Chapter 37: Determination
The next morning, I stood at PIUT's towering gates, their sheer size making me feel smaller than ever. The crisp morning air carried a faint chill, and I pulled my jacket tighter as I walked through, the campus alive with its usual hum of activity.
Inside, Sarah greeted me and led me down a quiet corridor. She seemed preoccupied, her thoughts elsewhere, and I chose not to pry. Silence hung between us, but it wasn't uncomfortable—just the natural result of two people lost in their own worlds.
We arrived at a sleek, glass-walled conference room. Sunlight streamed in, catching the polished surface of the table, where a thick, black-bound document sat waiting. Dr. Elara was already seated, her expression calm but unreadable.
"Rio," Dr. Elara said, her voice measured but warm. "I'm glad you decided to return. Please, have a seat."
I slid into the chair across from her, my heart pounding.
The Akashic Project was unlike anything PIUT—or any other institution—had ever attempted. It promised extraordinary growth and unprecedented opportunities for those who dared to participate. But it came at a cost. A year in isolation at a specialized facility, where every moment would be meticulously controlled, with no contact with the outside world.
Dr. Elara's voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed a mix of caution and concern. "The risks," she explained, "are as significant as the rewards. The experimental techniques we'll employ are rigorous—designed to push every boundary of your physical, mental, and emotional limits. They're not for everyone, and even the strongest participants will face extraordinary strain."
She paused, her gaze locking onto mine. "This is not something to underestimate. Success will demand more than talent or passion. It will require unwavering focus, unshakable resolve, and the ability to adapt under pressure. Those who fail... may face consequences far more severe than disappointment. We're talking about potential mental trauma—breakdowns that could take years to recover from, if recovery is even possible."
Her words should have weighed heavy on me. But as she spoke, the warning seemed to pass through me, unregistered, like whispers lost in the wind. My mind was consumed by one singular thought: To be the best in the world. I mean who wouldn't want to be? It may be childish reason, but honestly, I don't really care.
I thought of yesterday's performance, the way the audience held their breath as my fingers danced across the piano keys. Echo of Tomorrow. The melody still lingered in my mind, haunting and beautiful, like a promise of what could be. Everything I had worked for, sacrificed for, led to this moment. How could I hesitate now?
Dr. Elara slid the final page of the agreement toward me, her slender finger pointing to the bold line at the bottom. "If you choose to proceed, you'll need to sign here," she said softly.
The pen felt heavier in my hand than I expected, its weight disproportionate to its size. It was as if it knew the gravity of the decision I was about to make. I stared at the page, the black text blurring slightly as adrenaline coursed through me. The line waiting for my signature seemed almost predatory, like a trap set for the unwary.
But the decision itself wasn't heavy. It was already made.
Taking a deep breath, I pressed the pen to the paper, letting my name flow out in a smooth, confident stroke. Once I finished, I exhaled and set the pen down. For hours afterward, she meticulously explained everything I should expect and what would happen, outlining every detail without leaving anything out.
Dr. Elara picked up the contract, scanned it briefly, then looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite decipher. Relief? Pity? Or perhaps, both? "The project begins in two weeks," she said, her tone formal but tinged with gravity. "Until then, you must prepare. Inform your family, settle your affairs, and most importantly, reflect on the path you've chosen. I cannot stress this enough—if you approach this lightly, it could cost you dearly."
"I understand," I replied, though my voice sounded distant to my own ears. "Thank you for everything, Dr. Elara."
She nodded but didn't say another word. Her gaze lingered on me as I stood, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of unease. Then I pushed it aside.
With the contract in her hands and determination in mine, I turned and walked out of her office. The corridor outside was silent, the soft hum of fluorescent lights the only sound. My footsteps echoed faintly as I made my way out, each step feeling heavier than the last.
Yet, beneath the weight of it all, a thrill coursed through me. The kind that comes when standing at the edge of something vast, terrifying, and extraordinary. I didn't look back.
Sarah wasn't waiting outside this time, which unsettled me. Without her, I had no idea how to navigate my way back through the building's maze-like paths.
Before I could start to panic about finding my way, a soft chime drew my attention. I turned to see a small robot rolling toward me. It was tiny, only about knee-high, with a sleek, metallic frame accented by soft pastel lights that pulsed gently as it moved. Its round eyes glowed a friendly shade of blue.
"Greetings," it said in a voice that was unnervingly chipper yet hollow, like a recording played one too many times. "I am ALT, your navigation assistant. You appear to require guidance. Allow me to escort you to the exit."
I hesitated, staring at the bot. Something about its stillness felt... wrong, like it was waiting for me to respond in just the right way. Its lights pulsed rhythmically, faint but insistent.
"Sure," I finally said, my voice sounding too loud in the empty space.
Without another word, Lumi turned and started gliding forward. Its movement was smooth, almost too smooth, as if it wasn't rolling on wheels but floating just above the ground. I followed, my footsteps the only sound besides the faint hum of its servos.
"This place is enormous," I said, trying to break the silence.
"Indeed," ALT replied, its voice devoid of warmth despite its polite tone. "PIUT spans 12 interconnected buildings, each containing over 50 specialized rooms. Navigation can be challenging for those unfamiliar. Many have become... lost."
I didn't like how it said lost, the word lingering in the air longer than it should have.
The halls around us stretched endlessly, each turn revealing another identical corridor. The lights overhead flickered occasionally, casting long, shifting shadows on the walls. Every so often, I thought I heard faint noises—whispers or the scrape of something dragging across the floor—but when I stopped to listen, there was only silence.
"Are there... usually more people here?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
"The campus is active during scheduled hours," ALT replied, the answer vague. "However, humans must vacate certain areas to maintain... order."
It didn't explain further, and I didn't press. The longer I followed this thing, the more I felt the walls closing in, the corridors growing narrower. My breath felt too loud, my skin prickling with the sensation of being watched, though there was no one—nothing—around but it and the suffocating emptiness.
"Here we are," it announced abruptly, stopping in front of the glass exit doors. Its lights flashed green, a sharp contrast to the cold glow of the building's interior. "If you require additional assistance, please use the interface stations located throughout the campus. Safe travels."
"Thanks," I muttered, stepping past it.
As the doors slid open with a hiss, I turned back to the bot, my breath catching in my throat. Its lights had changed. No longer the soft, welcoming blue, they now glowed a pale, sickly yellow. The pulsing rhythm matched the hum in the air, and for a brief moment, I swore the corners of its metallic body twitched, like it was trying to move but couldn't.
I glanced around, hoping to see another person or a passing car on the distant road. Anything. But there was no one. Just the empty expanse of the campus stretching out under the dim, uneven glow of the lights.
"Safe travels," the bot's voice echoed faintly in my mind. But when I strained to hear, the words weren't spoken. They were inside, playing like a broken record on a loop.
A rush of adrenaline hit me, and I turned away, my legs moving before my mind caught up. I walked quickly, the crunch of gravel beneath my feet sounding too loud in the empty night. I kept my head down, forcing myself not to look back.