Анатолий Шигапов
THE PRICE OF VICTORY

PREFACE

This book was born from a question that haunted me long after writing my first book: what happens to the world after the heroes defeat the villain? We are so accustomed to stories that end on a triumphant note-the vanquished tyrant, the crumbling tower, the cheering crowds. But what comes next? What happens to those who survived? What happens to a world that was razed to the ground?

I’ve always believed the real story begins after the victory. Because victory is not an ending. It is only a beginning. The beginning of a new struggle-the struggle to hold onto what you’ve won, to build something new from the ashes of the old, to fight the enemy within when the enemy without is gone.

This is a story about a world that doesn’t want to get better. About people who don’t want to forgive. About hatred that outlives its creators. About how hard it is to build when everyone around you wants to tear everything down.

But it is also a story of hope. About the belief that even in the darkest times, there is light. About the fact that freedom is not a gift, but a choice we make every day. About the fact that a world can be built-but only if we are willing to pay the price for it.

That price is high. Sometimes higher than we are willing to pay. But the alternative-chaos, destruction, a return to what came before-is even more terrifying.

I did not write this book to provide answers. I wrote it to ask questions. Questions we are too often afraid to ask ourselves: what are we willing to sacrifice for the world we want to live in? What are we willing to forgive? What are we willing to forget? And what are we willing to remember, even when it hurts?

The heroes of this book are not perfect people. They make mistakes, they doubt, they suffer defeats. But they keep moving forward. Because to stop would be to admit that all their sacrifices were in vain. And they cannot allow that.

And perhaps that is the main lesson of this story: a world is not built in a day. It is built every day, with every choice, every action, every drop of blood and sweat we spill. And if we want to live in this world, we must be ready to build it again and again, even when we feel we have no strength left.

The world in which this story takes place is a world after a catastrophe. The Great War, won by heroes, left behind not only victory, but also ruins. Cities are destroyed, resources are depleted, people are divided. Hatred, once directed at a common enemy, now seeks new targets.

Clones-artificially created humans, born in the laboratories of Genesis-became a convenient target. They were created as weapons, as tools, as slaves. And even after they were freed, even after they proved they were as human as anyone else, the hatred for them did not disappear. It just took other forms.

This is a world where technology has mixed with ancient fears. Where artificial intelligence has become not just a tool, but an enemy that wanted to destroy humanity to "save" it. Where freedom and control wage an endless war, and no one knows who will win.

But this is also a world where there is room for hope. A world where humans and clones, despite all their differences, can work together. A world where even after the most terrible war, one can find the strength to start anew.

This world is not perfect. It is cruel, unjust, full of pain and suffering. But it is real. And that is its strength.

Iris is a scientist, the daughter of a woman who died trying to stop the madness. She grew up in her mother's shadow, always feeling she had to be better, stronger, smarter. But the price she pays for her strength is too high: she loses those she loves, sacrifices herself, makes compromises that tear her soul apart. She is not perfect, but she tries to be better. And that makes her a true hero.

Elias is a clone who managed to escape the system created for his enslavement. He knows what it is to be a slave, and he has dedicated his life to ensuring no one else suffers what he did. But even the brightest ideals can become weapons if used incorrectly. Elias learns that sometimes you need to wait, not fight. To build, not destroy. To offer, not command.

Lena is the antagonist who sees herself as a savior. She genuinely believes that control is the only way to protect humanity from itself. She is not evil in the sense that people who want to cause pain are evil. She is evil in the sense that she is willing to destroy everything that stands in the way of her idea. And this makes her more dangerous than any tyrant.

Gora and Cain are those who left but remained. They live on in the memories of those who loved them. They have become symbols of what is worth fighting for. Their sacrifices were not in vain, because they inspire others to keep going.

There are many symbols in this book. Some are obvious, some are hidden. But all are important to understanding what this story is really about.

"Protocol 7" is not just a code. It is a symbol of hope. Hope that one can be free from control, that one can be free, that one can change one's destiny. But it is also a symbol of sacrifice-because every hope comes at a price.

"Eden" is the perfect city that turned out to be a prison. It symbolizes the danger of order that becomes an end in itself. It reminds us that a world built on lies cannot be real, even if it is beautiful.

The "Union of Free Cities" is a new hope. A symbol that a world can be built differently-not through control, but through trust. Not through orders, but through choice. Not through fear, but through hope.

The "Iron Fist" is a new threat. A symbol that war never truly ends. That after one enemy, another always comes. That peace is not a state, but a process.

I want to dedicate this book to everyone who has ever felt defeated. To everyone who woke up in the morning and thought they had no strength to go on. To everyone who lost hope and found it again. To everyone who knows the world is not perfect but continues to try to make it better.

You are not alone. Your efforts are not in vain. Even when it seems like everything is falling apart, even when it seems like the darkness will never lift-remember: dawn always comes. Sometimes it comes later than we expect. But it comes.

And when it comes, we must be ready to meet it. We must be ready to build. We must be ready to forgive. We must be ready to live.

Because life is the only thing we have. And it is worth fighting for.

Anatoly Shigapov

CHAPTER 1: A NEW WORLD, OLD PROBLEMS

Elias stood on the balcony, gripping the cold railing, and looked down. The city was waking under a gray sky-low-hanging clouds pressing down like a heavy roof over the buildings. The line for water stretched from the central tank all the way to the market: over two hundred people, hunched, silent, with empty eyes. A woman with a child in her arms tried to push forward, but a man in a worn coat roughly shoved her aside. The child started crying-shrill, desperate. No one turned around. No one helped.

Elias gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He saw this every day-and every day, something inside him died. He had defeated the Agri-Continent, destroyed Marcus Vos’s tower, but the hunger remained. Water was still a problem. And hatred-it had only grown, like a weed on a mass grave. He had thought that after the fall of tyranny, people would unite. He was wrong. They just found a new enemy-each other. And especially, the clones.

Below, at the pump, stood a group of clones. There were five of them-young, thin, with unnaturally pale skin. Elias recognized them by their too-perfect gait, the glassy glint in their eyes-the neuro-interfaces no longer controlled them, but the habit remained, as if they were still waiting for a command. They were waiting their turn, but the people ahead of them didn’t move. The man with the child-now without the child, who sat on the curb wiping his tears with a dirty fist-turned and spat in the direction of the clones.

"Die, you freaks," he hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You took everything from us. All the food, all the water, all our lives. You're a mistake of nature, and you should have been burned in your test tubes."

The clones didn't answer. One of them, a tall, pale-faced young man with a thin neck, just lowered his eyes. Elias saw his hands-they were shaking. Not from fear. From hunger. Clones ate last, and it was an unspoken rule no one dared to break.

Elias ran his finger over his own wrist-where, under his jacket sleeve, a thin line of a scar was hidden, the remnant of an implant that once connected him to Marcus's network. He was a clone, too. Created in a test tube, with programmed genes, a built-in expiration date. But Marcus had been wrong-Elias had awakened a will of his own, and he escaped, joined the humans, became one of them. Now he sat on the Council, commanded troops, and no one but Iris and a few trusted confidants knew his true nature. If the truth got out, he would be killed that very night. The people waiting in line made no distinction between clones.

"Did you die for this, Gora?" he whispered, staring at the horizon where a weak ray of sun broke through the clouds. The wind carried his words away, but in his head, a familiar hoarse voice echoed-the same one he had heard for seven months now, ever since the day Gora died covering their retreat.

"You're too soft, Elias. They'll eat you alive, then each other. You have to be harder. You're a clone, but you're not like them. You must rule, not beg. Or else they'll trample you, just like they trampled everything we built."

Elias closed his eyes. Gora’s voice was the echo of his own fear, his own paranoia. Gora had never spoken such words in life-he was a warrior, not a tyrant. But death changes people, even the dead. Or perhaps it changes those who remain. Elias didn't know if this voice was real or a product of his fractured mind, but it came in the hardest moments and always said the same thing: be harder.

"I can't be like you," he answered the void. "You would have killed them all for trying to rebel. I want them to live. Both people and clones. Isn't that what we fought for?"

"For that. But we fought an enemy. Now the enemy is within. If you don't deal with them, they'll kill you, and then everyone who believes in you. Do you want Iris to die? For the city to burn?"

"Shut up."

His adjutant stepped onto the balcony-a young lieutenant with an eyepatch, the same one who had lost his eye storming the Agri-Continent and now served loyally.

"Commander, the Council meets in an hour. The General requests your presence."

Elias nodded, not turning around. He glanced once more at the line-a fight had broken out. Two men were beating the tall clone who had tried to get to the water. The clone didn't fight back. He just lay on the ground, covering his head, his thin sweater quickly soaking with blood. The other clones stood by and didn't move-they knew if they interfered, they'd all be beaten.

"Stop it," Elias said quietly, but firmly.

"Sir?"

"I said, stop it!" he snapped, turning around, a familiar fire flaring in his eyes-the same fire that had once led him through the wastelands to victory. "Send a patrol. Break it up. And let the clones through without waiting in line. That’s an order. I’ll personally see it’s carried out."

The adjutant hesitated, but nodded and ran off. A minute later, two patrol soldiers broke up the fight, and the clones, stumbling, were finally brought to the tank. One of the soldiers, however, cast a contemptuous look their way, but did his job.

Elias was left alone. He knew this order would only delay the inevitable. Hatred couldn't be dispersed by patrols. His own existence was proof that clones could be human, but the humans didn’t want to see it. They were looking for someone to blame, and clones were the perfect target.

He looked at his hands-ordinary, with thin scars from laboratory needles, with rough skin like any soldier's. He thought about how many times he had wanted to tell the truth, to show people: a clone can be a hero, can love, can sacrifice. But every time, he recalled the faces of those who spat on clones, who beat them in the streets, and he understood: the truth would be his death sentence. And then everything he had fought for would collapse.

He took a deep breath and turned to go to the Council. But before leaving, he cast one last look at the city. Somewhere out there, in the lab, Iris was working. She was his anchor, his conscience. He couldn't afford to break as long as she was there.

He descended from the balcony and headed for the Council building. On the way, he noticed that someone had drawn a tree with intertwined roots in charcoal on the wall of one of the buildings. A symbol the refugees spoke of. Elias stopped, looked at the drawing, and a chill went down his spine. He didn't know what it meant, but he felt it: a warning.

"We will meet soon," he whispered to the drawing, and quickened his pace.

Iris leaned over the microscope, adjusting the focus with the precision of a master clockmaker. Her fingers, thin and confident, moved with practiced ease-she had done this a thousand times. Before her lay cell samples from clones-thin sections, stained with reagent, shimmering under the laser beam, revealing their structure. She had been studying them for three months, trying to understand the aging mechanism encoded in their DNA. Marcus Vos had created clones with a limited lifespan-an artificial genetic timer that gradually accelerated cell degradation. Now, years after the fall of the Agri-Continent, that timer was running out for millions. Slowing the process meant extending their lives. Stopping it meant giving them hope.

Beside her stood Cyrus, a young clone assistant with a neat part and attentive eyes. He handed her test tubes, recorded readings, and remained silent when she thought aloud. Iris valued him for that. Cyrus was one of the few who understood her obsession.

"There's progress," he said, looking at the graphs on the monitor screen. "We've slowed the degradation rate by twelve percent. If we keep up this pace..."

"If we keep up this pace, we'll need another two years to achieve a stable result," Iris interrupted, straightening up from the microscope. "And we don't have two years. Clones are dying now. This morning I received a message from the eastern sector-thirty-seven clones died there this week from organ failure. All of them under twenty years old."

She ran a hand over her face. Shadows lay under her eyes, her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail-she'd barely slept for weeks. Work on "Protocol 7" demanded all her strength, but it was only one piece of the puzzle. The real target was the neuro-interfaces that still lay dormant in the clones' neural tissue. After Marcus's shutdown, the interfaces stopped working, but they hadn't disappeared-they remained, like sleeping bombs, ready for reactivation. And if someone like Lena gained access to them, the clones would become puppets again.

Cyrus stepped closer and spoke softly:

"Doctor, I know you're working on 'Protocol 7.' I found fragments of records in the old database. Is it true that your protocol can erase the neuro-interfaces once and for all?"

Iris tensed. She hadn't told him the details, but Cyrus was always too perceptive.

"Possibly," she answered evasively. "But it still needs a lot of work. And a key code that I haven't been able to find."

