January 27, 3070
Enter the code.
I almost slap the shit out of this computer.
That would bring me no good so I don't.
I sigh before pulling back from the screen, my head aching from the strain I have exerted on them. My eyes hurt from the sleep I am repressing and my jaw clenches when all these sacrifices bring me the result of absolute nothing.
I run my hands through my hair, pulling slightly at the roots as if that would help me think more clearly. I glance at the mirror at my side and almost frown. The glow of the monitor casts a harsh light on my tired face, making the dark circles under my eyes even more pronounced. It's been days since I've had a proper night's sleep, and the constant pressure to crack this code is wearing me down.
"Why won't you just work?" I mutter, glaring at the cryptic lines of code on the screen. Every attempt I make feels like another punch in the gut. The clock on the wall ticks louder with each passing second, a cruel reminder of how little time I have left.
NEUN's final presentation for its editorial is tomorrow before it goes into printing for the world and while I am done, I had to that as an excuse to ask for extra time in the lab for obvious reasons. While the board has never actively participated in their institution's editorials, this year is full of surprises. For the first time, they have decided to take a hands-on approach.
Rumors of change had been swirling since the start of the academic year, but no one could have predicted the scale of the board's involvement. It all began with a memo from the chair, outlining a new vision for the institution's publications: a commitment to transparency, innovation, and engagement with the broader community. This vision was ambitious and required an unprecedented level of collaboration between the board, the faculty, and the student body.
My mind has been conjuring thoughts that have no business keeping me tense. Maybe the board looked into my file and found something. My badge or worse my past. Maybe they want to throw me into the system just because they are intrigued. I had seen the flashes of sadism in their eyes during my award ceremony and the way it had crept on my body still pushes my mask to an edge of insanity I have been trained to hide.
I lean back in my chair, trying to stretch out the tension in my neck and shoulders and push all the nonsense at the back of my mind. There is no mistake from my side because it was made sure of. Checked thoroughly by the best. And the system of this institution is just not ready for the mayhem I'll cause once I get what I want.
I bring my attention back to the code. My mind races through the possibilities, searching for the missing piece of the puzzle. I think back to everything I know about the system, every clue I've gathered. There has to be something I'm missing, some small detail that will make everything click into place.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, willing myself to stay calm and focused. "Think, damn it," I whisper to myself. "What am I not seeing?"
Just then, I hear footsteps approaching.
I calmly close the program, switching to my half-made presentation. The door to the lab swings open, and a very arrogant scoff fills the air. "Still banging your head against that wall, I see," he says, leaning casually against the doorframe.
I don't bother looking up but keep him in the line of my peripheral. "What do you want, Karan?"
"Oh, you know, just wanted to see my student representative in action. Making any progress?"
"Loads," I reply dryly, ignoring his remark and taunting tone. "Why don't you go needle someone else? Your student representative is a little busy here."
"Come on, Iris," he chuckles, the sound low and walks over to stand in front of me. "You know you love my company. Besides, I'm dying to see how your little presentation is coming along. Or should I say, not coming along?"
I finally look at him. "I don't have time for your nonsense."
He raises an eyebrow, placing both his hands on the table and tilting his head. "Touchy, aren't we? Maybe if you weren't so inept, you'd have been done with your presentation by now."
"Maybe if you spent less time meddling and more time on building a personality, you might have become the student representative. Guess we don't always get what we want."
Karan's eyes flash with something dangerous — anger. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, the air between us crackles with tension, fueled by our underlying power dynamics within the institution. I've hit a nerve, and he doesn't hide his reaction well. He has always been transparent, wearing his emotions on his sleeve and being an open book for everyone to read. He exudes arrogance and, as the nephew of the institution's head, also entitlement.
He leans forward, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that feels like a vise; the kind of gaze that bores into your soul, threatening to strip away all pretenses and leaving you exposed. The madness lurking behind his eyes is unmistakable, a chilling blend of calculated cunning and unhinged resolve. "I always get what I want, Iris. I take it at any cost, without a shred of remorse."
