“Hi, Dad!” the girl’s voice rang brightly through the phone. She sat in the back seat of the car, her legs too short to reach the floor, swinging happily in the air with carefree rhythm.

  “Hey there, bunny,” her father’s voice replied, soft and warm, a smile clearly audible in his tone. “Wait… why am I talking to you and not your mom?”

  “Mom’s driving,” she declared with importance.

  “And where are you two off to without me?”

  “To Mom’s work. She’s gonna show me how they cut up frogs!” the girl giggled, clearly proud to be included in the world of grown-ups.

  In the background, a woman’s voice chimed in — gentle, but laced with mock sternness:

  “No such thing! Give me that phone.”

  The man, seated comfortably in his office chair, couldn’t help but smile as he heard his daughter’s small protest, trying to hold on to the phone a few seconds longer. Then a calmer, deeper voice came through the line.

  “Love?”

  “Darling,” he answered, his voice softening. “Is everything alright?”

  “Of course. Just need to wrap up a few things so no one bothers me later,” she said evenly, one hand on the steering wheel, the other gently resting on her round belly beneath the fabric of her blouse.

  “Good,” he replied, his tone almost a whisper now. “Just make sure our bunny doesn’t hop away.”

  She let out a quiet, tender laugh.

  “I’m watching her like a hawk.”

  “Call me when you get back. I’ll try to head out early today.”

  “Deal.”

  The call ended with a soft click.

  The man lingered for a moment, phone still in hand, as if not quite ready to let go of that warm moment. His eyes briefly rested on the screen, where his wife’s name had just faded.

  Then, like clockwork, his partner appeared from behind a partition — wearing his standard-issue jacket and a tired look.

  “Leaving early? Not today, Alex. Captain wants to see you. Urgent.”

  Alex exhaled sharply under his breath and rose from his chair. The seat beneath him was still warm, holding the ghost of peace. But duty, as always, waited with open arms. He pushed the chair back, rubbed his face, and headed for the captain’s office.

  “You called, Cap?” Alex stepped in without knocking, his voice steady. But the moment his eyes swept the room, something inside him shifted.

  The captain wasn’t alone.

  A man sat with his back to the door, clad in a sharp dark suit, posture rigid, exuding that familiar cold authority. As he turned to face him, Alex froze mid-step.

  “…Agent Carter?” The name slipped from his lips before he could stop it. He stood motionless by the door, as if anchored in place. The face he had hoped to never see again was suddenly right there — unchanged, composed, haunting.

  Agent Carter rose from his seat, as did the captain. Their expressions held no comfort — only the kind of gravity that meant trouble.

  “Officer Ford,” Carter acknowledged with a slight nod, his voice clipped, unreadable.

  “Take a seat, Alex,” the captain offered, gesturing to the chair across the desk.

  “I’ll stand,” Alex replied flatly, not even glancing at the captain. His eyes remained fixed on Carter — not in recognition, but in confrontation. Like seeing a ghost. A ghost from a past he had tried hard to bury. And one whose return could mean only one thing.

  “I’m sorry to bring this news,” Carter began, his words deliberate. “This morning, we received confirmation: Xanthos has escaped.”

  The name hit Alex like a bolt of lightning in broad daylight. His fists clenched slowly, his body tensing as the words sank in.

  “What?” he muttered, the breath catching in his throat. The name alone — it was a storm, a crack in everything he had rebuilt.

  “We believe you and your family may be among his potential targets,” Carter said without softening the blow. “He’s now on the international most wanted list. Until he’s apprehended, your safety and your family’s will be our top priority. A team has already been dispatched to your wife and daughter—”

  A shrill ringtone cut through his words. Alex looked down. An unknown number flashed on his phone screen.

  He didn’t need to answer to know.

  A cold shiver crept down his spine. His instincts — sharpened from another life, past life — whispered the truth before he even raised the phone.

  He brought it to his ear. Silence. And then, a voice. A voice from the past that never truly let go.

  The world around him held its breath.

  “Agent Ford…” The voice was raspy, laced with mockery, each syllable drawn out like a cruel game. A low, grating chuckle followed.

