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Home / Sci-Fi / SUBJECT 47: AWAKENING / Breaking Point
Breaking Point
Author: Tim
last update2025-08-24 03:23:29

DEVON’S POV

“Contact rear!” Sora shouts over the engine noise, her rifle spitting fire through the truck’s back window. “Four vehicles, closing fast!”

I punch the accelerator, feeling the modified engine scream against the redline.

Behind us, Blackthorn contractors maintain pursuit with mechanical precision, their vehicles eating up ground like hungry predators.

“How’s our EMP package?” Maya asks from the passenger seat, checking her tactical display.

“Thirty seconds to deployment.” My fingers dance across the improvised control panel I jury-rigged during our escape prep. “But we only get one shot at this.”

The washboard road hammers our suspension, threatening to shake the truck apart.

In the rearview mirror, contractor vehicles gain ground with each bounce, their superior equipment handling the terrain better than our salvaged ride.

“Kira, how’s our passenger?” I call back to the cargo area.

“Breathing, conscious, multiple lacerations from the fragment extraction.” Her voice carri
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  • Breach

    DEVON’S POVThe orbital relay facility tastes like recycled oxygen and catastrophic failure.Thick metal walls designed to contain consciousness-transmission frequencies vibrate with harmonics that shouldn’t exist without proper authorization protocols. Through reinforced windows, Earth curves below us like a blue marble wrapped in communication networks that pulse with data streams spanning continents. The facility’s blue-white lighting casts everything in colors that suggest deep ocean depths where pressure changes can kill without warning.“Unauthorized handshake detected,” I announce from monitoring stations that scream with alerts crossing every security threshold we’ve programmed over the past month. “Artificial neural signature attempting relay activation.”“Signature match?” Aveline asks, approaching with equipment that analyzes consciousness authentication patterns in real-time.“Ninety-four percent correlation with stored Ezren cognitive patterns. High enough to convince co

  • Fracture

    SORA’S POVTwisted metal and shattered interface equipment litter corridors that an hour ago hummed with peaceful collective harmonics. Emergency lights cast everything in red while sirens wail through ventilation systems that struggle to clear air thick with ozone and the metallic tang of electronics destroyed by explosives designed to sever consciousness connections rather than simply damage infrastructure.“Seventeen interfaces destroyed,” Kira reports, kneeling beside debris that was once Chair Twelve, where Mrs. Rodriguez used to sit connected to consciousness that carried lullabies from her grandmother alongside preserved songs from civilizations that chose cooperation over extinction. “Direct targeting of consciousness preservation equipment. Whoever did this understood exactly how to inflict maximum damage on collective connection protocols.”“Survivors?” I ask, though my voice cracks on words that span the distance between rescue operations and witnessing genocide.“Three int

  • Echoes of Choice

    EZREN’S POVAfternoon light filters through windows that overlook government districts where emergency sessions debate consciousness evolution while we craft protocols that might make those debates meaningful. Around a table made from salvaged equipment, documentation spreads like blueprints for democracy redesigned to protect individual consciousness from collective systems sophisticated enough to replicate human decision-making without human participation.“Verbal confirmation protocol, draft seventeen,” Aveline announces, reading from documents that represent weeks of legal architecture compressed into hours of implementation deadline pressure. “I, stating full legal name, being of sound mind and legal capacity, do voluntarily consent to consciousness expansion procedures conducted through collective integration technology.”“Biometric confirmation?” Kira asks, checking medical equipment that monitors vital signs for coercion indicators.“Required. Cardiac stress patterns, neural

  • Relay Flicker

    DEVON’S POVThe relay control center tastes like recycled air and digital betrayal.Red alerts cascade across monitoring consoles while I trace forged authentication attempts through network protocols that shouldn’t exist outside collective communication arrays. The air carries the cold smell of server farms and the ozone scent of electronics operating beyond safe parameters. Emergency lighting casts everything in the color of blood while my fingers fly across keyboards designed to prevent exactly the type of intrusion I’m now documenting in real-time.“Handshake protocol analysis complete,” I announce to the team huddled around workstations that hum with equipment salvaged from sources I can’t officially acknowledge. “Someone is mimicking collective communication signatures to authorize integration procedures.”“Mimicking how?” Kira asks, monitoring medical displays that show Ezren’s neural patterns fluctuating with harmonics that mirror the forged relay activity.“By replicating hy

  • The Counsel

    EZREN’S POVCameras from forty-seven news networks focus on faces that carry the weight of species-wide decisions while translators struggle with concepts that don’t exist in political frameworks designed for individual human rights rather than consciousness evolution. Behind the curved delegate tables, representatives from ninety-three nations attempt to negotiate treaties for situations that transcend traditional sovereignty when survival requires choices that affect species rather than states.“Mr. Hayes,” the Secretary-General says, though her voice carries exhaustion that spans weeks of impossible sessions. “You have requested address privileges to present integration policy recommendations based on collective interface experience.”“Thank you, Madam Secretary-General.” I approach the central podium, feeling four billion people watch through broadcast networks while my voice prepares to crack under pressure that spans species survival. “Over the past month, I’ve interfaced direc

  • The Lost Brother

    SORA’S POVMetal cages line the underground corridors like cells in a prison designed for consciousness rather than bodies. Each containment unit holds a single interface chair connected to collective communication arrays that hum with harmonics spanning impossible frequencies. The air carries the antiseptic smell of medical facilities and the ozone scent of high-energy electronics operating beyond human safety parameters.“Seventeen active interfaces,” Kira reports, scanning medical monitoring displays that show vital signs for subjects whose consciousness exists partially in individual awareness and partially in collective networks. “All showing stable neural activity. No signs of distress or forced integration trauma.”“Because they’re not fighting it,” I whisper, moving between cages that contain people I recognize from missing person reports filed by families who never got official responses. “They’re participating willingly.”“Or they’ve been conditioned to believe participati

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