And then he smiles. " And I can assure you that you won't carry the weight of the title for long."
I tilt my head slightly, studying him with clinical detachment. His bravado, his need for intimidation— it's almost laughable. If he thinks his psychopathic tendencies set him apart, he has no idea who he's dealing with.
I return my eyes to the screen. He is nothing but a clown giving his best. I can feel his eyes boring into me, but I refuse to look up. Just like a clown, Karan Rajbhar thrives on attention, and sometimes, to encourage his delusions, I give him the satisfaction. I focus on the screen, my fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the keyboard.
"Funny," I reply evenly, as I navigate through my presentation. "I was just thinking the same about your delusions of grandeur. The weight of your family's name won't protect you forever."
His hand, resting on the table, flexes, the veins stark against his taut skin. Despite his insufferable nature, his appearance exudes a captivating charm. His looks alone made him a sight for sore eyes, the kind of person who could have effortlessly commanded attention and admiration in any room.
His fashion sense, too, is impeccable; always opting for impeccably tailored clothes that accentuated his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He was the only one, besides me, who opted for corset-fitted attires. Today, he wore a crisp white corset shirt paired with navy blue fitted jeans, complemented by the institution's dark coat and sleek Pehnava boots. He looked like a character from a fairy tale — a character lacking depth or substance, despite his outward allure.
Because beneath the facade of sartorial perfection lay a vacuum of personality.
It was not just his looks that left an impression, but the knowledge that his identity seemed to hinge solely on his familial connection to Dr. Rajbhar. This overshadowed any potential admiration or respect one might have felt, leaving behind a sense of disappointment. His existence seemed reduced to a mere extension of his aunt's influence, devoid of individual merit or substance.
In essence, he embodied the paradox of surface charm masking inner shallowness — a living contradiction of captivating appearance devoid of genuine presence.
"You think this is a joke," he says, his voice low and menacing. "But we'll see who has the last laugh."
I resist the urge to scoff but don't respond. There's nothing to be gained by engaging with his threats. Karan has always relied on his connections and his family's influence to get what he wants. He can't stand the idea that someone else might succeed on merit alone.
After a few more moments of silence, he turns and walks away, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway. As the door swings shut behind him, I take a deep breath and open the code.
I go over it again and again. Time is ticking and I need this to work before the next batch of students comes in. I was granted the permission to use this lab for an hour extra to prepare my presentation since there was no other session here. But there is a class at eleven which leaves me only fifteen minutes to solve this shit. And I have to.
I run through the algorithms, tracing the path of each encryption key I had meticulously prepared. The system's defenses seemed impenetrable, layers of cryptographic barriers designed to repel unauthorized entry.
Entering another set of commands, and hoping against hope for a different outcome, I press Enter and lean back in my chair. "Come on."
The system's response displays red: Enter the code.
My jaw clenches and I suppress the urge to smash the laptop against the mirror. How am I supposed to breach the Access system when I can't even penetrate their basic server defenses? The incessant red warnings on the screen mock my abilities, but I grit my teeth and dive back into the lines of code.
Error messages scroll by in a blur as I scrutinize the intricate algorithms once more. There has to be a flaw, a chink in the armor of their security protocols. My fingers fly across the keyboard, tracing variables and debugging routines in a relentless pursuit of the elusive vulnerability.
A sudden realization jolts me — the encryption key rotation interval. It's a minute detail, but it could be the key to bypassing their authentication barriers. My heart beats with a surge of adrenaline as I hone in on the loophole.
I lean forward so swiftly that a twinge shoots through my neck, but I ignore it. Swiftly, I craft a precise sequence of commands to exploit the vulnerability, my keystrokes deliberate and methodical. With deft precision, I execute a meticulously crafted code injection, bypassing the system's defenses and initiating a subtle override.
Lines of code materialize on the screen, each command calculated to subvert their defenses discreetly. I execute the script with a mix of anxiety and anticipation, the tension in the room palpable.
Seconds stretch into eternity before a flicker of green finally illuminates the screen. The system relents with a green glow of approval. Relief floods through me, mingled with a surge of adrenaline from the close call.