  “Or… not agent anymore, right, officer?”

  Alex stiffened, the color draining from his face. His grip on the phone tightened until the plastic creaked. His jaw clenched.

  “You—” he began, but the voice cut him off with casual venom.

  “Do you remember our last little chat, officer? All it would’ve taken was one bullet. One shot. And today, you wouldn’t have to worry about your sweet little wife…”

  The captain’s head snapped toward Alex, alarm flashing in his eyes. Agent Carter leaned forward slightly, expression sharpening into something cold and alert. They couldn’t hear the words on the other end of the call, but Alex’s face said enough—his features were taut, his eyes blazing with restrained fury.

  “If you lay a finger on her—” Alex’s voice trembled, thick with rage, barely under control.

  But again, he was interrupted.

  “If I were you, officer, I’d hurry. I’ll let you see her… one last time.”

  The line went dead. Beeping tones rang in his ear.

  For one breathless second, Alex didn’t move. Then the storm inside him erupted. He bolted from the office like a shot. His phone was already dialing.

  “Pick up… pick up… come on, pick up!” he muttered feverishly as he reached his car. The line rang. No answer.

  He slammed the door shut, started the engine, and struck the steering wheel hard with his palm — once, twice, again — the sound echoing through the cabin. Tires screeched as the vehicle launched forward, sirens blaring to life, weaving through traffic like a bullet unleashed.

  Behind him, the captain burst out of the building, followed closely by Carter.

  “Alex!” the captain shouted, but it was useless — he was already gone.

  “He knew the number,” Carter said darkly, watching the car disappear into the distance. “He knew exactly when to call.”

  The captain turned to the nearest patrol units.

  “All available cars — go after him. Now!”

  Moments later, a convoy of flashing lights tore down the road in pursuit, racing against time — and a threat that had already drawn too close.

  The phone kept ringing, abandoned in a hurry on the passenger seat of the parked car. Its monotonous signal was drowned out by the hum of the street, but in Alex’s head, another sound rang— a voice from the past, sharp and cold as steel:

  “You’ll regret not killing me, Agent Ford…”

  The car screeched to a halt in front of the research center. Alex leaped out, barely closing the door, and without losing a second, ran toward the entrance. He tossed his badge to the security guard without looking—just don’t stop him. His face was a marble mask, but his eyes burned, wild with anxiety, panic, and rage.

  He didn’t hear the shouts, didn’t feel the gust of wind that tore his jacket from his shoulders. He saw nothing but one goal: to find them. To make sure they were okay. That he hadn’t come too late.

  He knew the building as well as his own home. The turns, the stairs, the hallways—his legs carried him on autopilot. He passed the receptionist desk, ignoring the concerned questions from the girls in uniform, brushing past a lab tech—who barely avoided dropping a tray of test tubes. Someone shouted after him, but their voice was lost in the pounding of his footsteps.

  Stairs. Hall. Bright, spacious, smelling of antiseptics and something metallic. And there—at the other end, behind the glass barrier of the second floor—he saw her.

  She stood there, slightly turned toward a colleague, a folder in her hand, a soft smile on her face. And beside her— small figure, her hair flowing, in a bright jacket. The voice rang out like a bell:

  “Daddy!”

  Tiny feet pounded the floor, the girl running toward him, arms stretched out. He took a step forward, his heart pounding harder. Just another moment—and he would have held them in his arms, tight, never to let go.

  The woman turned, their eyes met. In that moment, time seemed to freeze.

  At that same instant, there was a strange, low hum—and the sky outside the windows flashed. In the next moment, everything crashed into chaos.

  A “Cascade-9” warhead, launched with pinpoint accuracy, struck the building like a fang in flesh. A burst of light, an explosion, a roar. The walls trembled, the air shattered with sound and fire. Alex didn’t have time to scream. The shockwave ripped the air from his lungs. Before his eyes—only blinding flames.

  He only managed to see one thing: the fragment of the child’s laughter, swallowed by the roar of the blast.

  ***

  More than a hundred years had passed since that fateful explosion. In the world that existed now, not a single soul remained who remembered the world as it had been before — not even those who had known what followed.

