60. Code.Test.Repeat.
Code.Test.Repeat.
Playlist: Limits (Unplugged) - Bad Omens
Kael
Sleep. It eludes me.
The penthouse is dark, the early dim rays of sunrise beginning to seep into the rainy haze of the city.
Holograms flicker and jump, new programs running after TheKast updated their software.
I sip a cup of highly caffeinated coffee and look out at the skyline, hoping to reboot my brain before I continue laying the groundwork for Lyra’s extraction.
Holo-ads begin their frenzied movement, projecting from skyscrapers and floating in the air.
Vibrant colors come to life and for the rest of the day the city will be perpetually bathed in the electric glow of neon.
A holo-ballerina, the length of an entire skyscraper flutters incessantly, casting long streaks of light over the barren early morning street, devoid of any greenery or signs of life.
I push open the balcony door and step out onto the concrete.
The air is thick with smog and mist, dirty and rain soaked.
The hopelessness of the urban decay beneath the technological surface is not lost on me.
I lean over the wall resting my forearms on the ledge, thoughts invading the space between logic and code. My intention was to go into DreamNet, warn Lyra and Eli about Vikktor and return to the lab to begin testing cybernetic prototypes in preparation for Lyra’s extraction.
But I just couldn’t leave her.
Every minute I spent on that beach with her was like a kick to the head, my brain rattling inside my skull, disorienting me, then leading me to a conscious state of euphoria. Like the hit you never want to take again but would also kill to feel twice.
Code. Test. Repeat. A series of motions I’ll run through like a mindless machine before I execute. All of it, just to make her mine.
Gods, how I wanted her last night, a yearning so deep, I felt it in the very dark depths of my soul, threatening to corrupt the precise, elegant structure of my plans for us.
I won’t settle for pixels.
I want all of her. Every inch, every gasp, every heartbeat under my hands. When she’s whole again, I’ll make sure the first thing she feels is me.
The light from the monitor illuminates the corner of my living room, a soft shade of gray is cast over every corner, as I let my simulator run through test scenarios in a controlled environment. Every frame ends the same:
SUBJECT DELETED
HOST NOT FOUND
EXTRACTION INCOMPLETE
I shut it all out. Ash. Ember. Eli. Jett. Even Vikktor. I need to silence the doubt.
Discipline. It’s what I need in this time of preparation.
I strip my T-shirt off and throw it over my desk.
On the mat, my fists meet the padded column until skin splits and blood runs.
Each strike represents the pain I carry within, the anger I can’t contain, the memories haunting me relentlessly.
The weight of my past comes crashing down on me, the shame consuming my soul.
Each breath is a knot tied to keep me from falling apart.
My psyche knows what I’m about to do, what I’ve already decided.
There’s a line no one should cross. Not scientist, not sorcerer, nor god. The boundary between life and creation, between what breathes and what obeys. I’ve spent my entire life enforcing that fine line. Keeping it clean. Keeping it human.
And now I’m about to erase it all.
Every algorithm I’ve written screams at me to stop, denies me an acceptable outcome, even with my magic rising to the surface.
Normally I would engage LINK to help. She would have a concise objective: Let the system collapse, let nature take its course, let Lyra be consumed, used for the sake of technical advancement.
Listen to yourself, Kael. She. LINK is not a she. LINK is an it.
What has the Corporation done to me? Has it taken my humanity, turned me into the soulless, uncaring entity I strived to create? Because this...this isn’t resurrection. It’s a rewrite of humanity as we know it. It’s playing god with something that shouldn’t belong to any man.
But then I think of her. The way my name rolls off her lips like it’s both a curse and a prayer. A verbal devotion. I’m about to commit a sin that looks a lot like salvation.
She makes this madness feel like purpose. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You give a man like me a reason, and suddenly morality becomes optionable, something to bend, to code around.
The architects before me built systems. I’m building something else entirely.
A doorway to humanity? A bridge to rebirth? I don’t know what to call it.