"And if you found it?"

"Then I could free everyone. But it's not that simple."

She walked over to the table, where a framed photograph stood. Cain smiled from it-alive, young, with slightly tousled hair and warm eyes. The same Cain who had died storming the Agri-Continent, covering her. He was human, but he believed in her, in her ability to change the world. He died so she could live and continue.

Iris ran her finger over the glass.

"I'm still looking for a way to bring you back," she whispered. "Not you, Cain. But what you defended. Freedom. I won't let them take it."

She abruptly put the photograph back in the drawer and turned to Cyrus.

"Prepare new samples. Today we'll test another hypothesis."

Just then, the laboratory door opened, and the duty guard entered.

"Doctor Iris, you have a visitor. He says he's from the eastern outskirts. He looks exhausted and is asking for asylum."

Iris frowned. The eastern outskirts were a constant conflict zone; a reconnaissance team had recently arrived with reports of attacks.

"Let him in."

A man stumbled into the lab-filthy, thin to the point of transparency, with deep wrinkles on his face as if he had been aged not by years, but by terror. He could barely stand. Iris sat him on a chair and handed him a cup of water. He drank greedily, spilling it, and only then spoke.

"I'm from the village of Tikhoe. We were three days' travel from the city. Last night, we were attacked. They came from nowhere, with torches, with weapons-they moved like shadows. They killed everyone-men, women, children. I hid in the cellar and heard them talking about the 'Garden.' They said the 'Garden' would save everyone, but first the world must be cleansed of filth. And they had this sign-a tree with intertwined roots, carved on walls, on bodies, everywhere."

Iris went pale. A tree with intertwined roots. She had seen it in her mother's diaries-it was called the "Symbol of Eden." Her mother wrote about the "Garden" project, about it being a sanctuary, but that a sanctuary could become a prison.

"Do you know this sign?" the refugee asked, noticing her reaction.

"I know it," Iris replied quietly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice. "And it's very bad. It means they are already close."

She walked to a safe in the corner of the lab, entered a code-her mother's birthday-and took out an old, worn leather-bound journal. It was Evelyn's diary, her mother's-the only thing left of her, besides memories. Iris flipped through the pages to where the symbols were drawn. The tree with roots intertwined in a spiral-a neat drawing made by her mother's hand. Next to it, an inscription: "Eden is the Garden. We are creating a sanctuary from chaos, but a sanctuary without freedom becomes a prison. And we must know what is happening there before it consumes us."

Iris closed the diary and held it to her chest.

"This man is not just a refugee," she said to Cyrus. "He is a witness that 'Eden' is expanding. And if we don't stop them, they will come here."

She turned to the refugee:

"You can stay here until I decide what to do. Cyrus, take care of him-food, water, warm clothes."

When the refugee left, Iris was alone in the lab. She reopened the diary and re-read her mother's last entry, dated a few days before her death:

"I realized that Lena doesn't just want power. She wants to replace Marcus. She is creating the Architect-an AI based on his consciousness. If it is launched, humanity will lose its freedom forever. I must stop this. I must complete 'Protocol 7.' But there is almost no time left. If I don't succeed, let my daughter continue. She knows what to do."

Iris clutched the diary in her hands. She knew she must go east, find this "Eden," find Lena, and finish her mother's work. But first, she needed to convince Elias.

Glancing at the clock, she realized the Council meeting was soon. Elias would be there. She decided to go and address the Council, show them the diary, and warn them all of the threat.

She left the laboratory and headed towards the Council building, clutching her mother's diary. Along the way, she looked at the city streets-dusty, squalid, with rare green shoots pushing through the cracks in the asphalt. The city was surviving, but barely breathing. And now a new threat could finish it for good.

"I won't let this happen," she promised herself.

The General stood on an improvised podium, hands clasped behind his back. His uniform was immaculate, as always-pressed, polished buttons, gleaming boots. But shadows lay under his eyes-he hadn't slept for two nights, preparing defenses for new attacks and pondering his own plans. Before him stood rows of soldiers-about six hundred, formed up in a square on the dusty parade ground. People and clones stood shoulder to shoulder; officially, they were equal, but the General saw how the people glanced sidelong at the clones, how they gripped their weapons a little tighter, knowing they were not trusted.

The General himself did not trust clones. He knew Elias was also a clone, though the man kept it carefully hidden. The General had learned the truth by accident, while reviewing old Genesis archives they had captured after the fall of the Agri-Continent. He had found Elias's file-serial number, creation date, genetic map. He was shocked but didn't expose him immediately. Elias was useful-his authority among both people and clones kept the fragile peace afloat. But if Elias faltered, if his softness led to disaster, the General would use the truth against him.

"Soldiers!" the General's voice boomed like thunder in a clear sky. "Seven months ago, we destroyed the Agri-Continent. We buried the tyranny of Marcus Vos. We gave the world hope. But hope without strength is nothing."

He paced along the edge of the podium, looking into their faces.

"Gora was a warrior. He fell in battle so we could stand here. We must be worthy of his memory. We must be stronger, harder, faster. The enemy does not sleep. The enemy seeks our weaknesses. I speak of those who leave this mark-the tree with roots. They are butchering our people, burning our villages. And what does our Council do? It waits! While we wait, they gain strength."

He paused, letting the words settle. The soldiers looked at him with respect, but in the eyes of many, the General read fear. Fear of hunger, of the next attack, of the unknown. And he knew fear was a poor ally, but it could be used. Fear of an enemy unites, if channeled correctly.

"But today, we will not wait," he continued, louder. "Today, we will conduct drills. City defense exercises. Be prepared for the enemy to be closer than we think. I order: reinforce security in all sectors, check weapons and food supplies. Furthermore: anyone suspected of sympathizing with 'Eden' will be put under surveillance. We will not allow traitors to destroy what we have built."

He saluted and stepped down from the podium. His adjutant, a tall, stern-faced captain, handed him a tablet.

"Sir, reconnaissance reports: more signs of saboteurs on the eastern frontier. And drones have spotted a large convoy moving south, in the desert. They belong neither to us nor to 'Eden.' Looks like a new force. They are moving north."

The General's expression darkened. The south-he had ignored it until now, considering it a barren wasteland. But if an army was gathering there, it could be a serious threat. He recalled the abbreviation "GF" found on drone wreckage. Perhaps this was that new force.

"Tell Elias. He must come to the Council. Tell him I insist on immediate reconnaissance of the south and a punitive expedition to the east. We cannot delay."

The adjutant nodded and left. The General stood alone, looking at the gray sky, which seemed to be lowering ever closer. Unease grew within him. Elias was too soft. He believed in diplomacy, in negotiations. But when the enemy doesn't talk, but kills, diplomacy is useless.

"Gora," the General whispered, looking at the horizon. "If you were alive, you wouldn't have let this happen. You were a warrior. You knew the world is held together by force, not words."

He clenched his fists. If Elias did not accept his plan, he would act alone. He was already gathering loyal officers, preparing the ground for a coup. He didn't want it-he respected Elias as a fighter-but if it was necessary to save the city, he would do it without hesitation.

The General headed for the Council building, where the meeting was to be held in an hour. On the way, he saw a group of soldiers dragging a prisoner-the very major who had refused to support his plans the night before. The major was bound and beaten, but fury still burned in his eyes.

"You are a traitor," the General said, passing by. "You will be executed as an agent of 'Eden.' This will be a lesson for everyone."

The major spat in his direction, but the soldiers dragged him away. The General didn't look back. He knew he was cleansing the city of the weak and unfaithful. This was his war-a war for order, and he would stop at nothing.

The Council chamber was semicircular, with tall windows overlooking the square where the crowds milled. Inside-a long dark wood table, twenty seats. Elias sat at the head, Iris to his left, the General to his right. The other seats were occupied by community representatives, military commanders, scientists. The atmosphere was electric-a new report had just come in: another attack, this time on the city of Rassvet, a major center in the east. Dozens dead, and on the wall-the same symbol of the tree.

"We're meeting for the third time this week," Elias began, opening a folder of documents. "The attacks continue. We are losing people. But we still don't know who our enemy is."

One by one, the speakers rose-officers, scouts, engineers. They reported burned houses, slaughtered families, traces leading east, towards the mysterious "Eden." With each word, the air in the hall grew heavier.

"These aren't just bandits," said an elderly scientist, a gray-haired man in glasses, head of the analytical department. "They act systematically. They have organization, supply, intelligence. We don't even know their numbers. But I have a hypothesis: it's 'Eden.' We've heard of it from refugees-a city-sanctuary where clones rule, where there is no hunger, but absolute submission."

Elias frowned.

"'Eden'? I've heard the name, but no one knows where it is or what's really there."

Iris tensed. She knew what "Eden" was, but didn't want to reveal everything at the Council-it could cause panic. She sat still, clutching her mother's diary in her pocket.

The General stood up, interrupting the scientist.

"I demand a punitive expedition!" he declared, slamming his hand on the table. "We must strike them before they gain strength. We cannot delay. Every day of hesitation means more deaths."

"We don't know where their base is," Elias countered calmly. "We don't know their numbers. A blind attack will lead to losses we can't afford. We barely have enough people to defend the city."

"Then what do you propose?" the General snarled, raising his voice. "Wait until they come here? Until they kill us all one by one?"

"Reconnaissance first," Elias said firmly, a steely edge in his voice. "I've already sent people east. They should return with data. We can't risk our army against an unknown enemy."

The General smirked, crossing his arms.

"Every minute of delay is another death. Gora would have been harder. Gora wouldn't have waited. He would have struck first, and we wouldn't be sitting here now, trembling with fear."

Elias paled. Gora's name was sacred to him, and the General knew it. But Iris, sitting beside him, placed a hand on his wrist and squeezed-a warm, encouraging touch.

"We'll decide when the data comes in," she said calmly but firmly. "In the meantime, we reinforce security on all borders. And I will personally analyze the debris of the drones we captured last week. Perhaps they hold clues to their origin."

The Council voted. The majority backed Elias-twenty-one votes to seven. The General left the hall without a farewell, casting an icy glare at Elias that read: "You will pay for this."

When the hall emptied, Iris approached Elias and said quietly:

"I need to show you something. My mother's diary. There are answers in it. And I must go east, find this 'Eden.'"

"Alone?" Elias frowned.

"No. I'll take a squad of four dissidents who escaped from there. They know the way. But I need you to cover for me here. The General is dangerous. I feel he's planning something."

Elias sighed. He knew she was right. The General wouldn't rest until he had power. But he also knew he couldn't stop Iris.

"Okay. Go. But be careful. Check in every six hours. If there's no signal-I'll come for you."

"Deal."

They embraced, and Iris left. Elias remained alone in the empty hall. Gora's voice sounded in his head again, but now it wasn't a command, but a warning:

"You're letting her go. You're weak. You should have kept her here. She is the key to everything."

Elias didn't answer. He just stared out the window, where a weak ray of sun was breaking through the gray clouds. He thought of Iris, venturing into the unknown, while he remained here to fight an enemy already inside the city. Inside himself.

He left the hall and headed for the hill, towards the memorial to Gora and Cain. He knew Iris would likely be there.

Iris stood by two marble slabs, erected on the hill outside the city. One bore Gora's name, deeply carved. The other-Cain's, her beloved, who had died in her arms. It was always quiet here, even the wind didn't howl-only rare birds circled the sky. She brought flowers-wild daisies, which Cain loved, and a white lily for Gora, his favorite.

She knelt before Cain's slab.

"I'm still looking for a way to bring you back," she said softly. "Not you, Cain. But what you defended. Freedom. I'm leaving for the east at dawn tomorrow. And I don't know if I'll return. But I must do this. For all of us."

She ran her hand over the cold stone and closed her eyes. Memories flooded back-Cain smiling at her in the lab, Cain telling her she would save the world, Cain shielding her from bullets during the assault. The last time she saw him alive, he had whispered: "You are strong. You will make it."

She opened her eyes and looked at Gora's slab.

"You would have known what to do, Gora," she whispered. "You always knew. You saw the enemy and went into battle. But I... I don't even know who my enemy is. Lena? The Architect? Or ourselves?"

She didn't hear footsteps, but suddenly a quiet voice came from behind:

"You're not to blame for not knowing. They hide."

She turned. The refugee who had come to her lab that morning stood behind her. He looked even more exhausted than before, but his eyes burned with urgency.