  History, in its true form, no longer existed. It was neither recorded nor remembered. No archives, no books, no digital remnants survived to offer even a fragment of truth. It was as if someone — or something — had erased it all. What remained was little more than scattered ruins and strange anomalies, eerie echoes of a forgotten past. Stories of the time before and after were passed down through generations like myths, mutating with each telling until they lost all resemblance to reality.

  The humanity that walked the earth now was no longer the same. It had split — evolved, or perhaps devolved — into two distinct species, each following its own path, shaped by the aftermath of catastrophe.

  One called themselves the Pure. Genetically refined, engineered to survive in this hostile new world. Their bodies were immune to toxins, radiation, disease. Their emotions were muted, controlled, their thoughts governed by logic and calculation. They built sanctuaries untouched by the chaos — massive technological marvels that floated above the clouds or were carved into the safety of mountains. Their cities gleamed beneath protective domes, governed by AI, automated in every detail. They lived in order, in symmetry, in cold perfection.

  And then there were the Others — the Corrupted, as the Pure called them. Fragile, vulnerable, flawed. Their DNA bore the scars of the old world, subject to mutation and emotional instability. But some were born with strange abilities — telepathy, elemental control, visions of the future — while others bore horrific deformities or shattered minds. They were unpredictable, dangerous… and achingly human. They loved, hated, hoped and despaired with intensity the Pure no longer understood.

  Between these worlds lay the Zone — a no-man’s land carved out by nature’s wrath and time’s distortion. It was alive in a way nothing else was: choked with poisonous fog, crawling with mutated lifeforms, pulsing with anomalies that twisted space and time. Abandoned research stations jutted from the ground like broken tombstones of a forgotten age. The winds howled in voices that didn’t belong.

  No one — not Pure, not Other — dared linger there.

  ***

  From somewhere deep within the silence, broken only by a low, humming void, a voice echoed — muffled, distant, as if coming through water.

  "Alexander?" The voice was soft, tinged with a faint note of concern.

  His eyelids felt impossibly heavy, as though filled with lead. The attempt to lift them sent a dull ache rippling through his head, like the very air pressing down on him.

  "Alexander, can you hear me?" The voice came again, a little firmer now.

  It pierced through a chaotic chorus of indistinct sounds — jumbled, shapeless, hard to place. An explosion. Shattering glass. Laughter. The pounding of a hundred feet, as if a grand, invisible ball was swirling nearby. Voices, fluttering like birdsong, whispering, giggling, crying out with joy or fear, blurred into a surreal storm of noise.

  “Daddy!”

  Suddenly, a child’s voice — clear, sharp, ringing like crystal. It cut through everything like a blade.

  Alexander's eyes snapped open, and his blue pupils shrank, unable to adjust to the bright light. Everything else vanished into silence, almost eerie, like a void after a loud scream. And again, that same voice.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "Alexander?" closer now, clearer, anchored in the present.

  He slowly shifted his gaze from the sterile ceiling searching for the source. At first, everything swam before his eyes. He saw a woman. A white dress, from which faint light flickered, her figure blending with the snow-white background, creating an effect of semi-transparency. It was a strange sensation, as if she was familiar, but at the same time, he felt something was wrong. His mind couldn't grasp the time, the space, or the true nature of this occurrence. But gradually, the image sharpened.

  A woman stood before him.

  Tall, almost delicate, with features so precise they seemed sculpted. Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight, flawless bun — not a strand out of place. Her skin was porcelain-smooth, unblemished. Her steel-grey eyes bore into him — calm, steady, and yet disturbingly vacant.

  The pristine white coat she wore fit her like armor, wrinkle-free and clinical.

  She looked at him with a slight tilt of the head: curious and expectant. But there was something deeply wrong in her expression. Something unsettling. As if it… wasn’t alive.

  His own voice sounded alien, hoarse and cracked.

  “Where… am I?”

  Each word scraped his throat like broken glass. It was dry, painfully so, and even the act of swallowing made it worse.

  “You’re in a research facility,” a woman’s voice answered, calm and composed. “My name is Amanda Loran. Can you tell me your full name?”

