At least, that's what I feel while looking at it.
This thing.
This map.
It's nothing like a simple projection.
It's raw truth — stripped, exposed, brutal — as if the world decided to reveal its skeleton.
And in that skeleton, every bone is a street.
Every nerve, a cable.
Every heartbeat, a silent command.
Everything people once called conspiracy theories suddenly feels painfully logical.
I understand why they kept me blind.
Why they covered my eyes.
Why they silenced every glimpse of the city's structure.
They weren't protecting me.
They were protecting the illusion.
Because the moment you see this…
you understand how trapped you already were.
A city designed as a cage —
yet it doesn't restrain by force.
It watches.
It studies.
It anticipates you before you even decide anything.
I stare at the map.
It doesn't hypnotize me.
It consumes me.
Not through beauty — it has none.
It's not a painting.
Not art.
It's an altar.
And this altar doesn't request worship.
It imposes it.
A permanent tribute to the supremacy of a system that believes itself divine.
My eyes drift toward the center.
I look for our positions.
And I see them.
Three red points inside HQ.
Beating.
Not like warnings.
Not alarms.
No.
Beating like hearts… fading.
A slow, steady, inevitable pulse.
Each blink so regular it makes you want to scream.
I narrow my eyes.
I try to understand.
But a part of me already knows.
Then the words appear.
Cold. Clear. Absolute.
"Words Detected."
And everything becomes painfully clear.
Those red dots… aren't buildings.
Aren't military targets.
They're human beings.
Names.
Bodies.
New Word-bearers.
Every time a dangerous soul awakens, the network lights up.
Every time an essence is born, this living machine captures it, labels it, classifies it.
Like an anomaly.
Like a glitch in its perfect design.
The world identifies them without asking.
Classifies them without mercy.
Hunts them without hesitation.
My heart makes a strange sound.
Not a beat.
A dissonance.
Like something inside me refuses the truth I'm staring at.
I don't even need to point.
Me.
Fortuna.
Aris.
Three anomalies.
Already detected.
Already contained.
Already filed under "threat."
And then…
there's another.
A point alone.
Different.
Still free.
Still outside.
I lean forward.
It's not inside the city.
Not even close.
It's farther.
Beyond the walls.
Beyond the normal scanning range.
And it's marked with a countdown.
Cold numbers.
Seconds collapsing like grains of sand in a cracked hourglass.
What the hell is someone doing out there?
And why is this point still active?
I zoom in.
I read the countdown.
14 days.
Fourteen days.
Before what?
An arrest?
A disappearance?
A Word eruption?
A scheduled execution?
I don't know.
I don't want to know.
But one certainty pierces through me — quiet, sharp.
This point… is a warning.
In this world where every Word is a weapon,
every awakening a sin,
every freedom a mistake…
This point might be the last flame.
Or…
the spark of an inferno.
A Word is about to appear.
A Word of unpredictable magnitude.
A Word that could change everything.
Suddenly, I understand the stress of the people monitoring this city.
Those who breathe in sync with every pulse of the map.
Those who know the next blink could be the last.
The question is simple.
But its answer could fracture the world.
Will this Word be a blessing… or a curse?
And when I step into their shoes, everything shifts.
Anxiety becomes logic.
Surveillance becomes necessity.
Control becomes instinct.
And I feel something strange.
A frozen warmth.
A vice tightening around my throat.
14 days.
Fourteen days before the verdict.
Fourteen days before something — or someone — detonates.
I close my eyes.
Good luck to whoever gets involved in this.
I slowly turn my head.
Fortuna is there.
Right beside me.
Silent. Still.
Her eyes shine —
not with joy,
not with fear.
Something else.
Clarity.
Like a child watching a falling star…
and understanding it's crashing.
She whispers something I can't hear.
And I, without meaning to, let out a breath.
A thought.
"We're pieces. Pawns on a giant chessboard."
But Aris cuts me off.
He steps forward.
His voice cracks like stone.
Emotionless.
Dry.
"Not pieces. Anomalies."
He stops in front of us.
"Threats they tolerate… until we become real threats.
This system doesn't protect us. It observes us. It contains us.
We're here to justify our existence.
To prove our usefulness to the machine that locked us in."
I don't answer.
But something deep inside me nods.
Slowly.
Unwillingly.
Yes.
This isn't a refuge.
It's a cage.
A perfect cage.
A polished shell for a war no one admits exists.
I try to breathe.
To ignore the vertigo curling through my ribs.
But the elegance of this brutality turns my stomach.
It's too clean.
Too precise.
Too intentional.
And that's what scares me.
Not what they can do.
But what I'm starting to understand.
Then a thought forms.
Persistent.
Unwelcome.
Why am I still alive?
Why haven't they sealed me?
Erased me?
Deleted me?
I turn my gaze.
Évra is talking to an officer.
Calm. Sharp.
Then she turns.
Walks toward us.
Slow. Controlled.
She doesn't look at the map.
She doesn't need to.
She knows.
She has never needed plans.
She senses threats.
Hunts them.
And sometimes… she trains them.
She smiles.
A smile without surprise.
A smile that says: I knew you'd look.
Her boots echo on the floor, each step marking a truth.
She stops.
"Well, my little creatures… impressed?"
I'm the one who speaks first.
My voice calm.
My mind anything but.
"Impressed, yes.
But also… curious.
Why spend so much energy on us?
Three anomalies don't justify such a machine."
She laughs.
A deep, raw, honest laugh.
A laugh that slaps the silence apart.
"Oh, little bird…"
She steps closer.
Her eyes pierce straight through mine.
"It's not you who justify all this.
You're a detail.
A grain of sand in a machine older than any of you."
She leans in.
Her smile grows sharper. Feral.
"But I admit… your Words make the whole thing far more entertaining."
She straightens.
Nods toward the map.
"These lights. These countdowns.
They're our insurance.
Our way to ensure no bomb explodes without warning."
Her gaze pins me.
Cold. Heavy.
"Some Words are harmless."
She pauses.
"Others… are ticking bombs."
A thick silence settles.
Then she murmurs —
a sentence that lands like a verdict.
"You, for example."
Her eyes don't blink.
And I freeze.
She's right.
I know it.
I'm the perfect example.
A threat perfectly contained.
She turns away.
No more words.
No orders.
Just that calm, inevitable stride —
each step an unspoken warning.
She leaves behind a map…
and three young anomalies staring at the red glow of their own condition.
We no longer need anyone to explain.
We've been seen.
Monitored.
Maybe already judged.
We exchange a look.
Brief.
Heavy.
Enough to hold everything we can't say aloud.
We've just been officially placed under surveillance.