??? POV

  There was that familiar, mildly unpleasant sterile smell the moment I stepped into this part of the facility.

  It was nothing like the development wing, where the air was usually a questionable mix of cup noodles, cold pizza, and burnt coffee. This pce felt... scrubbed. Stripped.

  No color anywhere.

  The floors, the walls, the ceiling—everything was white. Painfully so.

  And the lighting—don't even get me started on that. Bright enough to be uncomfortable, the kind that made it feel like it was pressing down on your eyes rather than illuminating anything.

  I walked down the long, empty hallway, my footsteps echoing far more than they should have.

  Eventually, I stopped in front of one of the massive metal doors. Thick, reinforced. The only sign of life came from the thin stripes of blue light running along its frame.

  I pressed my palm against the scanner.

  The machine took its time, as if deciding whether I was worth letting in. Then it blinked green, and the door slid open with a low mechanical hum.

  Inside, an entire wall was taken up by a single massive monitor.

  Bubbling va filled the screen.

  Not a feed. Not a camera angle. Just an endless, churning sea of molten rock.

  Men and women in long white coats rushed back and forth across the room. Every single one of them looked exhausted—dark circles under their eyes, shoulders slumped, movements sharp and mechanical.

  Some were already on their fifth or sixth cup of coffee, judging by the empty mugs scattered across desks.

  No one looked surprised to see me.

  If anything, they looked relieved someone else had walked in.

  One of the monitors let out a short beep, a red warning sign fshing across the screen.

  Before I could even process it, someone rushed over and began typing furiously. The sharp, mechanical ctter of keyboards mixed with the low electrical hum of the room, a soundscape that slowly but surely drove me insane.

  I genuinely couldn't understand how some people could sit here for twelve hours straight and still get up the next morning as if nothing was wrong.

  Everywhere I looked, there were graphs—green, red, blue—lines rising and falling, numbers shifting so quickly they blurred together. None of it meant anything to me. Not really.

  But I wasn't here for any of that anyway. My purpose y somewhere beyond this dread-inducing room.

  My heels ccked sharply against the floor as I picked up my pace, eager to put distance between myself and this pce.

  "Judith..."

  A male voice called out from behind me.

  "You don't often come to this area. What brings you here?"

  I turned, my gaze nding on a middle-aged man with a three-day beard and a coffee mug clutched in his hand, some corny line printed across it. He looked exhausted—if that word even did him justice.

  "Heeth..." I said, raising my tone to sound friendlier. "Indeed, I really don't enjoy this pce."

  I answered while clutching my clipboard a little tighter, my eyes wandering around the room before I let out a long sigh.

  "I'm on my way to Mister Gark. I've got a few things to discuss with him regarding the development team and OTM."

  He let out a long, understanding hum before taking a sip of his pitch-bck coffee.

  "That's a good thing," he muttered. "At least one department is making progress..."

  He sighed, scratching through his messy bck hair while grinding his teeth slightly.

  "Hm..."

  I lowered my head, staring at the white floor instead of meeting his eyes. Silence settled between us for a brief moment.

  "Alright," he said eventually. "I'll get back to work then. Got a team meeting in about twenty minutes, so I need to prepare."

  He turned and started walking away, waving goodbye with his thin hand.

  "Take care."

  With that, he disappeared behind the countless monitors.

  I continued on my way, moving toward the end of the sector until I stopped in front of a thin gss door.

  Behind it sat a man in a rge leather chair, a cigarette between his fingers, rubbing his forehead as if trying to think his way out of a nightmare.

  I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  "Good morning, sir."

  I greeted Mister Gark, bowing slightly. He acknowledged me with a low growl.

  "Well, this is everything but a good morning," he replied, setting his cigarette into the ashtray and letting it burn on its own. "But I wish you a fabulous morning as well, Judith. What brings you here?"

  "Yes. We've made progress regarding Project OTM."

  The moment I said it, his eyes lit up. He nearly jumped out of his chair.

  "A subject going by the alias Lavapup has activated the first world quest."

  I gnced down at my clipboard as I spoke.

  Sir Gark sank back into his chair, a sigh of relief whistling through his gray beard.

  "Good... that's good."

  He looked up at me again, the relief already fading.

  "How long until we can proceed with the stress test?"

  I adjusted my gsses and cleared my throat, checking the clipboard once more.

  "According to the development team—depending on the subject's efficiency—approximately one to two weeks."

  I watched his expression darken.

  "That's long," he murmured. "A little too long..."

  "I know, sir," I replied carefully. "But there's nothing we can do at the moment. Intervening further would introduce errors into the artificial intelligence's code."

  I apologized for the dey, but he only shook his head.

  "No. That's not the problem, Judith."

  He smmed his hands onto the desk.

  "We have no time. Things are spiraling out of control, and the control wing can do nothing but watch in silence while our goddamn pnet slowly turns to fucking ash because they're all useless!"

  He swept his arm across the desk. Documents, pens—everything—crashed to the floor, scattering across the dark carpet.

  I stood there, eyes wide, clutching my clipboard tightly against my chest.

  I swallowed hard—not because of Mister Gark's outburst, but because of the weight behind his words.

  "Sir," I said firmly, "there's no use raging like this. They are trying everything they can. Even they have their limits."

  I defended them despite our boss's fury.

  He slumped back into his chair so deeply that his elbows rose higher than his head on the armrests.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered. "That was uncalled for."

  Then he paused, looking at me with dead seriousness.

  "But can you really bme me...?"

  Another pause.

  "Let's be real here."

  "We are running toward the end."