  He replied without thinking, the name rising from some deep, reflexive place, not memory.

  “Alexander Ford.”

  On the monitor beside his bed, his vitals held steady — heart rate, breathing, all normal. And yet Alexander felt… nothing. No pain. No cold. No fear. Just a hollow blankness, with faint flickers of imagery flashing in his mind — indistinct voices, fractured images, like echoes of someone else’s dream.

  “Do you remember who you are?”

  He closed his eyes. Tried to reach, to grasp something solid in the void of his thoughts. But everything was blurred, twisted, like a painting smeared beyond recognition. Noise without form. Memory without context.

  “My wife…” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

  Dr. Loran continued watching him with subtle intensity, her curiosity sharp beneath her composed expression.

  “Daddy!”

  A child’s voice — clear, bright, piercing — cut through the haze like a beacon. His eyes snapped open.

  “My daughter,” he murmured, his gaze locking onto Amanda with a sudden sharpness. His brow furrowed. “Where are they?”

  The doctor hesitated. For a second, her professional mask slipped, revealing a flicker of discomfort. How could she answer when she didn’t know herself?

  Everything they knew about the man before her began and ended with the name engraved on the cryo-chamber: Alexander Ford. He’d been discovered in one of the sealed anomaly zones — deep beneath ruins that predated all known records. The location was classified, his existence a tightly guarded secret known only to the Council of Genetic Balance. It was they who relocated him here, to this remote and heavily shielded research facility.

  Amanda Loran had been appointed head of the project. She was granted full access to the equipment, advanced systems, and encrypted archives — but never answers. No one at the facility dared to ask questions, and she had long since stopped trying to get them.

  Years passed, and yet every analysis returned the same: incomplete. No one could say who he was. What category of life he belonged to. How long he had been inside that chamber. His genetic data didn’t match any known classification. It was… wrong — or perhaps just unlike anything they’d seen before.

  A few months ago, the cryo-system began to fail. One by one, life support functions shut down. He was suffocating. Dying.

  Amanda tried everything. Emergency overrides, support modules, even ancient, ethically questionable protocols — but nothing worked. She was left with one impossible choice: disconnect him from the pod.

  She didn’t know what would happen. His biology was still a mystery, and its divergence from known models made any prediction unreliable. But one thing was certain — the pod would have killed him.

  After disconnecting, his vitals surged erratically. Skyrocketing to impossible highs, then dropping to barely perceptible lows. Yet the man did not stir. He didn’t move, but kept breathing, his heart beating. Pupils responded to light. Nerve endings twitched under stimulus. It was as if he were merely asleep.

  Asleep for far too long. And now — finally — awake. And he needed answers — just as much as the doctor did.

  “Where are they?” Alex repeated, this time with more focus, his gaze locking onto the woman’s face, as if he could extract the truth before she even spoke.

  Dr. Loran let out a deep sigh. Slowly, she pulled a chair closer to the bedside, sat down beside him, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her features softened, the clinical detachment fading, replaced by something far more human — quiet concern.

  “I don’t know,” she said gently. “I’m afraid no one does.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Alex’s voice was strained, almost breaking. He tried to sit up, to push himself upright, but a sharp wave of pain stabbed through his limbs. His muscles screamed in protest, his strength evaporating, and he collapsed back onto one elbow, breath ragged. He couldn’t explain what was happening in his body — only that it felt wrong. Foreign. As though he no longer fully belonged in it.

  The doctor watched him closely, a quiet fire of curiosity burning in her eyes, though she maintained an outward calm. Silence thickened between them, filled only by the soft beeping of the monitors and the low hum of the vents. It made Alex restless. Irritated.

  At last, she spoke again:

  “It means you’ve been asleep far too long, Alexander.”

  “How long exactly?” His breathing grew uneven, shallow.

  “It’s been fifty-three years since we found you,” she said, her voice low, measured — almost distant.

