CTS TIME: RE250.05.25
LOCAL SYSTEM CLOCK: 6:45 AM
LOCATION: Interrogation Chamber — DNA Organisation
The interrogation chamber activated the moment they crossed its threshold.
Light shifted—not brighter, but cleaner. The walls ceased to be walls, transforming into layered planes of translucent data, timelines folding into one another like stacked memories. Temperature stabilized precisely at 294.15 Kelvin, humidity adjusted to human comfort, oxygen composition recalibrated at the molecular level. Nothing here was accidental.
Sophia was guided—not forced—into the metallic chair positioned at the chamber's center. The seat adjusted to her proportions immediately, aligning posture, stabilizing spine, distributing weight. And still, it felt wrong.
Too exposed.
Too deliberate.
She shifted once, subtly. The chair compensated instantly, locking into equilibrium.
I hate this, she thought.
The thought appeared on one of the surrounding screens before she could stop herself.
Her breath caught.
Dr. F stood a meter away, hands folded behind his back, white coat pristine, expression neutral. Around him, a constellation of holographic displays rotated in a slow, controlled orbit—three hundred and sixty degrees of information moving in layered silence.
One screen displayed ISA STRUCTURE — VERIFIED DATASET (PARTIAL).
Another glowed empty, labeled SUBJECT INPUT — LIVE RECORDING.
Between them, a constantly updating comparison matrix recalibrated probabilities in real time.
Dr. F's fingers moved through the air with practiced precision, flicking, resizing, isolating data points. He did not look at Sophia as he spoke.
"Protocol Extraction Initiated," he said calmly. "This is not an interrogation in the traditional sense. You are not being compelled."
Sophia swallowed. Her pulse spiked slightly—immediately reflected on a side display: Heart Rate: 102 bpm.
"I'm not restrained," she said, more observation than question.
"No," Dr. F replied. "The chair exists to maintain consistency, not compliance."
Her internal monologue flickered again on the screen.
That's worse.
He glanced briefly at that display, then dismissed it with a gesture. "I've muted your thought-stream from your view. You don't need the distraction."
She exhaled slowly. "Thank you."
Another flick of his hand, and the chamber responded. A vast schematic unfolded across the wall behind him—layers of organizational nodes, operational branches, authorization pathways.
"ISA," Dr. F said, now turning to face her fully. "Not a single entity. A federated hero organization spanning multiple systems. Decentralized command. Ideological unity, operational fragmentation."
He looked at her. "Confirm."
Sophia nodded. "Yes. ISA doesn't function like a military. It functions like… belief management. Heroes are symbols first, assets second."
The LIVE RECORDING screen pulsed green. A matching data strand aligned.
Dr. F's eyes flicked to it briefly.
"Proceed," he said.
She hesitated—not from fear, but from weight.
"This is the point of no return," she said quietly.
He did not deny it. "Correct."
She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, then opened them again. "High command isn't public. Even S-rank doesn't get full access. But there's an internal council—rotational seats, hidden identities. They approve cross-universal operations."
The screens reacted instantly. Data threads adjusted, probability curves tightening.
"Names," Dr. F said evenly.
"I don't have real ones," Sophia replied. "Only codenames. And even those change."
"List them."
She did.
As she spoke, the chamber listened—not just to her words, but to everything beneath them. Her body temperature rose by 0.3°C, emotional parameters shifting from resistance to resignation. Stress markers flared, then stabilized.
Dr. F did not interrupt.
He watched patterns, not expressions.
When she paused, he asked, "Your infiltration mission. Was it sanctioned?"
Sophia's fingers curled slightly against the armrest. "Officially? No. Unofficially… yes. They framed it as a redemption opportunity."
The comparison matrix flashed amber.
"Explain."
"They didn't expect me to succeed," she said. The words tasted bitter. "They expected me to gather surface data or die. Either way, I'd stop being a liability."
Silence settled briefly over the chamber.
Dr. F's jaw tightened—not visibly, but measurably. A micro-expression logged and dismissed by the system.
"And when you were captured?" he asked.
"They considered me lost," Sophia said. "ISA doesn't retrieve failed assets unless the return outweighs the cost."
The matrix turned green again.
Dr. F moved closer—not looming, just present.
"You understand," he said, "that everything you say is being verified against existing intelligence."
"I know," she replied. "That's why I'm telling the truth."
He studied her for a long moment, then deactivated one of the screens. The chamber dimmed slightly, reducing cognitive pressure.
"This is not about loyalty," he said. "It is about alignment."
She met his gaze. "And if I align?"
"Then," Dr. F said calmly, "you stop being an expendable variable."
Sophia's breath steadied.
For the first time since sitting in the chair, the discomfort eased—not because the environment changed, but because she did.
She straightened slightly. "Ask," she said. "I won't hold back."
The screens resumed their slow orbit.