Access granted.
But before I can savor the victory, a voice interrupts. "Miss. Kratos."
I look up to find the lab in-charge standing at the door, watching me expectantly. Suppressing my racing pulse, I nod slightly before swiftly saving my work and erasing any trace of my activities.
"Will you need the lab again?" he asks as I gather my belongings and approach him.
"No," I reply and he nods in understanding, stepping aside to let me pass. As I walk past him, my heart still pounds furiously, the adrenaline coursing through me a reminder of the narrow triumph.
Tomorrow, I'll see the secrets buried within the institution's fortified walls myself.
゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜゜
The world dissolved into an inky void.
Panic clawed at my throat as I realize I am blind, utterly cut off from any light. My breaths came in ragged gasps, the air thick and stale like a forgotten tomb.
Hands.
Cold, boneless fingers slithering across my skin, leaving a trail of disgust in their wake. They brush against my arms, my legs, coiling around my neck in a silent, clammy grip. There are too many, impossible to track their movements. It feels like a swarm of unseen things toying with me, their touch sending tremors down my spine.
I thrash against them, a primal scream caught in my dry throat. But they are everywhere, slipping through my desperate attempts to push them away. The lack of sight made the threat even more terrifying, leaving my imagination to conjure unseen horrors lurking just beyond the reach of my senses.
Was I buried alive? Trapped in some monstrous spiderweb? The possibilities swirled in my mind, each one more horrifying than the last.
The pressure in my chest grows, threatening to crush me.
I need air, need light, need to escape this suffocating darkness.
I need my mother.
My eyes open, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Cold sweat clings to my skin and even with the comforter pulled over me, a tremor runs through my body, the memory of those unseen hands sending a fresh wave of disgust churning in my gut. I sit up and calmly place my hand against my furiously beating heart. Lowering my head, I start counting in reverse.
"You won't even find her body."
My jaw clenches but I try to focus on the numbers.
91, 90, 89, 88 —
"She screamed so pretty. Do you think she will scream prettier once we start skinning her?"
My hands ball into fist. 87, 86, 85, 84 —
"They all died because of you."
I grab the pillow and scream into it. The pain in my heart spreads across my body but the rage and helplessness surge through me like wildfire. I can't lose control now, not when everything depends on staying focused.
83, 82, 81 —
"You're nothing without her. Just a shell, a failure."
Tears burn my eyes, but I force myself to concentrate on the numbers, to ground myself.
80, 79, 78 —
"She begged for you. Whispered your name with her last breath."
The image of her face flashes before my eyes, and I nearly falter. I dig my nails into the back of my neck, drawing blood, using the pain to anchor myself.
77, 76, 75 —
"Do you think anyone will even remember you? Remember her?"
My breath hitches, but I push through, one number at a time.
74, 73, 72 —
"Tick-tock. Time's running out."
The ticking of the clock becomes deafening, each second hammering away at my resolve.
71, 70, 69 —
"I wonder if she'll still love you when she sees what you've become."
I take a deep, shuddering breath, forcing the air into my lungs, forcing myself to keep counting.
68, 67, 66 —
"Or will she hate you for failing her?"
The pressure in my chest is unbearable, but I can't let the voice win. I can't let it break me.
65, 64, 63 —
"You couldn't save her. Just like you couldn't save the others."
My heart pounds, a drumbeat of despair, but I latch onto the numbers, the only lifeline I have left.
62, 61, 60 —
"You will become a monster."
Each number is a defiance, a refusal to give in.
59, 58, 57 —
"I'll make sure you hear her screams every night."
The voice laughs, a chilling sound that echoes in the empty room. But I won't stop. I won't give up.
56, 55, 54 —
"I'll haunt you. Forever."
My nails dig further into my nape, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. But I continue, clinging to the numbers, the only shred of control I have left.
53, 52, 51 —
Slowly, faintly, the voice fades, replaced by the rhythmic count, and for a moment, just a moment, there is silence.
50.