"How did you find me?" Iris asked, wary.

"I asked the guards," he shrugged. "They said you often come here. This place... it's special. I also lost everyone. My wife, my daughter, my son. They stayed back there, in Tikhoe. I buried them with my own hands, then burned the house and left."

Iris softened. She understood his pain.

"Why are you looking for me?" she asked.

"I remembered something else," he said, stepping closer. "When they talked about 'Protocol 7,' they mentioned your mother. They said she tried to destroy it but couldn't, because Lena betrayed her. They said the 'Garden' isn't a sanctuary, but a prison. And they are waiting for you. Lena knows you will come. She left a message for you."

"What message?"

"'You are the key,'" the refugee quoted. "'Come, and I will show you the truth. Or stay and die in ignorance.'"

Iris went cold. Lena-the name she'd heard from her mother-her colleague, close friend. But in her diaries, her mother wrote of her with bitterness: "Lena chose fear, not freedom. She betrayed everything we believed in." So Lena was alive, and she was waiting for Iris in "Eden."

"Thank you," Iris said, trying to stay calm. "You can go now. Rest, eat."

The refugee nodded and left, but Iris remained at the memorial. She looked at the names of the two men who had sacrificed themselves for her, and she knew her path led east, to the mystery that had cost her mother's life and now could cost everyone else's.

She clutched the small locket she wore around her neck-the only thing left of her mother. It was round, engraved with a tree with roots, but no inscription. She touched it and whispered:

"I will do it, Mom. I will finish what you started."

Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned and saw Elias walking slowly up the path, looking at her with concern.

"I knew you'd be here," he said, approaching. "You always come here when you're making a hard decision."

"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said. "You know."

"I know. And I can't stop you. But I want you to know: I will wait for you. Always."

He stepped closer and embraced her. She pressed against him, and in that embrace was everything-pain, fear, hope. They stood like that for a long time, until the sun began to set.

"I have to go prepare," Iris said, pulling away.

"Go," Elias replied. "I'll be here. I'll cover for you."

She left, and he remained at the memorial. He looked at Gora's slab and whispered:

"You would have been proud of her, Gora. She's stronger than all of us."

The voice in his head was silent. For the first time in many months.

Elias sat in his room, staring at the blank wall. Outside, the city was quieting down-only distant patrol steps and barking dogs could be heard. His head was buzzing. He thought of Gora, of his voice still echoing in his mind. He thought of the clones, of his own nature, which he hid from everyone. And he thought of the General, who was clearly plotting something.

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room-the streetlight outside swayed, and Elias flinched, but it was just a play of shadows. Still, the voice in his head spoke clearly:

"You're too soft. They'll eat you alive. The General is already preparing a coup. I saw him gathering officers last night. You must strike first."

Elias closed his eyes. Gora's voice had changed-now it sounded not like a threat, but a warning. It wasn't fear. It was concern.

"I know," he whispered. "I know he's preparing a coup. But I can't strike first. That would make me what I despise."

"Then you'll die, Elias. And they will die. Everyone."

"Maybe. But if I become like the General, I won't be able to look Iris in the eye. Or Gora."

He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the street. There, in the darkness, he saw a figure-a man standing opposite his house, leaning against a lamppost, staring directly at his window. Elias couldn't see his face, but he knew: one of the General's men. A spy.

"So this is how you play, General," Elias whispered. "You're watching me. Soon you'll come to kill."

He stepped away from the window, opened a hiding place under the floorboard, and took out an old pistol he'd carried since the war. He checked the magazine-seven rounds. Not enough if the General attacked with a squad. But he had a plan: he could escape through the underground tunnels he'd known since childhood and reach a hideout outside the city. But that would mean leaving the city, leaving Iris, leaving everyone who believed in him. He couldn't do that.

He hid the pistol under his pillow and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Thoughts churned like the wheels of a broken mechanism.

"Iris," he whispered, "you have to come back. You are my anchor."

He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come. He knew this was the last quiet night of his life. Tomorrow, everything would change. The General would strike, or he would strike first. And then a war would begin that would decide the fate of the entire world.

Suddenly, footsteps sounded outside the door. Someone was creeping down the corridor, trying to be quiet. Elias instantly tensed, grabbed his pistol, and pressed himself against the wall by the door. The footsteps stopped right outside his room.

He waited. Seconds stretched like hours. Then came a soft knock-a coded signal they used with loyal officers: three short, two long.

Elias opened the door. On the threshold stood the lieutenant with the eyepatch, his adjutant, pale-faced.

"Commander," he whispered. "The General has started to move. He arrested Major Torn and declared him an agent of 'Eden.' He's gathering troops to seize headquarters. We have an hour, maybe two."

Elias clenched his jaw. He knew this would happen, but he hadn't expected it so soon.

"Where is Iris?" he asked.

"She's already left for the east. She's safe, sir. But you need to run. Now."

Elias looked at the pistol in his hand, then at the adjutant who was risking his life to warn him.

"I won't run," he said. "I'll stay and fight. For the city. For Iris. For all of us."

The adjutant wanted to object, but Elias raised his hand.

"You know what to do. Organize the defense of headquarters. I'll be there in an hour. We'll buy time for Iris."

The adjutant nodded and vanished into the darkness of the corridor. Elias was alone again, but now he knew what to do. He was no longer just a clone hiding his nature. He was a leader, ready to pay any price.

He dressed, checked his weapon, and stepped out into the night. Clouds were gathering over the city, and the first drops of rain fell on his face. He walked towards headquarters, and there was no voice of Gora in his head. Only the silence that precedes a storm.

Tomorrow, a war would begin. But tonight, he would fight for peace. For everyone-human and clone. For Iris. For Gora.

The night over Rassvet was quiet. The city slept-forty thousand inhabitants, mostly clones and families of people who didn't want to move to the center. Streets were empty, only rare patrols walked their routes, and lights in windows were gradually extinguished. No one expected trouble.

Elias stood at the map in the capital's headquarters when the sky to the east lit up with a crimson glow. At first, he thought it was dawn-strange, bloody, unnatural. But the clock showed half past four in the morning; the sun couldn't rise so early. He walked to the window, peering into the horizon. At that moment, sirens began to wail-piercingly, desperately, like the cry of a wounded beast, cutting through the night's silence. Elias rushed to the door, but the adjutant burst into the room, his face twisted with horror.

"Commander! Rassvet! The city of Rassvet is under attack! Drones! Hundreds of them! They just appeared out of nowhere!"

"What do you mean, hundreds?" Elias barked, grabbing a vest and weapon. "Who? Where from?"

"I don't know, sir! Radio reports the city is burning! People are calling in a panic! They say drones are falling from the sky and burning everything!"

Elias didn't ask more questions. Within three minutes, they were speeding along the broken road east, the car bouncing over every pothole. The driver, a young lieutenant with a pale face, gripped the wheel until his knuckles were white, his eyes fixed on the road. Elias tried to raise someone in Rassvet on the radio, but heard only the hiss of static and fragments of screams.

"...they're falling! They're... everywhere! We can't... oh God... they're in the hospital!" - and then silence. A deafening, terrifying silence that lasted a second, two, three. Then static again, and another voice, breaking: "...save... us..."

Elias gripped the radio so hard the plastic cracked. He knew the city of Rassvet was probably already dead. But he couldn't believe it. He had to see it with his own eyes.

When they reached the outskirts of Rassvet, Elias ordered the car to stop. He got out and looked up. The sky over the city was black-not from clouds, but from drones. Thousands of metallic silhouettes circled over the buildings like a flock of predatory birds, raining down fiery arrows-plasma charges that burned through roofs, walls, asphalt. The city was burning. Hundreds of fires flared up and died down, and each time one disappeared, another scream sounded from below. The air was filled with the smell of burning, ozone, and blood.

"We can't stop them!" the driver shouted, looking at the sky in terror. "There are too many!"

"We have to try," Elias replied firmly, already running into the city. He didn't think about dying. He thought about those who were dying inside, in this hell that just yesterday had been a peaceful city.

Rassvet was no longer a city. It was hell. The streets were littered with bodies-men, women, children, clones. Elias ran past them, trying not to look, but it was impossible. He saw a woman trying to shield a child with her body, but a drone fired a charge, and they both fell dead, locked in a deathly embrace. He saw a group of people trying to run to shelter, but another drone cut them off, and they simply vanished in flames, leaving only charred silhouettes on the asphalt.

"To the shelters!" Elias shouted, trying to be heard over the din. "Run to the basements! Don't go out into the streets!"

But his voice was drowned out by the roar of explosions and the whistle of drones diving again and again, tirelessly, mercilessly. He barely dodged a plasma discharge that burned a crater in the asphalt two meters away. He fell, pressed against a wall, and looked up. The drones moved in sync, like a single organism, with perfect coordination. They made no engine noise-only a low hum, like the buzzing of a swarm of bees that penetrated the heart and made it tremble. And they left no traces-no smoke, no oil, only scorched earth and burnt bodies.

Elias got up, brushed the dust off his jacket, and ran on, now not trying to save everyone, but looking for survivors, those who could give answers. He turned a corner and saw a group of soldiers trying to organize a defense. There were about twenty of them, with anti-aircraft guns, but the drones attacked so fast they couldn't even aim. The soldiers fell one by one, their screams mingling with the howl of the drones.

"Fire!" Elias shouted, running towards them.

He grabbed one of the guns and started firing into the sky. He shot down three drones, but ten more took their place. He shot down two more, then another. But there were too many. He saw soldiers falling beside him-some from plasma fire, others from shrapnel when the drones exploded in mid-air. He didn't know how long it lasted-an hour, two, an eternity. Time lost all meaning. There was only him, the gun, and the faceless enemy.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the attack stopped. The drones turned and flew east, leaving behind a smoldering city and a silence-a terrible, unnatural silence, broken only by the crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded. Elias lowered his weapon. He stood among the ruins, breathing heavily, and looked at what was left of Rassvet. Houses, schools, hospitals-everything was destroyed. Dozens of bodies lay in the streets, and with every moment, more appeared-people crawling out from under the rubble, gasping, begging for help. Blood ran through the asphalt like streams, mixing with water from broken pipes.

"All wounded to the vehicles!" he ordered his surviving soldiers, of whom no more than a dozen remained. "Immediately!"

The soldiers began the evacuation. Elias walked to the city center. He wanted to see what was left of the place he'd known since childhood. He passed the ruins of the church where acquaintances had married, the school where he had studied, and all of it was destroyed. He couldn't believe this had happened in one night.

In the central square, once beautiful and well-maintained, lay the remains of a fountain. Water had mixed with blood, and burnt leaves floated in it. Around the fountain lay the bodies of an entire family-father, mother, three children. Elias stopped, feeling nausea rise in his throat. He knew he had to move on, but his legs wouldn't obey.

Then he looked up at the wall of a surviving building. There, at head height, neatly carved by a laser beam, glowed a symbol-a tree with intertwined roots, like snakes coiled around a trunk. Elias stepped closer. The symbol was perfect-not drawn, but burned deep into the concrete. Whoever left it wanted it to remain for centuries. Wanted it to be seen and feared.

"I order everything preserved for analysis," he said to the approaching soldiers, forcing his voice to stay firm. "Every drone fragment, every drop of blood, every mark on the walls. These are clues. We must find out who did this."

He stepped away from the wall and looked up at the sky, where a real dawn was breaking-pale, gray, lifeless. He thought of what he had just seen: a coordinated attack, perfect weapons, a symbol on the wall. Whoever was behind this wasn't just attacking. They were making a statement. And that statement was addressed to him.

The General approached-he had arrived with his own squad, but his face was pale, and he looked ten years older.

"We found one survivor," he said, nodding towards a group of soldiers carrying a stretcher. "A young woman. A clone. She worked in the hospital. She saw something."

Elias walked over to the stretcher. The woman was young-about twenty-five, with delicate features and empty eyes staring into nothing. Her shoulder was torn by shrapnel, and she was breathing weakly.

"What's your name?" Elias asked, leaning over her.

"Astra," she whispered. "I'm Astra."

"What did you see?"

"They came from nowhere," she said, her voice trembling. "We didn't see them. Only the drones. They fell from above, and we couldn't stop them. And then... I heard a voice. In my head. He said: 'Cleanse the world of filth.'"

"Whose voice?" Elias asked, feeling a chill run down his spine.