  The words hit like a hammer. Ice wrapped around his chest, tightening, pulling. His arm gave out, and he dropped back onto the pillow, exhaling with a strained groan. The doctor kept speaking, but now her voice seemed far away, muffled and slow, like underwater echoes:

  “According to our rough estimates, you’ve likely been in stasis for much longer than that. Possibly longer than anyone still alive…”

  “Fifty-three years…” The whisper slipped from his lips, cutting through her sentence.

  Dr. Loran fell silent, watching him with unreadable eyes as he tried to come to terms with the truth. His words lingered in the air, settling between them. Yes, he was a mystery — a living anomaly. But at this moment, he was also just a man who had lost his time. And somehow, that meant more than any secret he might carry.

  “Why am I still alive?” His voice was barely audible, as if it came from the depths of oblivion. His eyes remained closed, as if he were desperately refusing to accept what was happening, as if he hoped that if he didn’t look at the world, it would disappear, and he would once again fall into the silence from which he had come.

  Dr. Laurent didn’t answer immediately. She looked at him, studying the expression on his face, one that he seemed not to feel. Then she spoke, her voice once again taking on a precise professional tone—cold, confident, and unwavering:

  “Since the moment we found you, we’ve been asking the same question. Your existence is already an anomaly. Your cells… they haven’t aged a second. Not a single trace of degeneration, no biological wear. By all measures, you are exactly as you were at the moment… time stopped for you.”

  She paused briefly, as if making sure he was still listening. Alex didn’t move, but his breathing betrayed that he heard every word.

  “Your genome, — she continued, — doesn’t belong to any of the existing species. Neither to the pure nor to the mutated. But we can’t call you an anomaly either. You are something entirely different. The only thing we definitively know is your name.”

  Each word of hers sounded like a needle—a thin blade piercing his foggy mind. Yet, even under this pressure, even with the weight of this unbearable information, he remained calm. There was no panic, no fear. Not even pain. Not a trace of despair. Only an empty void.

  “Found?” he repeated suddenly, his voice still quiet, but with the first hint of curiosity.

  ***

  Alex sat by the panoramic windows that stretched across the entire wall, absorbing the vastness around him. He gazed out at the strange yet vibrant world before him: majestic mountains, distant forests fading into mist, and levitating machines, floating and hovering in the air as if they were part of nature itself, seamlessly integrated into this world. But despite its beauty, this world didn’t feel like his own. He saw it, he felt it, but something about it was wrong, foreign.

  It was a ridiculous sensation, as if reality had been swapped out, and he was seeing it through the eyes of another, unfamiliar person. He tried to remember what was wrong, but he couldn’t. He didn’t remember anything. And this gap in his memory didn’t cause pain, just a troubling feeling that something was out of place. He couldn’t understand what had been before. The voices that once filled his mind had finally quieted. The blurred images in his head faded like dissipating fog. All that remained was silence. An absolute void. The kind of moment where you could just exist without wondering why you were there. Why everything was the way it was.

  The doctor had left him in this state, walking out without a word. She hadn’t explained what had happened, hadn’t given him an answer to his questions, which hadn’t even appeared. Time lost all meaning for him. Days passed—maybe weeks. He didn’t notice. Workers came in and out of his room, brought food, checked his vitals, and delivered clothes. They were strangers to him, as was the place itself. They looked at him with mechanical, lifeless detachment, as if waking a man after fifty years in a coma was nothing unusual. He tried to speak to them, but they remained silent, like walls. Their silence was just as cold and distant as they were.

  Alex no longer tried to understand. He didn’t feel joy, nor pain. He didn’t attempt to remember what had come before. His mind wasn’t strained, didn’t search for answers, didn’t try to make sense of anything. There was no grief, no anxiety about what awaited him. He simply existed. And that was all.

  Suddenly, the door opened, and a woman entered the room. He heard the sound of heels clicking against the floor, sharp and metallic. She approached the table, picked up a chair, and without a word, sat down beside him. Her silence was as calm as her presence. She didn’t rush to draw his attention, just sat there, waiting. Clearly, she knew that when he was ready, he would look at her. But right now, in this moment, Alex didn’t rush. He continued to look out the window, watching the movement outside the room, not yet turning his head in her direction.