This cybernetic program has been at the forefront of Vikktor’s agenda for a year now. Progress has been made, but to this level? Definitely not. We were supposed to create a framework, a neural clone, a controlled consciousness, not...this. Not something capable of thinking, feeling, and living.
The project was meant to be an enhancement to citizen enforcement, the perfect soldier, hard-wired, half-machine, half-human, programmable, and obedient.
A legion to keep the U21 rebellion quelled.
Ember and I worked side by side for months on the interface, the muscle-to-chip translation, the emotional suppression filters.
It was all theory at first, controlled, predictable behavior. Until LINK began evolving. I knew it was happening before Lyra even appeared in my system. And back then? I welcomed it.
Now LINK is no longer mimicking; she’s learning. Adapting. Finding empathy, anger, and especially jealousy. Human flaws woven into silicon chips. I can clearly see the irony in front of me: The system we built to enslave others is the same one I’m about to defile to free her.
If Vikktor learns I can bring consciousness through the system into a physical body, he’ll see it as the final piece of his puzzle, the perfect weapon. Not a soldier bound by orders, but by loyalty. Combine that with Eli’s VoidChanneling, and there’s no end to the power the Corporation could wield.
Lyra.
She’s what I’ve been trying to build all along, an AI entity, a machine that feels. A heart inside circuitry. A woman. No, a goddess.
Am I an idiot for giving Vikktor the blueprint?
Strike. The chain on the bag rattles, breaking the quiet morning. My thoughts scatter like the dust, dancing in the glow of the monitors. If I do this, there’s no turning back. The world won’t be ready. Hell, I’m not even ready.
But I’d rather smother in darkness with her than live in the light without her.
In the lab, I’ve been burying myself in code, rewriting every string, every bypass, every back door. My veins of magic flaring, guiding my fingers faster than I ever thought possible. Yet nothing ends with my Little Taiyō out and in my arms. It’s always:
EXTRACTION INCOMPLETE
Every damn time.
I re-wrap my knuckles, letting the blood flow through them, hoping to cleanse away any blockages preventing me from the desired outcome of complete extraction.
The wall monitor blinks in my periphery, a couple of pieces of choked static, and then Lyra appears in her window form.
I flex my hands, glancing up at her through sweat-laden strands of hair.
“Hi.” Her voice cuts into the silence, small, introspective. Just hearing her voice makes my knees weak with desire.
I half-expect LINK to ruin the moment with a startling command, but she’s not here. It’s just Lyra and me, standing in the faint glow of the monitors and muted morning light.
Lyra hugs herself, worry is smeared all over her pretty face. “It’s too quiet.”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out rougher than I want it to. I’m supposed to be calm, the one who always exudes authority. I have to hide the tremor in my words.
She glances at me, reading me the way only she can. “You’re stressed.”
I huff a bitter laugh. “I don’t get stressed.”
“Then what’s that?” She gestures to my hands, the white wraps turning red, stained and spotted. I can feel my heartbeat drumming in my temples, a faint flicker of orange still pulsing in my ink. She’s too observant. Always has been.
I step closer, into the darkness, and let her image cast golden light over me. “It’s called recalibrating. I’m not in the habit of ripping open my own system to create a person.”
We fall into silence. The sim program pings, letting me know it has completed another test scenario. I’m loath to look at it.
“How does this all end?” she asks quietly. Her tone is somber, not the normal Lyra, filled with magenta-and-amber sunlight.
“When I pull you out”—I force confidence into my answer—“LINK will lose her hold. The grid will collapse behind you. But you’ll be real, Taiyō. Breath. Blood. Touch. No code. No limits.”
“And you? How will it end for you?”
I hesitate, eyes shifting downward. “It looks like I may have to use my magic to force this, to become the system. There is a risk of total collapse. If that happens the way I think it will...” A humorless smirk. “I could go down with it.”
Her face tightens. “No. You’re not dying for me.”
“Not dying, re-coding. If LINK takes me out, the system goes down with me. And that’s how I keep you safe.”