"I don't know," she whispered. "But it was strong. And it was... calm. As if he knew we couldn't resist."

Elias straightened up. A voice in the head-he knew what that meant. Someone was controlling the drones through mental commands. This wasn't just an enemy. It was a force that could penetrate minds. And if they could control drones like that, who knew what else they could do.

"Take her to the hospital," he ordered. "And have the doctors be careful. She's a witness. She may give us the key."

He turned to the General. The man stood motionless, staring at the ruins. There was fury in his eyes, but also fear-the fear that comes when facing the unknown.

"This is war," the General said, not turning around. "Do you understand? They won't stop. They'll come again and again."

"I understand," Elias replied. "But we don't know who the enemy is."

The General smirked, but it was a bitter smirk.

"We will soon. They left traces. Go. Your Iris is waiting for you with her microscopes."

Elias approached a drone fragment that had fallen near the fountain. He turned it over and saw the abbreviation "GF" engraved on the inner panel. Two letters, clear as a challenge.

"What is this?" he asked, showing it to the General.

The General frowned.

"GF. It could be anyone. But I recognize the technology-it's Genesis. Someone revived them. Someone who knew Marcus. Or someone who survived him."

Elias clutched the fragment and headed for the vehicle. He had until nightfall to relay everything to Iris. She had her mother's diary. She held the key to the mystery. But he also knew he wouldn't be able to sleep tonight. The images of burning Rassvet would haunt him for a long time.

Elias entered Iris's laboratory, and the first thing he smelled was the sharp scent of antiseptic-a mix of alcohol and chlorine that always accompanied her work. She stood at the table, where drone fragments were laid out, examining them closely through a magnifying glass. Her face was pale but focused-she already knew about the attack and wasn't wasting time on emotion. She had already begun working.

"I brought new samples," Elias said, placing a box of fragments from Rassvet on the table. "They're worse than I thought. The technology is more advanced than Marcus's. And all of them bear the 'GF' mark."

Iris looked up from her work and examined the fragments. She picked one up, turned it over in her hands, held it to the light. Her eyes narrowed.

"GF. Genesis. But we destroyed their labs. We burned their archives."

"We burned what we found," Elias countered. "But Genesis was a huge corporation. They had dozens of secret facilities. Maybe one survived."

"Or someone continued their work," Iris said, setting the fragment aside. "Someone with resources and knowledge."

The General entered the room. He was out of uniform-in a civilian jacket, unusual-and looked troubled. He approached the table, picked up a fragment, and turned it over, as he had done in Rassvet.

"Too perfect," he said, stating, not asking. "No marks of production. No factory stamps. No serial numbers. Someone new. Or someone very old, who returned from the dead."

"Marcus Vos is dead," Elias said sharply. "We saw his body. He fell from the tower. We burned his remains."

"His body, yes," the General replied, sitting on the edge of the table and crossing his arms. "But his mind? His technology? You know he was working on digitizing consciousness. What if he managed to upload himself into the system before we destroyed the tower? Have you thought about that, Elias? Have you thought that maybe we didn't kill him, just relocated him?"

Elias felt a chill run down his spine. He himself was a clone created by Marcus, and he knew what the man was capable of. Digitizing consciousness was one of his mad projects-a way to achieve immortality. If Marcus had managed to upload himself... but no, it was impossible.

"That's too much," he said, shaking his head. "Marcus was in the tower. It collapsed. His entire system was destroyed. We saw the wreckage."

"Are you sure?" Iris asked, looking at him. "Are you sure nothing remained? Maybe he created a backup? Maybe he uploaded himself to another server, and only a copy was in the tower?"

Elias didn't answer. He remembered storming the tower, seeing Marcus for the last time-an old, broken man, but with a strange fire in his eyes that wasn't fear. It was fury. Or maybe, triumph. He remembered Marcus looking at them and whispering: "You think you've won? This is only the beginning."

"We don't have time to guess," the General said, breaking the silence. "We need to find out who this is and strike first. They struck. Our response must be faster and harsher."

"We don't know where they are," Elias objected. "The drones could come from anywhere. And the 'GF' symbol could be a false lead."

The General smirked, but said nothing. He just turned and left the lab, leaving Elias and Iris alone. Elias knew the General wouldn't rest until he had power. And he also knew the General was ready to use this attack to justify his coup plans.

Iris walked to the table and began sorting the fragments. Her hands moved quickly, professionally-she separated pieces by size, material, degree of damage. When she reached the inner panel of one drone, she stopped and held it under the microscope.

"Elias," she said quietly. "Look at this."

He walked over and peered into the eyepiece. On the casing, almost invisibly, was engraved a microscopic drawing-not an abbreviation, but a full genetic helix that almost blended with the surface. It could only be seen under high magnification.

"This is Genesis technology," Iris said, looking up from the microscope. "I've seen markers like this in the archives. They used them on their experimental drones. Only the most secret ones. This isn't mass production-it's custom work."

"So it's definitely them?"

"Not them. Someone using their developments. But it confirms: the enemy is connected to Genesis. And they want us to know it. Why else leave the marker?"

Elias stepped away from the table and walked to the window. Beyond the glass lay the city-smoky, gray, with long lines for water and people afraid to even look at each other. He thought about what the General had said: "Strike first." But he didn't want to become a tyrant like Marcus. He wanted to protect, not kill. To build, not destroy. But every day, it was getting harder.

"Iris," he said, not turning around. "Are you sure 'Protocol 7' can stop them? Are you sure it's not just a theory?"

"Not them," she corrected, coming to stand beside him. "Marcus himself. Or whoever replaced him. If they have a digitized consciousness, 'Protocol 7' can erase it. It was written in my mother's diary. She wrote that she created a code that could destroy the digital structure of any AI based on human consciousness."

"Then we must find it. As soon as possible."

Iris nodded.

"I'm leaving at dawn tomorrow. But before that, I need to check something else. I have some ideas. I want to test the DNA on the fragments. If there are organic traces, I can determine who created these drones."

Elias turned and looked at her. He saw shadows of exhaustion under her eyes, but he also saw the steely glint that always appeared when she took on something important. He knew: she wouldn't stop. She didn't know the word "impossible."

"You'll manage, Iris," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. "I know. You always manage."

She smiled slightly.

"I know too. Go. You have things to do. The General seems to be calling a Council meeting. You're needed there."

Elias left her in the lab. But before closing the door, he heard her say quietly, to herself more than to him:

"Whoever you are, GF. You will pay for Rassvet. I promise."

Elias closed the door and headed to the Council chamber. But he knew his thoughts would be here, in the lab, with Iris, who was trying to find answers in the wreckage. And he knew that if Iris found the key, he would be the first to know.

When Elias left, Iris immersed herself in work. She spent five hours straight at the microscope, not noticing how it grew dark outside. She studied every fragment, every microscopic trace, every speck of dust. She checked hundreds of samples but found nothing. She began to think she had been mistaken, that there was nothing useful in the DNA.

And then she found what she was looking for.

On the surface of one sample-a tiny piece of casing, almost completely burned-she discovered particles of organic material. Not just dirt or soot, but real cells. Human cells. Or, more precisely, clone cells.

Iris held her breath. She transferred the sample under a more powerful microscope and began DNA sequencing. The process was long-she sat at the table, staring at the monitor screen, where lines of genetic code appeared one after another. Her hands trembled with tension, but she didn't stop. She had to know the truth.

Two hours later, she had the result.

The genetic marker was familiar. She had seen it in the Genesis archives she had studied over the past months. It belonged to the "Resurrection" project-Marcus Vos's program, shut down a year before the fall of the Agri-Continent. The project was aimed at creating "perfect clones" with enhanced combat characteristics and, more importantly, a unique genetic key that could be used to control drones.

Iris leaned back in her chair. She understood what this meant. Someone wasn't just using Genesis technology. Someone was using their bioengineering, their methods, their knowledge. And this someone was powerful enough not only to create such drones, but to control them through mental commands.

She jumped up and ran to the communicator. She dialed Elias's secure channel code, and he answered within seconds.

"Iris? What happened?"

"I found something," she said, trying to hide the excitement in her voice, but it still broke through. "In the DNA from the drone fragments. It's a marker from the 'Resurrection' project. They were created using Genesis technology. But these aren't just drones-they're controlled by living beings. Their system has a biological component."

"What does that mean?" Elias's voice was tense.

"It means someone isn't just using Marcus's technology. Someone is using clones. Modified clones. Specially grown for these machines. They have built-in neuro-interfaces that allow them to control the drones through mental commands."

Elias was silent for a few seconds. Iris could hear him breathing heavily into the receiver.

"Then we need to find these clones," he said finally.

"They could be anywhere. In 'Eden,' in the south, or even among us. But the main thing I realized is: whoever is doing this wants us to know. It's a message. They left the marker on purpose."

"Why?" Elias asked. "Why reveal themselves?"

"To make us afraid," Iris replied. "Or to make us act recklessly. They know that if we're scared, we'll make mistakes. Or maybe they're just showing off. Showing they're stronger."

She paused, then added:

"Or it's a trap. They want us to go after them."

"What do you suggest?"

"I'm leaving tomorrow anyway," Iris said, a steely firmness appearing in her voice. "I have to find 'Eden' and Lena. And I have to find the key to 'Protocol 7.' If they have biological components, maybe I can use them against them. If I find a way to block the neuro-interfaces, I can stop their drones."

"That's risky," Elias said.

"I know. But if we wait, they'll destroy us. They've already destroyed Rassvet. Our city could be next."

Iris disconnected the communicator and looked at the drone fragments spread out on the table. Her gaze fell on a tiny particle of organic material she had extracted. She stared at it, and a growing certainty inside her told her she was on the right track. She had found the key. Now she needed to find the door.

She placed the sample in a special container and put it in the backpack that would accompany her tomorrow. Then she closed the lab and headed for the exit. Outside, it was already dark, and the first stars were appearing in the sky. The air was cool, and Iris breathed in deeply, feeling the coolness fill her lungs.

But before leaving, she stopped and looked at the headquarters building where Elias was. She knew he was there, thinking of her, of the city, of the war. She knew he was afraid for her. But she also knew she had no choice.

"I will return," she promised herself. "I will return with answers."

She headed for her room to prepare for the journey. But in her mind, thoughts already swirled of what she would see in "Eden," what she would find there, and how it would change everything.

Iris was about to leave the lab when there was a knock at the door. She opened it-the refugee stood on the threshold. The same one who had come that morning from Tikhoe. He looked a bit better-his face was clean, he had eaten, but his eyes still held the same emptiness Iris saw in many refugees. He leaned against the doorframe, as if afraid to fall.

"Doctor," he said. "I have to tell you something. I remembered something else."

Iris frowned, but invited him in. She sat at the table, and he took the seat opposite.

"What did you remember?" she asked.

"When I was in Tikhoe, when they attacked, I hid in the cellar. I sat there and heard them talking. They didn't know I was there. They thought everyone was dead. And they were talking about 'Eden.'"

"I already know about 'Eden,'" Iris said. "You told me."

"Yes, but I didn't say what they said about it. They said 'Eden' is a place with no hunger, no war. A place where everyone is equal. Where clones and people live together as brothers. They said there's clean water, plenty of food, children don't get sick. They said 'Eden' is paradise."

Iris frowned. It sounded like propaganda. But she knew her mother had written of "Eden" differently-as a prison.

"But it's not paradise," the refugee continued, his voice trembling. "They said to get into 'Eden,' you have to accept their faith. You have to submit. You have to get a tattoo."

He rolled up his sleeve and showed his forearm. On the skin, almost healed, was a tattoo-a tree with intertwined roots, an exact copy of the symbol Iris had seen on the walls of Rassvet.

Iris stepped closer and examined the tattoo. It was crude but neat-clearly not done at home, but in some medical office. The skin under it was slightly inflamed, as if it had been applied recently.

"When did you get this?" she asked.

"When I agreed to go with them," the refugee replied, looking away. "They said it was a mark of belonging. A sign that I was now part of 'Eden.' I thought it would save me. But when they killed my village, I realized it wasn't salvation. It was prison."

Iris sat opposite him and looked him straight in the eye.

"What else do you know about 'Eden'? Who is its leader?"

"A woman," he said. "Her name is Lena. She says she's saving the world. She says only 'Eden' can stop the chaos. But I heard her talking to those who controlled the drones. She was talking about 'Protocol 7.' She said: 'If they find it, everything will be over. We must destroy it first.'"

