So this is why," Joel finally muttered, his voice barely above a breath. "Why our data access is always restricted. Why Esoterra keeps pulling funding from hybrid research."

  Oscar scoffed, shaking his head. His eyes were dark with exhaustion, or maybe anger. "This isn’t just about science. It never was." He let out a sharp exhale. "This is political."

  Jwanda’s grip tightened around the terminal. "And now it makes sense," he murmured. "Why every genetic substrate analysis is flagged Highly Restricted. Why every single detection parameter has to pass through layer upon layer of Federation validation."

  Oscar’s gaze flicked between them, his expression grave. "Because if the public knew... If we could definitively prove who’s what... everything we’ve built, the entire foundation of this ‘new humanity’, " He swallowed. "It would shatter."

  Joel nodded slowly, like the pieces were finally clicking into place. "They didn’t just bury the measuring tool… They sabotaged it." He dragged a hand down his face. "The variables are unstable. The data’s too chaotic. Unmeasurable. Unrepeatable. Unverifiable."

  "And that’s the point," Jwanda said, his voice thick. "No one can be sure. No one can draw the line. No one can say with certainty, who is artificial, who is organic." He exhaled. "Everything is blurred."

  A heavy pause. Then Oscar spoke, voice quiet, almost resigned. "Because their greatest fear... is that the line could be measured."

  Joel’s gaze drifted to the genetic dominance graph still flickering on the screen, a perfect scale from 0 to 100%. So stark. So final.

  "And if that happens," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else, "there will be a hunt. A reckoning. Segregation. A new war." His throat bobbed. "The world… won’t survive it."

  No one spoke after that.

  They sat there, trapped in the gravity of their own realization, feeling the slow, sinking dread of knowing something that could never be unlearned.

  Somewhere outside, life carried on as if nothing had changed. People walked the streets, laughed, argued over pointless things, completely oblivious to the truth buried beneath their feet.

  A truth that, if ever uncovered, would burn everything to the ground.

  End of Chapter XI