CTS TIME: RE250.05.24
ELAPSED: +30 MINUTES
FACILITY: DNA ORGANISATION — LOWER MECHATOPIA
Dr. F returned exactly thirty minutes later.
Not twenty-nine.
Not thirty-one.
The chamber registered his presence before the door finished opening. Systems adjusted automatically—light levels recalibrated, atmospheric pressure normalized, surveillance layers synchronized.
Sophia did not look up.
She was still suspended in the air, limp, trembling faintly, tears drying in uneven streaks across her face. Her breathing was shallow, irregular. Pain lingered like static in her nerves, every muscle sore as if flayed from the inside.
Dr. F stepped inside.
The fractional pull disengaged instantly.
Sophia dropped.
Her body hit the floor hard face first. No attempt to brace. No reflex left to protect her. The sound was dull, final, humiliating.
She did not scream.
She lay there, cheek pressed against the cold floor, eyes open, unfocused, tears pooling silently beneath her.
Dr. F walked closer.
Each step was unhurried.
Measured.
He stopped just short of her.
"Get up," he said calmly.
No response.
He waited a second longer, then continued, voice even, deliberate.
"Touch my feet," he said.
"And beg for mercy."
"Plead."
"Ask forgiveness for going against me."
The words struck deeper than any device.
They pierced straight through layers she didn't know she still had.
Her rank.
Her obedience.
Her identity.
Her entire life had been built on standing, not kneeling.
On following orders—but never begging.
On discipline, restraint, reputation.
On being better than the desperation she now tasted in her mouth—blood and salt and something broken far deeper.
Beg?
Her mind reeled.
If I beg… then everything was a lie.
Her parents' sacrifice—twisted as it was.
Her years of training.
The insignia on her uniform.
Every silent moment where she chose duty over desire.
If I beg… I erase myself.
The silence stretched.
Long.
Deliberate.
Dr. F waited, watching with clinical patience.
She will beg, he calculated.
Emotional stability critically unbalanced. Identity fractured. Fear reinforced.
Blind obedience is the defining flaw of S-rankers.
Seconds passed.
Sophia's fingers twitched against the floor.
Her body screamed at her to comply.
Just do it.
Say the words.
Survive.
But something immovable surfaced beneath the wreckage.
Not courage.
Not defiance.
Something quieter.
This is the last thing that's mine.
She pushed herself up.
Slowly.
Pain flared violently as her spine protested. Her knees shook, nearly buckling, but she stayed upright—head bowed, yes, but not lowered to the floor.
She did not kneel.
She did not touch his feet.
She did not beg.
Dr. F's eyes narrowed—not in anger at first, but in something rarer.
Surprise.
"…Interesting," he murmured.
"You're in critical condition," he said aloud. "Still you refuse."
He studied her like a variable that had misbehaved.
"I suppose," he added, "I heard something true about S-rank after all."
Then—
Something shifted.
Not dramatically.
But sharply.
For the first time, irritation surfaced in him—not rage, but the precise discomfort of a scientist whose equation refused to balance.
He lifted his hand.
Sophia's body jerked violently upward.
She slammed into the ceiling with brutal force.
The impact sent shockwaves spider-webbing across reinforced alloy. Bone cracked—audible, unmistakable.
Before she could even gasp—
She was hurled downward.
The floor met her like an executioner.
Then the right wall.
Then the left.
Her body became a projectile, smashed again and again at inhuman speed. Each impact stole something from her—air, strength, structure.
Ribs fractured.
Her spine snapped in places that should have paralyzed her instantly.
Blood sprayed from her mouth with each collision, spattering the walls in dark arcs.
Still—not enough to kill.
Never enough.
When it stopped, she collapsed to the floor in a broken heap.
For a moment, she did not move.
Then—
Slowly—
She pushed herself upright.
Her legs trembled violently. Her posture was wrong—unnatural—but her spine was straight.
Blood dripped from her lips onto the floor.
Her breathing was ragged.
Her vision blurred.
She swayed—but she stayed standing.
She did not beg.
Dr. F stared.
Something held his hand in place.
Not logic.
Not calculation.
Why am I not killing her? he wondered.
The answer did not come.
He had ended lives for less defiance. For less inconvenience.
Yet now—
He hesitated.
Not because she was strong.
But because she wasn't.
Because she was shattered… and still refused.
Sophia lifted her gaze to him at last.
Her eyes were swollen, red, unfocused—but there was something in them he hadn't anticipated.
Not hatred.
Not courage.
Just a quiet, devastating refusal to disappear.
She swayed again, blood dripping from her chin.
"I won't," she whispered hoarsely.
The words barely carried.
But they landed.
Dr. F lowered his hand slowly.
For the first time since the interrogation began, the room felt… unsettled.
And Dr. F did not understand why.