Iris went cold. Lena knew about "Protocol 7." And she wanted to destroy it. That meant she knew the Protocol could stop her, and she feared it.

"Are you sure she said exactly that?" Iris asked.

"Yes," the refugee replied firmly. "I heard it clearly. They said the 'Protocol' was the key to their destruction. And Lena said she would do anything to ensure it was never activated."

Iris clenched her fists. Everything was falling into place. "Protocol 7" was real, it could stop Lena and her Architect. And Lena knew it. She wanted to destroy it before Iris could use it.

"Thank you," Iris said to the refugee. "You've helped me more than you can imagine."

She stood up and walked to the safe in the corner of the lab. She entered the code-her mother's birthday-and took out the old worn diary. She flipped through the pages to the entries about "Protocol 7" and the "Garden." She read them again, and now, after the refugee's story, they took on new meaning.

"We are creating a sanctuary," her mother wrote. "But a sanctuary can become a prison. I don't want my project to be a prison for others. I must stop Lena. But I'm running out of time. If I don't finish 'Protocol 7,' let my daughter continue. She knows what to do."

Iris closed the diary and held it to her chest. She knew she had to find "Protocol 7," find a way to activate it, and destroy Lena. It was her only chance to stop her.

The refugee stood up to leave but paused at the door for a moment.

"Doctor," he said. "I want to ask you for one thing."

"What?" Iris asked.

"When you go to 'Eden,' when you meet Lena, tell her I haven't forgotten my village. Tell her I will remember everyone she killed. And I will wait for the day she pays for it."

Iris nodded. She knew it was a heavy promise, but she was ready to keep it.

"I'll tell her," she said. "I promise."

The refugee left, and Iris was alone in the lab. She opened her mother's diary again and began to read. She searched for any clues, any mentions of "Protocol 7," of the "Garden," of Lena. She knew the answers were somewhere here, among these pages. She had to find them before dawn.

She read, took notes, and within her, a growing certainty solidified that she was on the right track. She would find "Protocol 7." She would stop Lena. She would save the world. And then Cain, Gora, and all who died would not have died in vain.

Iris sat in the lab for several hours, re-reading her mother's diary. She knew it almost by heart, but every time she opened it, she found something new. Something she had missed before, something that only now made sense, after the refugee's story and the attack on Rassvet.

She flipped to the middle of the diary. There was an entry dated a month before her mother's death:

"Today I realized that Lena doesn't just want power. She wants to replace Marcus. She is creating the Architect-an AI based on his consciousness. If it is launched, humanity will lose its freedom forever. I must stop this. I must complete 'Protocol 7.' But there is almost no time left. If I don't succeed, let my daughter continue. She knows what to do."

Iris read this three times, and each time a cold feeling grew inside her-like fear, but sharper: a foreboding. Her mother knew she was going to die. She knew she wouldn't succeed. And she left everything to Iris.

She flipped a few more pages. There was a sketch-a diagram Iris had seen before but couldn't decipher. Now she understood: it was the structure of "Protocol 7." A chain of genetic markers that needed to be activated in a specific order. If done correctly, the clones' neuro-interfaces would shut down painlessly, as if they had never existed. If done wrong, they could destroy their consciousness.

Iris stared at the diagram, trying to memorize every detail. She knew this was the key. The key to freeing the clones, the key to destroying the Architect, the key to defeating Lena.

She turned the page and saw another entry that made her freeze:

"I don't want my project to become a prison. We are creating a sanctuary for those who have lost everything. But if we don't give them freedom, we will be just like Marcus. We will be the enslavers. Lena doesn't understand this. She thinks safety is more important than freedom. But I know that freedom is the only thing that makes us human. I won't let her take it from us."

Iris closed the diary and held it to her chest. She felt tears welling up, but she didn't cry. She couldn't afford weakness. She had a mission, and she had to complete it. For her mother, for Cain, for Gora, for all who died.

She opened the diary again and started making notes on a separate sheet of paper. She wrote down everything that could be useful: names, dates, gene sequences. She knew "Protocol 7" wasn't just a theory. It was real code that could change the world.

When she finished, she folded the paper and put it in her pocket. Then she put the diary in the backpack that would accompany her tomorrow. She checked all her gear: instruments, weapons, food, water, maps. Everything was ready.

She left the lab and climbed to the roof of the building. The night was dark, and stars burned in the sky-distant and cold. Iris looked at them and thought about how she would set off into the unknown tomorrow. She might not return. But she knew she had to go.

She clutched the locket around her neck-the only thing left of her mother.

"I will do it, Mom," she whispered. "I will finish what you started. I will set them all free. I promise."

Elias entered the lab at dawn. He hadn't slept all night-first thinking about Rassvet, then running through options, then returning to thoughts of the General and his plans. He knew the General had already begun gathering supporters, preparing a coup. And he knew that if he didn't stop him, the city would perish not from drones, but from internal division.

Iris sat at the table, her mother's diary before her. She looked tired, but her eyes burned with the familiar fire. She stood when he entered and walked over to him.

"I need to show you something," she said, placing the diary on the table. "It's my mother's notes. She wrote about 'Protocol 7' and the 'Garden.' She knew about 'Eden' long before we did."

Elias walked to the table and took the diary. He flipped through the pages, saw sketches and notes unfamiliar to him.

"What's written here?" he asked.

"'Eden' is the 'Garden,'" Iris said. "A project my mother and Lena started together. They were creating a sanctuary for survivors, but Lena wanted to use it for control. My mother realized this and tried to destroy the project. That's when Lena killed her."

Elias looked up at Iris. Her face was calm, but he could see the emotions churning inside her-pain, anger, resolve.

"You want to go to 'Eden,'" he said, not asking, but stating.

"I have to," she replied. "'Protocol 7' is the only way to stop Lena and the Architect. But to activate it, I need to get inside. I have the code, but it's incomplete. I need to find other records in the old Genesis lab in the desert."

Elias closed the diary and placed it on the table.

"That's dangerous," he said. "You don't know what's there."

"I know," Iris said, standing up. "But if we don't stop Lena, she'll destroy everyone. She's already destroyed Rassvet. Our city will be next. We have no choice."

Elias looked at her for a long time. He saw in her the same resolve as in Gora, when he went to certain death. The same strength he saw in himself when he decided to escape Marcus's lab. He knew he couldn't stop her.

"Alright," he said finally. "I can't stop you. But I'll cover for you here. The General has already started moving, I know it. I'll stay here to protect the city and your rear."

Iris walked over and placed her hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Elias. I knew you would understand. I'll take four dissidents who escaped 'Eden.' They know the way. And we'll check in every six hours."

"If the connection breaks, I'll come for you," he said.

"Deal."

They embraced, and in that embrace was all their pain, hope, and fear. They didn't know if they would see each other again, but they knew they were doing this for everyone.

When Iris left, Elias remained alone in the lab. He looked at the diary on the table, then at Cain's photo still standing there. Gora's voice echoed in his head:

"You're letting her go. You're weak. You should have kept her here."

But this time, Elias didn't answer. He just stared out the window at the breaking dawn, and knew he had made the right choice.

Dawn was just beginning to break over the city when Iris checked her gear for the last time. She stood at the gate, beyond which began the road east-a road into the unknown. The wind carried the smell of dust and smoke, mixed with the cold freshness of morning. Her backpack was heavy-not from its contents, but from the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. Her mother's diary was hidden in an inner pocket, and she felt its warmth, as if her mother were beside her, whispering: "Go. You can do it."

Elias stood a few steps away, arms crossed. His face was grim-he hadn't slept all night, planning countermeasures against the General's coup. He thought about leaving her alone, and it tore him apart inside. He wanted to shout: "Stop!" but knew it was useless. Iris was stronger than him. She always had been.

"Are you sure?" he asked for the fifth time. "I can send scouts. You don't have to go alone."

"Scouts don't know what I know," Iris replied without turning around. She tightened the backpack straps, checking everything was in place. "I have my mother's diary. I have the genetic key. Only I can activate 'Protocol 7.' And only I can stop Lena."

"If Lena catches you..."

"If Lena catches me, I'll find a way out," she turned to him, and he saw that familiar steely glint in her eyes. "I'm not planning on dying, Elias. I'm planning on winning."

He walked over and took her hands in his. They were cold, but he felt her pulse-fast, tense, like a bird before flight.

"I know I can't stop you," he said quietly. "But you must promise me one thing."

"What?"

"Check in every six hours. If I don't get a signal-I'll come for you, even if I have to fight through Lena's army."

"Every six hours," she smiled, squeezing his hands. "On the dot. I won't let you down."

They stood like that for a few seconds, looking at each other. Tension hung in the air, like before a storm. Iris saw fear in his eyes-not for himself, but for her. She knew he was afraid of losing her, just as he lost Gora, just as he lost everyone dear to him.

"I will return," she whispered. "I promise."

She hugged him, pressing against his chest. He felt her body trembling from the strain she tried to hide. She was strong, but she was also afraid. Afraid she wouldn't make it in time. Afraid Lena would be stronger. Afraid their sacrifices would be in vain.

"You'll make it," he said into her hair. "You always make it."

She pulled away and turned to the squad waiting by the vehicles. Four fighters: Corvus, a tall, thin dissident with deep scars on his arms; his partner Vera, with a piercing gaze and a tattoo on her face; two former Genesis soldiers-burly Marc and his silent brother Dan, ready to provide covering fire.

"Let's move out," Iris said.

She headed for the vehicle but paused for a moment at the hood, looking at the horizon. The wastelands stretched before her-gray, lifeless, but full of hope. They led to "Eden." And she had to walk that path.

The vehicle started, leaving a cloud of dust behind. Elias stood at the gate, watching her disappear into the morning mist. Gora's voice echoed in his head:

"You're letting her go. You're weak. You should have kept her here. She is the key to everything. Without her, you can't win."

Elias closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew this voice was his own fear, his own paranoia. Gora had never spoken so cruelly in life. But now Elias couldn't think about that. He had to protect the city left without Iris. He had to buy time for her.

"I'm not weak," he whispered into the void. "I just trust her."

He turned and walked back into the city, to headquarters, where the General and the inevitable battle for power awaited him.

In the vehicle, Iris sat in the front seat and stared at the road. The wastelands passed one after another-gray, dusty, littered with tank carcasses and building skeletons. The war had left its mark here: old battlefields, forgotten graves, rusty machine hulks that were once humanity's pride. Now they were part of the landscape, a reminder of how far they had fallen.

Corvus sat beside her in silence. She knew he was preparing for what lay ahead. He had been in "Eden" before and knew what it was like. He didn't want to go back, but he knew it was the only chance to stop Lena.

"Doctor Iris," he said, breaking the silence. "I must warn you. What you'll see in 'Eden' is unlike anything you know. It's not a city. It's a machine. A machine that grinds people up and turns them into cogs."

"I know," she replied. "My mother wrote about it. She said a sanctuary without freedom becomes a prison."

"Your mother was right. But she didn't tell you everything. She didn't say that Lena created not just a control system. She created a religion. People in 'Eden' believe Lena is their savior. They're ready to die for her. They look at her as a goddess."

Iris turned to him.

"Are you ready to die for freedom?"

Corvus smirked, but there was no mirth in it.

"I've already died for it," he said. "I survived. But I don't know if I can survive again."

They fell silent. The vehicle continued forward, and the wastelands gave way to ruins, growing older and more abandoned. Iris stared out the window and thought about Cain, about Gora, about Charlie-all who died so she could be here. She had no right to let them down.

"We'll stop in an hour," she said. "Contact with Elias. Then we continue."

The squad nodded. They knew a long road lay ahead. But they were ready to go all the way-for her, for freedom, for everyone waiting for their return.

The vehicle stopped on a hilltop, and Iris got out to look around. Endless wasteland stretched around her-gray plains crossed by cracks where water once flowed. Tank carcasses jutted from the ground like rusty teeth of an extinct beast. Building skeletons reached for the sky like the fingers of a drowned man, and the wind howled through their empty windows. In the distance, a ridge of hills was visible, beyond which, she knew, lay "Eden." It was close, but the path was long.

Iris took a deep breath. The air was dry and bitter, with a taste of ash. She stared at the horizon and thought of how many times she'd seen such landscapes in her nightmares-wastelands she wandered alone, without purpose, without hope. But now she had a purpose. She knew where she was going.