  Through the window, he could see the light changing, how the shadows stretched across the ground, and the sky slowly turning a crimson hue. It was as if a reminder that the world kept moving, despite his personal pause. Alex slowly turned his head, finally noticing the woman sitting nearby. She was so close that he almost could hear her breathing, though she remained as still as everything else here.

  She was young, but there was a mysterious maturity in her face, as if she had lived more than her age would suggest. Her dark hair was gathered into a neat bun, with a few strands escaping and softly framing her face. A subtle hint of exhaustion lingered, but there was also something in her eyes that gave her strength. The color was unusual — not quite gray, not quite green, but with a deep shade that couldn’t be fully grasped. She was dressed in a neat, elegant suit, with no excessive embellishments or bright details, which highlighted her focus on the importance of the moment.

  She didn’t look like the others who had come and gone in his room over the past few days. She was different — calm, confident. There was something alive in her eyes, something human, something Alex couldn’t quite catch.

  “Hello, Alexander,” her voice was soft yet firm, like metal that doesn’t yield to any external force. Her chin slightly raised, as if by instinct she was prepared to bear the full weight of the moment. “My name is Cassie Rayner. I am the Supreme Equilibrator in the Genetic Equilibrium Council. It’s a pleasure to meet you in person.”

  Her eyes were fixed on him, almost as if trying to see every thought hidden behind his emotionless gaze. But Alex remained still, unmoving — his eyes empty, as if he didn’t even see her. It was as if she were a ghost passing through his consciousness. His gaze was vacant, like frozen water, with nothing to reflect.

  “I assume you have questions,” she continued, her tone unchanged, “many questions. I’m here to answer them.”

  Alex didn’t rush to respond, his gaze focused as if he were thinking, yet seeing no point in the conversation.

  “No,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “You’re here to get answers to your own.”

  He looked at her as if she were just a part of some unclear image, not worth his attention. There was no aggression, no respect in his gaze — only a demanding indifference that made Cassie feel uncomfortable.

  “I don’t have any,” he continued, still distant and seemingly final, “no questions, no answers.”

  With those words, he turned away from her again, his gaze once again fixed on the panoramic windows, through which the surrounding world appeared as unfamiliar as this conversation. As if in his mind, nothing existed that could provoke interest or even a hint of emotion. Everything was empty, everything was eerily quiet.

  “That was to be expected,” Rayner spoke calmly, though a hint of weariness laced her voice. She exhaled deeply, letting her gaze follow his — out the panoramic window, where the horizon dissolved into the distant blue ridges of the mountains.

  “We only know the years since we found you… since we’ve been watching you. But no one can say how long you were down there before that. We don’t know what was done to you, what you endured. Isn't it exhausting?”

  She looked at him again, her eyes softening for a brief moment — searching his face for even the faintest flicker of emotion, anything besides the silent, bottomless void that had lived behind his eyes since the day he awoke.

  “Uncertainty,” she continued. “We don’t know who you are. Where you came from. For what purpose you were created… if you were created. We don’t know if you’re a friend… or a threat.”

  For a second, Alex shifted. A barely perceptible twitch in the corner of his eye, a slight tilt of his head — her words had reached him. He looked at her, and there was something in that gaze now — fleeting, unsure, but real. For the first time, he was listening.

  “Just as you don’t know who we are,” she went on, not missing a beat. “How we found you. Why we kept you alive all these years. What this world is now — possibly one entirely foreign to you. Don’t you want to understand it? Why don’t we help each other, Alexander?”

  He didn’t answer, but the indifference in his eyes had begun to crack. Cassie saw it — faint lines of thought threading their way into his consciousness. She acted on it.

  Reaching into her coat, she withdrew a sleek tablet, activating it with a single touch. A hovering hologram flared to life above the screen — a spinning map, split cleanly by a glowing line. She traced a finger along it, and the projection zoomed in.

  “This line,” she explained, pointing, “is the boundary between our territory and the others. This is the anomaly zone. No living organism can survive here for more than a week. Not only organic life — even technology begins to fail, collapse. That’s where we found you.”

  Something flickered across Alex’s face — a silent question, “How?” — but he didn’t give it voice. Cassie continued, sensing the opening, her tone firm but patient.

