"The wheel turns, but no one knows where it leads."
The Core, Sector 2
The man found himself staring at his own reflection in his daughter's full-length mirror, its edges adorned with pink embroidery. Everything felt surreal, as if the world were trying to dampen the impact of reality. Facing a wall of screens reflecting camera feeds, Melek sat with a bag of chips, her face contorted in a pout as she looked at her father. "Why isn't my favorite character there? This movie is getting so boring..."
"In truth, all movies are boring," he replied, pressing a gentle kiss onto the little girl's hair.
Melek's eyes widened in surprise. "Really?"
The man nodded slowly. "It is the law of nature."
"Is there anything in this world that isn't nonsense?" Melek asked, setting the bowl of chips down on the table.
"There is," the man said with a bittersweet smile. "True love... like the love I have for you."
A blossom of joy spread across the little girl's face.
"And Mommy?" she asked.
The man fell silent, as if every word he possessed had been drained from his tongue. He remembered the red string Özlem had tied around his wrist.
"Never forget me," it had meant. But over time, the meaning had distorted so much, the world had soured so deeply, that it remained nothing more than a dry piece of string. She had chosen to rot within prison walls. The man had felt so worthless that every door in this world seemed to slam shut in his face with a deafening crack.
He looked at his reflection in that mirror as if staring at a complete stranger. The shadow of the Game was being injected into his veins with every passing second.
Telling the little girl he would return soon, he stepped out and entered the smoking room next door. The suffocating air of the floor mingled with exotic clouds of cigarette smoke, weaving a tapestry of fate. He felt the vibration of the elevator moving in the hallway. That was when the face of the red-haired woman from the laundry room flashed through his mind—someone he sought out only when he couldn't bear to be himself. A woman who should have been a single night but became a black stain on his entire life.
Now, that child's bloodstain was everywhere, even on his cleanest white shirts.
The elevator stopped. The hallway stirred. Bay J. appeared.
His steps were rhythmic, his posture calm and controlled.
"Sir," he said, bowing respectfully.
The man gestured slowly toward the smoking room. "I was just about to call for you. Come in. Why won't this lighter spark? Ah, there we go." He settled into a chair, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke.
Bay J. sat opposite him with his signature, unnervingly soft demeanor.
"We spoke with Aysal Çetin. Subject Number 22.37."
The President's gaze flickered. "I don't know her."
"But I'm afraid she knows you, Mr. President..." Bay J. lowered his voice a notch.
The President grunted. "Fine. Everyone seems to know everyone these days. Did you find anything about the man who broke into the tunnels?"
Bay J. hesitated for a moment before nodding. "Undoubtedly Tarık Çetin, sir."
"Tarık Çetin," the President echoed, syllable by syllable. "The woman's husband?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Why? And how?"
"I have gathered all the information regarding Tarık Çetin." He paused abruptly, his fingers tensing. "The truth is... he is my nephew."
The President looked genuinely surprised at this revelation. "And you admit this so openly?"
"Yes, sir." Bay J. bowed his head, his voice turning hollow. "Yes. I have always upheld the oath I took to the Mechanism. Today is no different. I raised my nephew. For a moment, I thought I might lose my whole world, but the nature of the Mechanism—your presence... they fascinated me so much that I had no choice but to turn him in, to show you he is a criminal. May I smoke?"
The President ignored the question as Bay J. lit his cigarette.
"Why did he infiltrate the Mechanism? If he loves his wife, why show her photos of his own death instead of saving her?"
The President was aware of the brief summary of events, but the secrets lay in the details of this conversation.
"Because he wanted her to believe he was dead," Bay J. replied with a cold-blooded indifference.
The President took another drag of his cigarette. "How much does the woman know about the past?"
"I wouldn't want to be mistaken," Bay J. said, hesitating perhaps for the first time. He fixed his gaze on the President's eyes, which were brimming with a restless agony. "But... the synaptic connections to her past are constantly firing. she is in torment. Every cell, every neuron is intoxicated with pain. Her 'Hunter Capacity' is almost rewinding, being replaced by sharp agony and past memories. I am afraid, sir... I am afraid that..."
The President sank deeper into silence, yet his ears were strained to hear the rest.
"We believe a chip was implanted in her once before. How or why, I do not know yet. But I will find out. The only thing I know... and the thing you must know... Tarık Çetin worked in surgery in the past. For about two years." He stopped tapping his finger.
The silence was ear-splitting, nerve-wracking.
"I see," the President grunted. "I see." He whispered about the thing in the woman's brain, his voice evaporating in a tone of grim satisfaction:
"The Hunter's Mark, then."