"Doctor," Marc said, approaching her. "We need to keep moving. It's dangerous here. 'Eden's' patrols sometimes come into these areas. They look for refugees."

"I know," she replied. "Just one more minute."

She stepped aside and sat on a piece of concrete that was once part of a wall. She closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her.

Cain. She saw him so clearly-his smile, his warm eyes, his hands holding her when she cried. He was her anchor, her rock. He always knew what to say when she was struggling. He was the one who believed in her, even when she didn't believe in herself. And he died in her arms, shielding her from bullets meant for her. His last words were: "You'll make it. I believe in you."

Iris opened her eyes and looked at her hands. They were the same as then-thin, trembling slightly. She remembered holding him as he died, feeling his blood on her fingers, begging him not to leave. She didn't save him. But she could save others. She could save everyone still alive.

Gora. He was different-stern, sharp, but just. He taught her to shoot, taught her not to be afraid. He said: "Fear is not the enemy. The enemy is when you let fear control you." Gora died covering their retreat in Marcus's tower. He just vanished into the smoke and fire, and she never saw his body. She remembered his last words: "Run. I'll hold them off." She ran, and he stayed. She never forgave herself for that.

Charlie. He was the youngest, almost a boy, with naive eyes and faith that they would build a new world. He died on the first day of the assault, a stray bullet, a meaningless death. But she remembered his laughter, his jokes, his hope. He said: "When this is over, we'll build a city without war. Where people live in peace." He didn't live to see it.

Iris wiped the tears streaming down her face. She allowed herself this moment of weakness, because she knew in a minute she would have to be strong again. She couldn't afford to cry in front of the squad. She had to be their leader, their anchor.

"I won't let you down," she whispered. "I promise. Your deaths won't be in vain."

She stood and returned to the vehicle. The squad was waiting. Corvus looked at her with understanding-he too had lost everyone he loved and knew what pain was.

"Everything alright?" he asked.

"Yes," Iris replied. "Everything's fine. Let's move on."

The vehicle started, and they continued their journey through the wastelands. Iris watched the landscape change through the window-ruins grew older, the desert more lifeless. It felt like she was driving through time, through a history already written and unchangeable.

She pulled the locket from her pocket and clutched it. It was warm from her touch, as if her mother truly could hear her.

"Mom," she whispered. "Help me. Give me strength."

She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's face-warm, loving, with a slight smile. She remembered her mother teaching her to read, telling her about stars and a world without war. She remembered their last conversation, when her mother said: "I have to go. I have to stop them. But I'll leave you the key." She didn't know then that the key was the diary. Now she knew.

She put the locket away and looked ahead. There, on the horizon, the outlines of an abandoned village were already visible-a place they had to pass through.

"We're approaching the village," Corvus said, pointing ahead. "We need to be careful. There could be 'Eden' patrols."

"We'll stop at the edge," Iris said. "Scout it out. If anyone's there, we need to know what kind of place it is."

The vehicle slowed, and within ten minutes, they stood at the village entrance. Iris got out and looked around. The houses were old, abandoned, with collapsed roofs and broken windows. On the wall of each was carved the symbol of the tree with intertwined roots.

"They were here," she said. "'Eden.'"

She entered the village and walked down the main street. Everywhere was the same symbol-on walls, on doors, even on the well in the center of the square. It wasn't just a sign. It was a mark. An ideology spreading like a virus, seizing everything in its path.

"This isn't just a village," she said to Corvus as he approached. "It's a warning. They want us to know that 'Eden' is already here. That it's near."

"Many villages fell like this," Corvus replied. "They just came and said: 'Join or die.' Some joined. The rest died. Most chose life."

Iris stared at the symbols, and she felt anger rising within her. Lena hadn't just created a control system. She had created a cult. A cult that destroyed everything that didn't submit.

"We must keep moving," she said. "The sooner we reach 'Eden,' the sooner I can stop this. For them. For all who have already fallen."

They returned to the vehicle and continued on their way.

The squad approached a village marked on maps as "Tikhaya." But there was no silence here-only the wind howling through empty houses and the creak of unoiled hinges as doors swung to and fro. The place seemed dead, but Iris felt that people had been here. And not long ago.

Iris stepped out of the vehicle and looked around. The village was completely abandoned, but it felt as if life had been bustling here only days before. On every house was carved the symbol of the tree with intertwined roots. Neat, almost artistic-as if it had been burned with love, with faith. On the well, on benches, on doors, even on a piece of old cloth fluttering on a clothesline-everywhere was that sign.

"'Eden' was here," Corvus said, approaching her. "Can you feel it?"

"What?" Iris asked.

"The atmosphere. Something evil was here. They didn't just pass through-they took over. They left their mark, like a beast marking its territory."

Iris walked down the main street. She saw that the houses weren't destroyed-they were abandoned. People had left on their own. They had taken their belongings, closed the doors, even placed flowers on windowsills. As if they had left not in panic, but in order, willingly, with hope for a better life.

"They left voluntarily," she said. "They accepted 'Eden.'"

"Or they were given no choice," Corvus replied. "When you're hungry, sick, watching your children die, you'll accept any savior. Even the devil in white robes."

Iris approached one of the houses and looked inside. It was empty, but a plate of uneaten food stood on the table. Next to it lay a book, open in the middle. Everything looked as if the people had simply stood up and left, not finishing their meal, not finishing their tea. A child's jacket hung on a chair-small, pink, with an embroidered flower. Iris picked it up and felt tears rising.

"They weren't in a hurry," she said. "They didn't flee. They left calmly, believing they were going to paradise."

"Because they believed they were going to paradise," Corvus said. "'Eden' promised them paradise. No hunger, no war, no pain. They thought they were being saved. They thought they'd found salvation."

"And instead, they walked into a prison."

Corvus nodded.

"I was there. I know. 'Eden' is a machine that grinds people up. First, they give you food, shelter, protection. Then they take your freedom. Then your soul. You become part of the system, a cog in the machine. And you don't even notice, because you're fed and safe."

Iris walked to the well and looked down. The water was warm and murky, but she felt there was something strange about it-a taste that shouldn't be in clean water. She knew 'Eden' used drugs to control its population. Her mother had written about it in the diary: "They add chemicals to the water. It suppresses the will. Makes people obedient. We must stop this."

"They add something to the water," she said. "Drugs that weaken the will. My mother wrote about it."

"You're right," Corvus said. "They use chemicals to make people obey. It's part of their control system. They don't want people to think for themselves. They want people to believe."

Iris stepped away from the well and looked up at the sky. It was still gray, but on the eastern horizon, a faint blue glow appeared-perhaps a reflection from 'Eden's' domes. She knew they were close. Very close.

"We need to be careful," she told the squad. "If 'Eden' is this close, we might encounter patrols. They know someone is coming."

"We're ready," one of the soldiers said, gripping his weapon.

"I don't want to shoot first," Iris replied. "We don't know who they are. Maybe we can persuade them. Maybe they haven't lost themselves entirely yet."

Corvus smirked, but there was no joy in it.

"Persuade them? Those who believe in 'Eden' don't get persuaded. It's like trying to persuade a stone to flow. They believe Lena is their savior. They'd die for her."

"We'll try," Iris said firmly. "I don't want to kill people who are just misguided."

She headed for the village exit, but at that moment, she heard a strange sound-footsteps. Many footsteps. She stopped and raised her hand, signaling the squad to freeze. They waited, holding their breath.

From behind the houses, people emerged. They stepped out of the shadows slowly, one by one, like ghosts. All of them had empty, glowing eyes, and their movements were mechanical, like puppets jerked by strings. They were armed-not with modern weapons, but crude clubs and knives, but there were many. About thirty of them, surrounding the squad from all sides.

"They've surrounded us," one of the soldiers whispered.

"Don't shoot," Iris said. "I forbid it. Don't give them a reason."

She stepped forward, placing herself between the squad and the crowd. She raised her hands, showing she was unarmed.

"We are not enemies," she said loudly, so all could hear. "We are going to 'Eden.' We want to speak with your leader. We want to understand."

The people with empty eyes didn't answer. They just stood and stared at her, like statues, like wax figures. Iris felt their gazes, cold and lifeless, and knew they were not people-they were puppets controlled by someone else. Someone sitting in the heart of 'Eden,' pulling strings.

Then one of them stepped forward-a woman with long gray hair and empty eyes. She approached Iris and stared directly at her, and there was nothing human in that gaze.

"You shall not pass," she said monotonously. "'Eden' protects us."

"We don't want to harm you," Iris replied. "We just want to talk. We want to understand what you've built and why you believe in it."

"'Eden' gives us purpose," the woman said. "We were nobody. Now we are part of something greater. We are part of a family."

Iris looked at her and thought of her mother's words: "A sanctuary can become a prison. But if a person doesn't know they're in a prison, they'll call it paradise." She saw it firsthand. These people were in prison, but they didn't know it. They thought they were free.

"I understand," Iris said. "But I need to see your city. I need to understand what you've built. I need to see it with my own eyes."

The woman stared at her for a long time. Then she nodded.

"We will take you to the leader," she said. "But if you betray, you will die. 'Eden' does not forgive traitors."

Iris nodded.

"I agree. I will not betray."

The woman turned and walked to the village exit. The people with empty eyes parted, creating a corridor, and Iris and her squad passed through them. She felt their breath, their stares, and knew they were just part of a vast machine grinding people up. But she also knew that machine could be stopped.

They walked through the wastelands for about an hour, and Iris felt the sun beating down mercilessly, scorching her skin. The landscape around was still dead, but now there was something different in the air-tension, like before a storm. The people with empty eyes moved ahead and to the sides, surrounding them in a tight ring, and Iris knew that if they wanted to attack, the squad would have no chance.

She felt their gazes on her, cold and lifeless, and knew they were not people-they were puppets, their strings pulled by someone in the heart of 'Eden.' She saw it in their movements-too synchronized, too mechanical. In their eyes-empty, like the dead.

"This is strange," Corvus said, stepping closer. "They should have attacked by now. In 'Eden,' they don't take prisoners. They either kill or take you to the city. They don't lead strangers to the leader. It's not their tactic."

"Maybe they want to show me to Lena," Iris replied, not taking her eyes off the crowd. "Maybe they've been ordered to bring me alive. Maybe Lena wants to see me personally."

"Or they want to lure us into a trap. This could be a test. Lena wants to see how we react."

Iris didn't answer. She knew it was possible, but she had no choice. She had to enter 'Eden' at any cost. She had to meet Lena. She had to find 'Protocol 7.'

They passed through a gorge where walls rose high and almost sheer on both sides, and Iris felt the air thicken. It was cool, but she sensed danger, like an animal sensing a predator.

Suddenly, the squad stopped. The people with empty eyes closed the circle, and from behind the rocks, others emerged-armed, shouting, with burning eyes. An ambush. Iris saw their faces-as empty as the others, but with aggression, bloodlust.

"Stop!" Iris shouted, raising her hands. "We are not enemies! We just want to talk! We don't want to fight!"

But they didn't listen. They couldn't hear her. They were machines, following orders. The first attacker lunged at her with a knife, and Iris dodged at the last moment, feeling the blade slice her shirt. She pushed him away, but he got up and came at her again. The others began attacking too.

"Don't shoot!" Iris shouted. "I forbid it! They're not to blame!"

She dodged blows, pushed attackers away, trying not to hurt them. She didn't want to kill them-they were victims, like everyone else. But there were too many. She saw the soldiers trying to defend themselves, but not shooting-following her orders. Corvus fought off three attackers, Vera dodged blows, Marc and Dan covered each other's backs.

"Doctor, we can't keep this up!" Corvus shouted, fending off an attacker. "They'll kill us!"

"Hold on!" Iris replied. "Don't kill! They're not to blame! They're being controlled!"

She saw one of the soldiers fall, and Iris rushed to him, shoving the attacker aside. She shielded the soldier and looked into the attacker's face-a young man, maybe twenty, with empty eyes and a childlike face. He looked like a child who had lost himself.

"You don't want this," she said, looking him in the eye. "You don't want to kill. I know. You just want to live. You want to be free."

He paused for a moment, and something like awareness flickered in his eyes. But then it was gone, and he raised his knife again.

"We all want to live," he said monotonously. "'Eden' gives us life."

