CTS TIME RE250.06.03 — 6:00 AM
Sophia woke before the room's circadian system gently brightened the artificial dawn. For a moment she lay still, staring at the ceiling as pale gold light bled through the holographic sky panels. Her body stretched on instinct—arms above her head, spine arching slightly—muscle memory from years of training. The soreness reminded her she was alive, grounded, here.
A thought tried to surface.
Something heavy. Something unresolved.
She shut it down almost immediately.
Not now, she told herself. Later. I'll think later.
Rolling out of bed, she padded across the floor, the surface warming beneath her bare feet. The room responded to her presence quietly—no dramatic shifts, no bending gravity like it did for him. Just soft compliance, ordinary and human. She appreciated that more than she wanted to admit.
In the kitchenette, she prepared breakfast by hand instead of letting the machines do it. Eggs, bread, a little protein paste modified to taste like something comforting rather than efficient. The act of cooking steadied her. The small sounds—the crack of an egg, the hiss of heat, the faint hum of the ventilation—stitched her back together piece by piece.
While she ate, she stared at nothing in particular, chewing slowly.
Her mind drifted despite her effort.
If I walk that hallway…
The thought stopped halfway.
She knew exactly which hallway. The one that curved left instead of right. The one that always felt warmer, heavier, as if space itself leaned toward a single presence.
Dr. F's quarters.
Her hand paused midair, fork hovering. She set it down deliberately.
"No," she said softly to the empty room, as if answering someone who wasn't there. "Not today."
After finishing, she cleaned up with the same deliberate care, wiping the counter, aligning the utensils. Control. Structure. Small certainties.
She dressed in her Mk 4 veteran uniform, the fabric sealing itself neatly along her frame. The mirror caught her reflection—eyes steady, posture straight—but she noticed the faint shadows beneath her eyes. Not exhaustion. Something else.
Resolve, maybe. Or avoidance.
When she stepped into the corridor, the station was already alive. Mk 2 units moved in precise formations, Mk 3s conversed in clipped, efficient tones, and a few Mk 4 veterans nodded at her in passing. She returned the gestures automatically, professional, composed.
At the junction ahead, the corridor split.
Left: Dr. F's sector.
Right: Training, assignments, neutrality.
Sophia slowed for just a fraction of a second.
Her chest tightened—not painfully, just enough to be noticeable.
If I go left…
She didn't finish the thought.
Her boots turned right.
As she walked away, she felt something like pressure release inside her, followed immediately by a hollow ache she refused to examine. The hallway ahead brightened, the gravity normalized, the air lighter.
I need space, she told herself. Just for today.
Behind her, far down the other corridor, the air remained heavy and still—unmoved, waiting—but she did not look back.
Not this morning.
Sophia slowed her pace as the thought settled in, not suddenly, but like a calculated conclusion reached after eliminating every other option.
I've barely seen anything, she admitted to herself.
The realization almost made her laugh—soft, breathless, without humor. The DNA complex was a miniverse stitched together by intellects that bent physics, economics, biology, and morality. She had walked its corridors for days now, fought in its arenas, slept in quarters that could simulate entire worlds… and still she had explored less than a fraction of it.
Ten percent, she thought. If that.
Her mind began sorting places instinctively, like a tactical map.
Dr F's block—
She had explored that. Lived in it. Felt its warmth, its danger, its intimacy. That place no longer felt neutral. It felt… personal. Too personal.
Dr X's block—
Her stomach tightened.
The memory of red dim lights, gravity pressing into her lungs, the sense of being watched even when alone—she shut that door in her mind immediately.
Never again, she told herself firmly. Not even if the system allows it.
Which left only one.
Dr A.
She slowed near a transparent observation window overlooking the central spine of the DNA complex. Far below, logistics platforms glided like silent fish, data-streams rippling through the air as visible light. Above, the artificial sky adjusted to a cooler hue, signaling the shift into late morning operations.
Dr A Market Block, she repeated internally.
Unlike Dr F's domain of creation and annihilation, or Dr X's former territory of horror, Dr A's block was spoken of differently. Neutral. Calculated. Clean. The place where power wasn't forged or destroyed—but exchanged.
The economist, Sophia thought. The strategist.
She remembered his calm voice. The Alpha symbol stitched into his pristine coat. The way he spoke as if every word had already been simulated a thousand times before leaving his mouth.
"He told Dr F to send me out," she muttered under her breath. "Just like that."
There was no malice in the memory. No cruelty. Just… efficiency.
That unsettled her in a different way.
If Dr F is a storm, she thought, and Dr X was a disease… then Dr A is gravity.
Invisible. Unavoidable. Absolute.
Her boots changed direction almost on their own, guided by curiosity sharpened by caution. As she moved deeper into the transit corridors, the architecture subtly shifted. The walls grew smoother, less ornamental. The lighting became softer but more precise, illuminating only what needed to be seen.
No excess.
No intimidation.
Just control.
Sophia noticed something else too—the hallway didn't react to her emotionally the way Dr F's sector did. No bending space. No oppressive weight. The environment acknowledged her presence, logged it, but did not respond to it.
So this is what neutrality feels like, she thought.
A transport platform slid silently into place ahead of her, its surface glass-clear, symbols forming beneath her feet as she stepped on.
DESTINATION: DR A — MARKET & SYSTEMS BLOCK
CLEARANCE: MK 4 VETERAN — CONDITIONAL ACCESS
She hesitated for half a second.
Her reflection stared back at her from the polished surface—same uniform, same eyes—but something behind them had changed in the last twenty-four hours. She wasn't the woman who had entered DNA desperate for purpose anymore.
She was someone who knew too much.
And still wants to know more, she admitted.
The platform began to move.
As it descended, Sophia folded her arms lightly, resting one hand over the other—not defensive, but grounding. Her thoughts drifted, cautious but curious.
What kind of man builds a world by balancing numbers instead of bodies?
What does power look like when it doesn't scream or bleed?
For the first time since that morning, she felt something unfamiliar but welcome rise in her chest.
Anticipation.
Not fear. Not desire.
Understanding.
"Alright, Dr A," she whispered to the empty air, a faint, wry smile touching her lips. "Let's see what kind of monster you are… if you even are one."
The platform accelerated smoothly, carrying her into the heart of the last unexplored pillar of DNA.
The moment Sophia crossed the threshold into Dr A's block, something inside her loosened.