A heavy night loomed over the dome of Seleneus-9, but the darkness within Lina's heart ran deeper.
Since that night in Warehouse-6, something had changed. It wasn't just the symbols that had appeared—it was a feeling... as if something dormant deep inside her had begun to stir, stretching its limbs silently, testing the edges of its cage.
"Welcome back, LINA-01. It's time to remember."
The message never left her mind. It replayed every night, a faint hum beneath her skull. She told no one. Not even Sylvia—who always sensed the oddities in her—could decode Lina's newfound silence, the restless flicker in her gaze, the searching look for something unnamed.
The next day, base routine resumed—or so it seemed. Captain Ryn patrolled the corridors, the maintenance crew tackled generator faults, and pilots trained in zero-gravity maneuvers. But to Lina, it all felt like... a performance. A well-directed play hiding black secrets beneath the stage.
She walked the halls, distracted, noticing the smallest details: the color of the lights, the sound of doors sliding open, the echo of footsteps on metal floors. Everything seemed coded—awaiting a mind to crack the cipher.
Then came the call.
"Pilot Lina, report to Lab 3-C immediately."
An emotionless robotic voice—yet it hit like a slap. She wasn't usually summoned to labs.
There, Dr. Mirai awaited her—but this time, she wasn't alone. Beside her stood a man in a dark formal uniform, with piercing gray eyes that seemed to scan every vibration in Lina's body. His chest bore an emblem she didn't recognize.
He spoke softly, yet with an undertone of danger:
"Lina... we need your help with a new experiment."
Lina glanced at Mirai. The doctor didn't flinch. Her face was unreadable, wearing a mask Lina had never seen before.
"What kind of experiment?" she asked.
"Your memory," the man replied.
A chill ran through her veins.
"What about my memory?"
"We're activating dormant regions of your consciousness. It may help us uncover unique patterns... for the benefit of us all."
His words were sugar-coated, but something in his tone made her feel like a tool.
She was led into a neuro-mapping chamber—walls of glass, watching interfaces, mechanical eyes fixed on her. Complex machinery surrounded her, cables like metallic roots stretching toward her skull, as if nature itself was trying to tap into her mind.
They induced a semi-conscious state—half awake, half dream.
And inside... she began to see.
Fragmented visions—her memory a scorched room still smoldering. Rainfall, the scent of wet soil, nameless familiar faces. Then... a burst of light, and a whisper:
"Awaken."
But it wasn't an external voice. It was hers.
She spoke from within... or from something else that lived inside her.
Outside, the monitoring equipment glitched. Warning messages cascaded across the screens. Frequencies spiked beyond normal ranges. Mirai shouted:
"Shut it down! She's breaching limits!"
But the gray-eyed man raised a calm hand.
"No. Let her continue."
Within her, memories surged like a green flood. She was never a child of Seleneus. She hadn't even been "born" in the usual sense. She was... a project.
"LINA: A self-adaptive biological interface for extraterrestrial environments."
"We succeeded. A consciousness capable of evolving on its own…"
Then—a blinding internal explosion. A scream without sound.
Lina jolted awake. She rose from the chair, eyes glowing with a soft red hue—like sparks from a dead sun.
Mirai approached cautiously, hand extended:
"Lina…"
But Lina whispered, her voice an echo from another dimension:
"Don't touch me."
A nearby device began emitting a hum—not radiation, but sound. A strange, mournful tone—more felt than heard. Everyone in the lab sensed it.
The gray man murmured:
"She's starting to reclaim herself…"
And walked away, leaving only a smoke-like silence behind.
In the days that followed, Lina stared into mirrors as if seeing herself for the first time. Her face hadn't changed—but it no longer felt like hers.
One night, Sylvia quietly approached her, steps careful—knowing something had indeed changed.
"I always knew there was something different about you. You're not one of us… are you?"
Lina looked at her, silent. Then replied, after a pause:
"I don't know who I am yet."
"Then why are they hiding the truth? Why you? Why now?"
Lina had no answer—only a sense of loss, like something precious had been taken from her, but she didn't know what.
And yet... her dream had changed.
The forest was no longer a backdrop. She now saw a hand reaching from the mirror, and beyond it... beings that looked human but radiated light—reflections of a future yet to arrive.
Then one morning, she found something new in her unit: a small encrypted disc. She'd never seen it before. She almost ignored it—but her heart thumped in a way she couldn't explain.
Inside it, a message:
"The next key lies in the Red Valley. That's where it began. That's where you'll find the Origin."
She looked at the map. The Red Valley—a restricted zone since the last war. Entering it was considered high treason.
But what if that's what the system wanted? For her to stay lost in ignorance?
That night, Lina sat on the edge of her bed, replaying every word, every image. Her hands trembled, but her eyes gleamed with newfound resolve.
She had begun planning.
Because she wasn't just looking for answers anymore…
She was looking for herself.