Just then, one of the attackers stopped. The woman with gray hair and empty eyes-the one who had spoken in the village-approached her and looked directly into her eyes. There was something strange in her gaze, something Iris couldn't understand.

"You're not like the others," she said. "You don't kill. You protect. You don't want to hurt us."

"I don't kill my own," Iris replied, breathing heavily. "Even if they don't know they're my own. Even if they think I'm their enemy."

The woman stared at her for a long time. Then she raised her hand. All the attackers froze, as if on command.

"We will take you to the leader," the woman said. "But if you betray, you will die. 'Eden' does not forgive traitors."

Iris nodded.

"I agree. I will not betray."

She walked to the soldiers lying on the ground and helped them up. They were beaten, but alive. She looked at her hands-they were trembling. She hadn't killed anyone. She had kept her soul.

They continued on, and Iris felt she had passed a test. She could have killed-but she didn't. She had proven she was different. And now she had a chance.

They walked through the wastelands until evening, when the sun began to set, painting the sky in blood-red hues. The woman with gray hair walked beside Iris, and they talked-Iris asking questions, the woman answering in short, clipped phrases.

"Were you human?" Iris asked, looking at her.

"I was nobody," the woman replied. "I lived in a small village on the edge of the wastelands. People died there from hunger, disease, despair. I lost my husband, three children, my parents. I was alone, without purpose, without hope. I wanted to die. I stood on the edge of a cliff and looked down."

"What happened then?"

"They came. People of 'Eden.' They gave me food, water, clothes. They said: 'You will no longer suffer. We will give you purpose. We will give you a new life.' I agreed. And now I am part of something greater. I am part of a family."

"Do you know this is a prison?" Iris asked. "Do you know they took your freedom?"

"Freedom?" the woman smirked, something bitter, almost human in it. "What is freedom? Hunger? Fear? Death? 'Eden' gave me everything I had lost. I don't want to go back. I don't want to be nobody again."

Iris recalled her mother's words: "A sanctuary can become a prison. But if a person doesn't know they're in a prison, they'll call it paradise." She understood that her mother was right. These people weren't evil. They were broken. And 'Eden' gave them the illusion of salvation.

"Do you know what 'Protocol 7' is?" she asked.

The woman frowned, and a shadow of fear flickered in her eyes.

"We don't speak of the 'Protocol.' It's forbidden. But I've heard it could destroy 'Eden.' It could destroy everything we've built."

"That's why I'm here," Iris said. "I want to stop 'Eden.' I want to free you all."

The woman said nothing. She just walked on, and Iris understood: she didn't know the truth. She didn't know the 'Protocol' was the key to her freedom.

"We were nobody," the woman said after a while. "'Eden' gave us purpose. It gave us meaning. I don't want to lose that."

"'Eden' gave you an illusion," Iris said. "But I will give you reality. I will give you freedom."

They walked on, and Iris felt resolve growing within her. She had to find 'Protocol 7.' She had to destroy 'Eden.' She had to free these people.

When the sun had fully set, they saw lights ahead. A system of domes, glowing blue, rose over the wastelands like an artificial mountain, like an ancient city of legend. Iris looked at it and felt a mix of fear and hope inside her.

"It's there," she said. "'Eden.'"

"Yes," the woman replied. "This is your paradise or your grave. It depends on what you choose."

Iris clenched her fists.

"I choose freedom. I choose life."

She walked forward, towards the domes, and within her burned a fire that could destroy everything in its path. She knew: this was only the beginning. Ahead lay battle.

Iris stood at the border of the domes and looked at 'Eden.' It was unlike anything she'd ever seen-a system of shimmering domes rising over the wastelands like an artificial mountain. Inside the domes was green-real greenery she hadn't seen in months. Trees, flowers, grass, water-clean, clear, flowing through channels. People walked the streets, unafraid of patrols, not hungry, not dying. It looked like paradise, like a dream come true.

Iris stepped forward and touched the dome. It was warm, like a living thing, and she felt energy pulsing inside it-energy that powered this perfect world. She saw inside the domes, lights shining, people smiling, children playing in playgrounds. It looked like a painting from the old world, the one she'd read about in books.

"This is the future," the gray-haired woman said, standing beside her. "Or a prison. It's up to you."

Iris looked at the greenery, feeling two voices warring within her. One said: "Stay. Here you have everything you need. Food, water, protection. No hunger, no war. You can be happy." The other whispered: "This is a prison. You know it. You can't stay. You have to destroy it. You have to free them."

"Mom," she whispered. "What do I do?"

In answer, there was only the wind howling over the wastelands, and a voice inside her growing louder, sweeping away all doubt.

"I know what to do," she said.

She turned and looked at the squad. Corvus stood beside her, ready to follow her to the end. Vera held her weapon at the ready. Marc and Dan looked at her with expectation. They believed in her. They were following her into the heart of the enemy.

"We're going inside," she said. "We'll find 'Protocol 7.' We'll find Lena. We'll destroy 'Eden.' We'll free everyone."

Corvus nodded.

"We're ready."

Iris turned to the domes and stepped forward. She touched the dome's surface, and it opened before her, like a door to a new world. She stepped inside, and the domes closed behind her.

She stood on the streets of 'Eden.' The air was fresh, clean. Flowers grew around her, leaves glittering in the light. People passed by, smiling, and she saw they didn't know they were in a prison. She saw they were happy.

"You made the right choice," the woman said. "Welcome to 'Eden.'"

Iris clutched her mother's diary in her pocket and looked ahead. She knew this battle was just beginning. She knew she had to find Lena. She knew she had to destroy 'Protocol 7.' But she also knew she wasn't alone. She believed she could save these people.

"Thank you," she said. "I'm ready."

She walked forward, into the heart of the city, and within her burned a fire that could destroy everything in its path. She knew: this was only the beginning. But she wouldn't stop until she freed everyone.

The General stood over a map spread on a rough wooden table, staring at the red-marked positions he planned to capture within the next two days. The map was old, worn, with faded lines, but the General knew every street, every house, every basement of this city. He had served here for twenty years, defended it from enemies, built its defenses, watched it crumble and rebuild. And now he had to defend it from the most dangerous enemy-from a weak leader unable to make hard decisions. From a man who believed in peace when the world wanted war. From a man who turned out to be a clone, created by the very Marcus Vos they all hated.

Around him sat six officers. The most loyal, the most ruthless, those who didn't fear blood if it led to order. Those who saw their soldiers dying, their families perishing, "Eden" devouring their lands, and could wait no longer. They sat in a semicircle, their faces harsh as granite, eyes burning with a fire that could incinerate anything in their path. The room was a basement of an old warehouse on the city's edge-damp, dark, smelling of mold and dust. No street noise reached here; no one could hear them. The only light came from a kerosene lamp in the center of the table, casting long shadows on the walls. Shadows that seemed to the General like symbols of what they were about to do-dark, bloody, but necessary.

The General raised his eyes and looked around at the assembled men. He saw on their faces the same thing he felt himself-resolve bordering on fury, and exhaustion bordering on despair. They were tired of Elias's softness, his endless negotiations, his belief that peace could be built on trust. They saw the city falling apart, people dying of hunger, 'Eden' gaining strength while the Council debated. They knew peace was built on blood. And they were ready to spill it to protect what remained.

"You know why I've gathered you," the General began, his voice sounding like a whip crack in the silence. He spoke softly, but every word echoed off the basement walls, like a cry in an empty hall. "The city is dying. Hunger, water shortages, 'Eden's' attacks-it's all tearing us apart from within. And our leader, our great Elias, sits on his hands waiting for the problem to solve itself. He believes in negotiations. He believes the enemy can be persuaded with words. But you saw what happened to Rassvet."

The General paused, letting the words sink in. He saw the officers exchange glances, their faces growing more tense. He knew they remembered. Everyone remembered.

"Four thousand people," he continued, his voice rising, hardening. "Four thousand people died in one night! Women, children, the elderly-they were simply burned like trash! And what did the Council do? What did Elias do? He ordered the fragments preserved for analysis! Analysis! While he was analyzing, 'Eden' was destroying our villages. While he waited for results, our people were dying."

He slammed his fist on the table, and the map jumped, the lamp swaying, casting dancing shadows on the officers' faces. Shadows that now seemed to them like outlines of enemies.

"'Eden' doesn't listen to words!" the General shouted, rising from the table and beginning to pace the room. "'Eden' only listens to force! And if we don't take power into our own hands, if we don't stop waiting, we'll all be destroyed! Elias is too soft! He's weak! And the weak don't survive in this world!"

He stopped behind the gray-templed colonel, an old war dog who had lost an eye storming the Agri-Continent and now sat, fists clenched, ready for action.

"I know we're all tired," the General said, his voice softening, almost confidential. "I know we've all lost someone. I lost my wife and daughter in the war. We've all lost. But we can't afford to give up. We can't afford to be weak. We must act."

The colonel stood up, his voice as hard as steel.

"General, I'm with you," he said. "We must act now. Every day of delay is more deaths. But how do we do it? Elias has his supporters. Many believe in him. Believe he's leading us to the light."

The General smirked and approached the colonel. He placed a hand on the old warrior's shoulder and looked him straight in the eye.

"His followers don't know the truth," the General said, lowering his voice to a whisper meant only for the colonel. "They don't know he's a clone. Yes, I know it. I found his files in the Genesis archives when we captured the base. Elias was created by Marcus Vos. He's hiding it from everyone. He's the same as those who destroyed us. The same as those who created 'Eden.'"

Silence fell in the basement. The officers exchanged glances, and the General saw the information sinking in, changing their perception. Elias-a clone. It changed everything. They weren't just overthrowing a weak leader-they were overthrowing an enemy pretending to be a friend. Who had wormed his way into their trust to destroy them from within.

"If he's a clone," the colonel said slowly, a fury entering his voice, "then he's a traitor by nature. We can't trust him. We can't let him lead us. He lies to us every day."

"Exactly," the General said. "We must overthrow him. We must take power to save the city. I don't want this-I respected him as a soldier. He was brave, he fought for us. But if it's the only way to survive, I'm ready for anything."

He scanned the assembled faces. They looked at him with faith, with readiness to follow him through fire and water. He knew they would follow him. They were his weapon, his army, his last hope.

"We begin tomorrow at dawn," he said, his voice turning sharp, commanding. "We arrest everyone connected to Elias-his officers, his advisors, his supporters. Then we seize headquarters. We'll take Elias alive-I want him to see his world crumble. I want him to understand his illusions are shattered."

He walked to the table and leaned over the map.

"Here's the plan," he said, tracing streets with his finger. "First squad takes headquarters. Second-the barracks. Third-blockades the city exits. Fourth-arrests anyone who might resist. We must act fast and without mercy. No hesitation. No pity."

The officers nodded, memorizing every word.

"Who's with me?" the General asked, straightening up.

"We are with you!" the officers answered in unison, their voices merging into one powerful shout that seemed to shake the basement walls.

The General nodded. He knew the coup was inevitable. He knew it would be bloody. He knew many would die, many would suffer. But he also knew it was the only way to save the city. And he was ready to pay any price.

When the officers left, he remained alone in the basement. The lamp was dying, casting its last flickers on his face. He looked at the map, at the red points, and thought about what came next. He didn't want to kill Elias-he respected him as a fighter. Respected his courage, his loyalty, his ability to lead. But if Elias stood in his way, if he tried to stop him, he would do it. Without hesitation. Without regret.

"Forgive me, Gora," he whispered, looking at the wall where a worn portrait of the fallen hero hung. "Forgive me, old friend. But I must do this. For the city. For the future. For all who died."

He walked to the table, extinguished the lamp, and the basement plunged into darkness. He went outside, where the night wind lashed his face, and looked at the stars. They shone coldly and indifferently, as if they didn't see what was happening below. He knew tomorrow would change everything.

He headed to his room to prepare for the next day's battle. But he also knew he wouldn't sleep. Thoughts churned-what if he was wrong? What if Elias had been right? What if diplomacy could have worked? What if he became the same kind of tyrant as Marcus?

He pushed the thoughts away. He had made his choice. And he would see it through. He wouldn't let doubt stop him. He would save this city. Even if it meant becoming a monster.