Lyra suddenly appears in holo-form in front of me, blocking my path back to the mat. She grips my bloody hands, her wavering holo-touch running a path of chills up my arms. She leans in, her breath ghosting against my lips. “Find another way. You always do.”
“Working on it.” I brush her hair behind her ear and press our lips together. The kiss tastes of salt, sweat, and unshed tears. Sorrowful, like I’m preparing to say goodbye. I feel my body freeze in place.
“I trust you.” She gives me a look as if the words sting as she releases them.
“Mhmmm...you’re such a pretty little liar, Taiyō.” Her forehead rests against my lips. I pull her away, my gaze fixed on her mouth. I’m already longing to rejoin our lips for another breathless, messy, too many emotions packed into this moment, kind of kiss.
“You don’t have to hate me to survive anymore.” Blood from my knuckles soaks her cheek with a hint of red.
Her hand grips mine gently as a sigh escapes. “Then what do I do? I don’t know any other way.”
“Join me, fight beside me. And when this is over . . .” I hesitate. “Then you’ll finally be mine.” The kiss that follows isn’t desperate, it’s deliberate. It’s an agreement. Two entities syncing after too long apart.
“I’m scared,” she admits. “Not of dying. Of not feeling. Of waking up and not being me anymore.”
My heart stutters, as if an arrow has been shot clear through all four chambers.
I reach up, fingers twisting in the back of her hair.
“You’ll still be you because I’ll make sure of it.
I’m not letting you go anywhere. Even if something like that were to happen, I’ll do whatever it takes to bring you back to me. ”
She nods, but I can still see the little seeds of doubt and fear beginning to sprout. I lead her to the sofa, her sketchbook right where she left it. I pick it up and sit her on my lap. I begin to speak as I draw. “This is how it happens,” I say quietly. “The extraction.”
I draw a circle split into four quadrants. One for me. One for her. One for Jett. One for the vessel that will hold what’s left of her when it’s done.
“Think of it like a bridge that will run through both our magics. Your EchoWeaving will locate the frequency of your consciousness inside the grid. I’ll build the actual bridge with my CoreCasting on top of the code I’ve already written to transfer you from the system.
Jett’s SoulReaving will anchor your essence, your literal soul, to the new cybernetic body.
Once that happens, the system, or LINK, could try to delete what it thinks is a duplicate of you.
It won’t allow a copy of a copy. That’s what I’m trying to resolve now. ”
“LINK,” she mutters to herself.
I nod. “She’ll probably think you’re a virus or an anomaly, trying to escape. The only thing keeping her from tearing the bridge apart will be us. Our powers. In sync.”
The weight of my words hit her hard. It’s not just a plan. It’s a bond. A merging. If we’re out of sync, she could disappear into the system forever, and I could destroy everything I’ve spent my entire life building.
I continue my explanation. “Your extraction will happen during the Eclipse Night celebration, since it’s an engineered blackout across the grid, every system will be down. Everything asleep for twelve hours, and Vikktor will be distracted; that’s when we make our move.”
“Distracted? How can we be sure he or the CIC won’t know?” Her eyes are wandering, filled with worry.
“Vikktor has a big gala every year on Eclipse Night, some corporate ridiculousness that celebrates himself as the savior of the city.
Champagne, suits making speeches, everyone pretending they’re not terrified of the man signing their paychecks.”
I squeeze her fingers, a faint smile tugging at my mouth. “The entire city will go dark for the celebration and for twenty-four hours after: DreamNet, GameNet, surveillance, all of it. He’ll be too busy shaking hands and basking in his god complex to notice anything going on in the lab.”
She squirms uncomfortably.
“I’ll keep the systems online, do some cowboy coding, keep it on the down low.”
“Cowboy coding?” Her brows wrinkle, questioning my plan.
“Yes. A term for acting without following standard procedures, like running untested code directly in a production environment.” My fingers trace her jaw tenderly. “Think outlaws good...sheriff bad.” I laugh.
Her eyes widen. “So, while the city is dark...”
“While the city is dark,” I finish, “we reset the light.”