The day began like any other.
Too ordinary.
Aira woke up exactly at 7:00 AM without an alarm. No reluctance. No heaviness. Everything moved smoothly—too smoothly to be called living.
She stood before the mirror, staring at her reflection.
No physical change.
But something was missing.
Her phone lit up.
"Phase Three: Empathy Termination."
She read it twice.
"Termination…" she whispered.
No fear.
No anger.
Only acceptance.
"Today is the final test."
She looked out the window. The sun rose as usual. People below walked as usual.
No one knew.
The assignment led her to an old hospital at the edge of the city.
The building was silent—but not empty.
Her footsteps echoed through the long corridors. The scent of antiseptic mixed with something heavier—emotions trapped for too long.
Her phone vibrated.
"Primary subject located on the third floor."
She took the stairs.
Each step felt light.
As if her body no longer carried emotional weight.
On the third floor, she saw Farid.
Sitting alone on a metal bench. Pale face. Red eyes. Like someone who hadn't slept in days.
Aira's heart beat—
but this time, it was only biology.
Farid looked up.
"Aira?" His voice was hoarse. "I knew you'd come."
She stopped a few steps away.
Her phone vibrated sharply.
"Primary subject confirmed."
"Directive: Do not interfere."
Farid stood slowly. "I found something," he said. "About the contract. About you."
Aira looked at him.
No panic.
No relief.
"What do you know?" she asked calmly.
Farid let out a small, almost hysterical laugh. "It doesn't choose people randomly, Aira. It chooses those willing to abandon emotion first… to survive."
She didn't deny it.
"I think you've changed," Farid continued. "And I think I'm the next casualty."
Those words should have shattered her.
But Aira only listened—like a proper witness.
Her phone lit up again.
"Interference will void the contract."
"All payments will be revoked."
Aira looked at Farid.
Then… she turned away.
"Aira?" His voice trembled.
Her steps didn't stop.
At that moment—something inside her snapped.
Not sorrow.
Not love.
Empathy.
When she exited the hospital, a final message appeared.
"Empathy: DISABLED."
"Status: Full Witness."
Aira looked up at the sky.
No sense of loss.
Only one quiet realization:
To survive this contract,
she would have to stop being human.