  She tapped again. The map shifted, zooming further into a single structure, rendered in immaculate detail — corridors, levels, even visible structural damage.

  “This is the building beneath which we discovered you. Roughly eighty meters below ground. As if someone didn’t want you to ever be found. But if that were truly the case, why keep you alive? Doesn’t add up, does it?”

  Her eyes met his, seeking a reaction. Alex didn’t respond, but the tension in his shoulders hinted that her words weren’t falling on deaf ears anymore.

  “One of our autonomous drones — built for deep-zone exploration — failed while investigating that building. Its final transmission revealed a tunnel, leading further underground. We spent years… and hundreds of units of equipment… studying that tunnel before we found you. And just as many years asking ourselves how to bring you out? And should we do it at all”

  Her voice lowered slightly, but each word now carried more weight.

  “And why did you decide to pull me out?” Alex finally spoke.

  His voice was still distant, as if echoing from somewhere far away, but it was something—a sign of life. A spark of awakening.

  Rayner exhaled slowly, as if she had been waiting for that question far too long.

  “That decision didn’t come easily,” she began in a controlled tone. “Just like the extraction itself. Technology alone wouldn’t have been enough. Human involvement was necessary…” — she paused, her gaze hardening — “…and there were sacrifices. Not only material ones.”

  Alex frowned, disbelief flickering across his features as the realization began to slither its way into his mind.

  “To sacrifice one for another…” he began, but was sharply interrupted.

  “Not just another,” Rayner replied, her voice tinged with offense. Her expression faltered for a brief moment, like someone trying to justify the unjustifiable. “For someone who survived in a place where no one should have. The capsule you were in did maintain life—it protected against radiation—but not at the levels found in that zone. And certainly not for that long.” her voice turned colder, edged with steel.

  “The radiation below ground was weaker than at the surface, but still lethal. If you were ordinary, or other — even an anomaly—there would’ve been nothing left of you by the time we found you. But you’re not just alive, Alexander. You’re preserved. No mutations, no degradation, no abnormalities. Not even ‘clean’ quite fits. You…”

  She hesitated. Her expression wavered—realizing she was letting emotion bleed through her calm exterior. Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself.

  “This zone—it’s not just a border. It’s a threat. A problem that concerns all of humanity. It isn’t static, it shifts. We don’t know how far it will spread—tomorrow, a month from now, a year. But it’s growing. And perhaps… we’ve finally found its solution. The only one we have.”

  Alex remained silent. He watched her intently. In her eyes, he saw something resembling hope—dim, aged, and strangely mechanical. But inside himself, there was still nothing but emptiness. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel.

  “I sympathize with the loss of your family, Alexander,” her voice softened, and she tried to express compassion, but it seemed more awkward than sincere. “But the fact that you remember them means not all is lost. Memories, over time…”

  “I don’t remember them,” Alex interrupted sharply, as if trying to stop the very thought that was beginning to grow in his mind.

  “I was told that you…” she began, but once again, he cut her off.

  “It wasn’t memories,” Alex emphasized these words, as if they were something foreign to him. “It was more like a sense, a given. I just know I had a wife… and a daughter. But I don’t remember their names, their faces. I don’t remember anything about them. Or about myself. And I don’t feel anything.”

  A heavy silence hung between them, and even the air around seemed suspended in this pause, stretching on endlessly. It felt as though everything in the world had gone quiet, yielding to the thoughts that found no way out.

  “And you don’t want to remember,” she finally concluded, her voice taking on a tone of stern certainty. “Knowing that they might no longer be alive… these memories won’t lead to anything good. So you don’t even try?”

  Alex remained silent. The answer was too far away, as was the very thought of it, to give it a precise response. He didn’t understand why, but the silence inside him grew even deeper. This emptiness left no room for regret, nor for hope.

  “I understand you, Alexander,” she finally said, her voice tinged with something resembling fatigue. She stood up, took a deep breath, as though it was necessary to steady herself. “If you change your mind, I will be ready to return to this conversation.”

  And with those words, she left him with his own thoughts and the suffocating silence, now unbearably heavy.