Brian knew something was wrong long before Daniella opened her eyes. It began with her pulse.At first, it had been faint beneath his fingers, fragile and uneven, like a rhythm that might stop at any second. But as he laid her carefully on his bed and leaned closer to check again, the beat changed. It grew stronger, Faster, not in a natural way, but in sharp, accelerating bursts that didn’t match her condition.Brian frowned, his hand hovering over her wrist. “That’s not normal…” he murmured, more to steady himself than anything else.Her breathing deepened abruptly, dragging in air as though her body had forgotten how to do it properly and was now overcompensating.Her chest rose too quickly, then held, and then dropped in an uneven rhythm. It felt wrong, mechanical, almost forced. Brian stepped back, unease tightening in his chest. “Daniella?”No response came, yet her fingers twitched against the bedsheet. That was when the room changed.The air in the small room seemed to thicken

The pain hit Brian before he understood what the device had done. It surged through his skull in a violent, concentrated wave, as though something had forced its way into his mind and begun pulling it apart piece by piece.His vision fractured instantly, splitting into overlapping layers that refused to align. Every sound in the courtyard sharpened into unbearable clarity, stacking on top of one another until they became a chaotic storm.Brian staggered, one hand flying to his head. “What did you do to me?” he demanded, but even his own voice sounded distant, distorted by the overwhelming noise flooding his senses.The man holding the device did not answer immediately. Instead, he watched Brian with an intensity that felt clinical, almost detached, as if this were not a person in pain but a reaction worth studying. “Response rate is accelerating,” he said calmly to his partner. “Neural activity is far beyond projected thresholds.”Tom took a step back, unease creeping into his posture

Brian realized he was on the verge of losing himself the moment his own thoughts stopped waiting for him.At first, the shift was subtle, almost deceptively so. A question began to form in his mind: What should I do next? Yet before he could consciously examine it, an answer surfaced fully formed, precise and calculated, as though it had already been decided somewhere beyond his awareness. It did not feel like a thought he had created, but one that had been delivered to him.He recognized the directives immediately. Neutralize threats. Establish control. Eliminate unpredictability. They carried a clarity that felt alien, and Brian’s breath caught as the realization set in. Those were not entirely his thoughts.He instinctively took a step back from Dr. Foreman. His body responded with unsettling efficiency, adjusting posture and shifting balance as if preparing for outcomes he had never chosen. “No,” Brian said quietly, though the word carried more resistance than volume. “That’s not

Brian realized he was on the verge of losing far more than a fight the instant his own mind proposed the most efficient way to end Tom’s life.The thought arrived without emotion. It was clean, precise, and disturbingly calculated, presenting itself like the conclusion of a solved equation rather than a passing impulse.Target the throat. Apply rotational force. Estimated fatality probability: 92%.For half a second, Brian froze—and that brief hesitation nearly cost him everything.Tom closed the distance in an instant. His movement had sharpened, his fist cutting toward Brian’s jaw with frightening precision. Brian reacted just in time, shifting his weight and raising his arm to deflect the blow, yet the impact still rattled through him and forced him a step backward.His breath tightened, not because of the hit, but because of what he had just realized. “That’s not me,” Brian muttered under his breath, his voice low and strained.The thought did not fade. It lingered with an unsettl