A soft green light, gentle as seaweed swaying in stagnant water, bathed the hospital room. Jinra slowly opened her eyes.
Each heartbeat echoed in her skull like the drumbeat of some ancient, sacrilegious ritual. Her whole body protested, every muscle thrumming with a dull, stubborn ache. She inhaled. The air reeked of ethanol, disinfectant... and something sour, metallic—older, more intimate. The scent of dried blood on her bandages.
She sat up. Slowly. Her back arched with a painful grimace, her hands trembled beyond her control. She pressed them to the sheets, drew another breath. Then, almost unconsciously, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair. It slid between her knuckles like a cascade of ink.
A fluid movement, nearly choreographed. She pushed her dark strands back, clearing her face.
Her eyes drifted to the window.
The sun was rising on the horizon. But this wasn't any ordinary sunrise. It glowed a spectral green, sickly, like a dying star refusing to fade in an already broken world. She stared at her reflection in the glass. Two inhuman eyes stared back—luminescent green, almost phosphorescent.
She whispered.
"…So it was all real."
The System. The Mirror. The Echoes. The Awakening.
Her gaze dropped slowly to her body. Every bandage wrapped around her arms, her torso, her thighs—every muted pain surfacing again—told a story. An undeniable truth. She was no longer who she thought she was.
A sigh, almost animal, slipped from her lips.
"Shit… Where are my lenses?"
A deep, grave voice answered from the shadows in the corner of the room.
"They were removed during surgery."
She turned sharply, the sheets sliding off her legs. Her eyes landed on the man who had spoken.
He was sitting there, still as a statue of black granite. Charcoal suit, neatly knotted tie, broad shoulders, posture rigid. An air of authority clung to him like an invisible cloak. His face was marked by age, but his wrinkles spoke of strength, not weakness. Thick brows, a chiseled jaw, a near-military stiffness to the way he held his head.
An old lion. Tired... but still capable of biting.
Jinra eyed him warily, narrowing her eyes.
"Who are you?"
He stood. Slowly. Like a colossus waking from sleep.
"Leonardo Cain."
The name snapped through the air like a muffled gunshot.
She responded instinctively, almost against her will.
"…Jinra Voss."
Leonardo pulled a phone from the inside pocket of his jacket. He typed a few words, pressed a button, and raised it to his ear.
"Mirkov? She's awake."
He hung up. Not another word.
Less than a minute later, the door opened.
A man entered. White coat, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose, and that weary smile worn only by doctors who've seen too much pain.
"The miracle patient is awake," he said, almost in awe.
But Jinra felt a cold sweat run down her spine. Her thoughts spun. A memory surged—her last visit to this hospital. The escape. The climb. The refusal to pay.
They're going to call the police.
She forced a smile, halfway between humor and panic.
"I can explain everything."
The doctor stepped closer, arms crossed.
"How did you end up like this? Covered in blood?"
The atmosphere shifted.
Leonardo's aura grew… dense. Oppressive. The air seemed to freeze, as if the entire room was holding its breath. Jinra felt an invisible pressure settle on her shoulders. A subtle, but crushing suffocation.
She drew a breath. Then spoke.
"It was… some guys in the street. They spotted me. I was alone. They followed me. Tried to attack."
She paused, her gaze flitting between the two men.
"One of them… he was Awakened. Or something like it."
She groped for words, improvising as the lie spun itself.
"I managed to escape. But I was hurt. Too hurt to think straight. I ran, and kept running. And when I got here… I knew you'd turn me away. No money, no papers."
She gestured toward the shattered window.
"So I came through there."
Silence.
She added, more softly:
"It's not the first time. That's why the bleached hair, the contacts, even fake acne. I'm trying to disappear."
The doctor seemed thoughtful. It was plausible.
But Leonardo… didn't move.
He stared at her without blinking. No reaction. No readable emotion.
She held his gaze, fingers clenched in the sheets.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he gave a slow nod.
"I understand."
He turned, placing a hand on the door handle.
But just before leaving, he stopped.
Turned back. Their eyes met again—her glowing green irises locking with his, like staring into a dark forest.
"I almost forgot."
He pulled a small black USB stick from his inner pocket and set it on the bedside table.
"It's from your mother. She asked me to give it to you."
And then he left the room.
In the hallway, his footsteps rang out with authority. He raised a hand to his ear—a faint gleam revealed an earpiece.
"Get me a full report on all assaults, murders, and disappearances in the last five days. Classified or not."
Back in the room.
Dr. Mirkov offered the USB to Jinra. She took it reluctantly, her fingers clenched tight around it. Her smile was forced. A mask. A habit.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked.
She shrugged.
"No one's waiting for me. If I drop dead tomorrow, not even a stray dog'll show up to the funeral."
The doctor let out a long sigh.
"I can't let you walk out like this. You have no idea what's out there."
She tried to joke.
"So, you gonna adopt me?"
He gave a small, sad laugh.
"No. But I found you a spot at an orphanage."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
"I used to work there. They take care of their own. You'll be safe."
She stared at the ceiling.
"Great. What a thrill."
"You can leave whenever you're ready."
"Now."
He blinked.
"You're sure? You should rest."
"No."
He nodded.
"All right. I'll ask someone to bring you some clothes."
A few minutes later, a nurse entered with grey sweatpants, a black crop top, and a light hooded sweatshirt. Jinra frowned.
"That's all you've got?"
The nurse smiled.
"You look gorgeous in it."
To her eyes, Jinra had that fierce beauty, that natural presence that froze the gaze. A wild creature dressed in civilian clothes, mysterious and untamed. A beauty impossible to ignore, even half-covered in bandages.
"My phone?"
The nurse handed her the phone—intact. And a crumpled slip of paper.
An address.
Jinra took them both. She dressed slowly, zipped the hoodie over her stomach, pulled the hood over her hair.
Then she walked out.
The cool morning air greeted her like a whisper. Her footsteps echoed on the damp asphalt. She didn't look ahead. Only at her feet. The pavement.
Her world no longer existed.
It was all real.
And as she passed through the hospital gates, a cold, mechanical voice echoed in her mind.
[System connected.]
Welcome, Candidate.