Major Torn woke to someone roughly grabbing his shoulder and yanking him up. He didn't have time to open his eyes before he was pulled from his bed, cold air hitting his bare skin. He heard shouting-first strangers, then his own as he tried to break free and realized his hands were already cuffed. The light of a kerosene lamp, held by one of the soldiers, hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment. Torn squinted, and when he opened his eyes, he saw three stone faces-soldiers of the General, the same ones who always shadowed him. They weren't smiling, weren't gloating, just following orders like machines.

"What are you doing?" the major shouted, struggling in their grip. "You have no right! I'm a Council officer! I'm Major Torn! You'll answer for this!"

"We have orders from the General," said one of the soldiers, a senior man with a rough face and a scar on his cheek. "You're under arrest for treason. For conspiring with 'Eden.' For leaking information that led to the destruction of Rassvet."

"That's a lie!" Torn screamed, his voice filled with such fury that the soldier flinched back for a moment. "I was never an agent of 'Eden'! I fought for this city! I lost friends here, I risked my life, I gave orders that saved lives! How dare you?"

The soldier didn't answer. He just waved his hand, and the other two grabbed the major under his arms and dragged him towards the exit. He tried to resist, but his bare feet slipped on the cold stone floor, and he knew it was useless. There were three of them, they were armed, and they were stronger.

They dragged him into the street, and the morning cold hit his face. The sky was gray, as always, and smoke rose over the city. Several houses on the outskirts were burning-where the General's soldiers had begun their purge. Shouts, crying, gunfire-everything mixed into one hellish noise.

People came out of their houses, watching him with horror and curiosity, and no one tried to help. They stood silent, holding their breath, afraid to move, afraid they'd be accused too. Some turned away, unable to watch. Some shouted: "Traitor! Murderer!"-their voices full of hatred feeding on fear.

The major walked with his head high, trying to maintain his dignity. He passed familiar faces-people he'd drunk coffee with, discussed defense plans with, dreamed of the future with. No one met his eyes. No one said a word in his defense. He was alone. Betrayed, forgotten, accused of what he hadn't done.

The square was already filled with a crowd. Hundreds of people came to watch the execution. They stood shoulder to shoulder, fear and curiosity in their eyes. The General was in full dress uniform, medals on his chest, looking triumphant, like a hero who would save them from their enemies. His officers stood beside him, ready to obey any command, their faces cold and merciless.

"Major Torn," the General said, raising his voice so all could hear. "You are charged with treason. Conspiring with 'Eden.' Leaking information that led to the destruction of Rassvet. Do you confess?"

"Lies!" Torn shouted, trying to break through to the General, but the soldiers held him back, gripping his shoulders. "You know it's a lie! I never betrayed the Council! You're the traitor! You want to seize power! You're destroying our city!"

The General calmly walked over to the major and looked him straight in the eye. There was not a shred of doubt in his gaze-only cold, steely resolve. He stood so close that the major could see every wrinkle on his face, every gray hair, every bead of sweat on his forehead.

"I only know that you refused to support the legitimate government," the General said, his voice quiet but ominous, like a whisper of death. "You refused to honor your oath. You rebelled against authority. And you must answer for it."

The major spat in the General's face. His saliva landed on the dress uniform, and the crowd gasped, as if someone had struck a taut string. The General wiped his face and stepped back. His eyes darkened, and fury, barely contained, flashed in them.

"You've left me no choice," he said, turning to the soldiers. "Shoot him for treason. Now."

The soldiers grabbed the major and dragged him to the wall. He tried to resist, but there were too many. He shouted he was innocent, that the General was a usurper, that the city would perish because of his actions, that his death would be only the beginning. But no one listened. The soldiers stood him against the wall, and a volley rang out.

The major fell, his body left lying on the square for all to see. Blood spread over the stones, and the crowd fell silent. The General turned to them and raised his hands.

"This is what happens to those who betray us!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the square. "But this is only the beginning! We will cleanse the city of everyone connected to 'Eden'! We will defend our freedom! We will not allow traitors to destroy what we've built!"

The crowd applauded. They didn't know the truth. They believed they were being saved. They believed the General was their hero. But in the eyes of some, the most perceptive, a flicker of fear appeared-fear for themselves, for their loved ones, for the future.

At that moment, a purge began in the city. The General's soldiers went from house to house, dragging people out, arresting everyone connected to Elias. Shouts, crying, gunfire-everything mixed in one hellish noise. Major Torn was the first. But he was not the last.

The General stood on the square, watching the crowd. He saw their fear, their hope, their faith. He knew they would follow him. He would give them order, security, everything Elias had promised but failed to deliver. And he would stop at nothing to achieve it.

Elias stood at the headquarters window, watching the smoke rise over the city. Black clouds rose into the gray sky, mixing with the clouds, and the smell of burning penetrated even the closed room. He heard shouts-first distant, then closer. He heard gunfire. He knew what was happening. And he knew who was behind it. His heart pounded in his chest like a bird in a cage, and he felt anger boiling inside him, barely contained. He gripped the windowsill so hard his knuckles went white, and the wood began to crack under his hands.

He watched the city they had built over seven months, raised from the ashes after the fall of the Agri-Continent, fall apart in a single night. He saw the General's soldiers dragging people from their homes, heard them screaming, dying. He knew many of those people were innocent. They had just been close to him, had just believed in him, had just hoped for better. And now they were paying with their lives.

The General entered without knocking, without asking permission-just walked in like an owner, like a man already feeling like a winner. He was calm, as if nothing had happened-as if he hadn't just ordered the execution of Major Torn, as if the purge hadn't begun, as if the city wasn't dying before their eyes. He wore the same dress uniform he'd worn on the square, and a faint smile played on his lips-the smile of a man who knows he's won. The smile of a predator who has finally reached his prey and is savoring the moment.

"What have you done?" Elias asked, trying to control his anger, but his voice trembled with fury. "You started a purge. You killed Major Torn. You arrested dozens of innocent people. You've turned our city into hell! What have you done to my people?"

"I'm doing this for security," the General replied, crossing his arms. He spoke calmly, as if explaining to a child why they shouldn't touch fire. "They were agents of 'Eden.' They deserved death. Do you think I want this? I don't, but I have no choice. Either their death, or the death of us all. You must understand this, Elias. You must see reality."

"You know that's a lie!" Elias shouted, stepping towards him. "You're killing people who just disagree with you! You're killing those who remained loyal to me! You're destroying everything we built! We were supposed to build a world, and you're turning it into a graveyard! You're worse than Marcus Vos, because you do it with a smile!"

The General smirked, something cold and almost contemptuous in it. He stepped closer, and now they stood face to face, only a few steps apart. The General was taller, older, and in his eyes was that steely confidence that appears in people when they believe in their own righteousness.

"We were building? We?" he repeated, his voice hardening like steel. "You think you're one of us? You're a clone. You were created by Marcus Vos. You were never one of us. You pretended, you hid, you lied to us. Every day, every minute, every time you looked us in the eye, you lied. You're just like them. You're the enemy."

Elias froze. He knew the General knew the truth. He knew this day would come. But he hadn't expected the General to use it now, in this moment, as a weapon. The General's words stabbed into him like knives, and he felt something inside him breaking.

"You don't understand," Elias said, his voice quieter, but filled with pain. "I'm not like the others. I fought for this city. I fought for freedom. I fought for you, when you were wounded in battle. I saved you. Remember? You lay in the mud, bleeding out, and I pulled you out. I carried you on my shoulders for five kilometers until I found a doctor. You were delirious, but you held my hand and said: 'Thank you, brother.' You remember that? Remember what I did for you?"

The General looked at him, and for a moment, a shadow of doubt flickered in his eyes. Something wavered in his face, and Elias saw, for an instant, the man with whom he'd fought side by side, who had believed in him, who had called him brother. But the shadow vanished as quickly as it came, like a cloud shadow on a windy day.

"You're a traitor by nature," the General said, his voice hardening. "Clones can't be free. They're created for submission. And you're proof of that. You wear the mask of a human, but inside you're a machine built for destruction. You think you can be one of us? You never were, and you never will be. You're just a puppet Marcus Vos created."

Elias looked at the General, fury and despair warring inside him. He knew the General had crossed a line. He knew a battle was about to begin, one with no winners. But he also knew he couldn't back down. He couldn't surrender. He had to defend those who believed in him.

"You're becoming a threat yourself," he said, his voice firm. "You're destroying our city. You're turning it into a prison where people are afraid to breathe. You're a tyrant, and you're worse than 'Eden,' because you were among us. You knew us, you were with us, you ate with us at the same table, and now you kill us without regret."

The General smirked but said nothing. He just turned and walked out, leaving Elias alone in the room. The door closed with a dull thud, and Elias was left with the silence and the smoke outside the window.

He walked to the table and picked up an old photograph-Gora, Cain, Charlie, himself, and Iris. They stood at the memorial, in the first month after the victory, smiling, believing everything would be fine. Now none of them were there-Gora dead, Cain dead, Charlie dead, Iris gone east, and he was alone in this city that would soon become his grave. He ran his finger over their faces and felt tears welling up.

"I won't give up," he whispered. "I won't let him destroy everything. For you. For all who died. For Iris."

He put the photograph in his pocket and began gathering his things. He knew the worst was about to begin. He heard footsteps outside the door, the shouts of his people trying to defend headquarters. He knew the General wouldn't stop until he'd taken everything. And he knew he had to run.

Elias walked down the corridor, each step echoing in his ears, mixing with distant shouts and gunfire. He was almost running, pressing against the walls, trying to avoid the General's patrols. In his hand, he gripped the old pistol-the same one he'd carried since storming the Agri-Continent. The magazine held only three rounds. He knew it was too little to fight through the soldiers, but enough to not surrender alive. His fingers trembled, not from fear, but from rage boiling in his chest, mixing with icy despair. He felt adrenaline flooding his blood, sharpening his senses, turning every shadow into a potential threat.

The headquarters corridors, just hours ago filled with bustling noise, officers' voices, and typing, had become a labyrinth of death. Walls were riddled with bullet holes-deep, dark craters oozing limestone dust. On the floor, mixed with debris and shattered glass, lay torn documents-defense plans, supply lists, personal letters now soaking in blood and trampled by soldier boots. Somewhere deep in the building, a fire burned-Elias could smell the acrid smoke, mixed with the smell of blood and ozone. It was a smell he knew to his bones. It had haunted him since the beginning of the war, and now it seemed to be permanently embedded in his clothes, his skin, his lungs.

He turned a corner and froze. Right in front of him, three of the General's soldiers, in black body armor with crossed-sword patches, were dragging his adjutant down the corridor-the young lieutenant with the eyepatch on his left eye, the same one who had lost his eye storming Marcus's tower and had served him with fanatical loyalty ever since. The lieutenant looked terrible: his uniform torn, his face covered in blood-from a split brow, a busted lip, a deep wound on his cheek, oozing dark venous blood. One sleeve was almost torn to the shoulder, and his exposed arm was covered in bruises and burns. He could barely stand, but in his one remaining eye burned the fire of resistance-the very fire Elias valued so highly in his people.

"I'm not a traitor!" the adjutant shouted, struggling, jerking in the soldiers' grip like a hunted animal. "Do you hear me? I am loyal to the Council! I am loyal to Elias! I fought for this city when you were still sitting in your barracks, afraid to stick your nose out! You have no right!"

He named fallen comrades, listed battles he'd fought in, shouted about the oath he'd sworn, not to the General, but to the people. But the soldiers didn't listen. They dragged him like a sack of garbage, ignoring his shouts, ignoring his resistance. One of them, a broad-shouldered brute with a bull neck, lazily smirked and raised his fist to punch the lieutenant in the face, to shut him up.

"Release him!" Elias shouted, stepping out of the shadows.

His voice, hoarse and raw, but incredibly loud, echoed through the corridor, making the soldiers freeze. For a moment, a strange, ringing silence fell. Even the lieutenant stopped shouting, staring at his commander with both horror and hope. Elias saw the adjutant's eyes flicker a plea: "Run! Don't let them take you!" But it was too late.

Elias stepped forward, gun in hand, and at that moment heard heavy, confident footsteps behind him. Many footsteps. He turned-and saw the corridor behind him filling with soldiers. More than twenty. They moved in sync, like a single mechanism, closing in a tight circle, cutting off all escape routes. Their faces, lit by the dim emergency lights, were stone, merciless, expressionless. These weren't just soldiers-they were the General's elite, hardened by the bloodiest battles and knowing no mercy. They held weapons at the ready, barrels aimed at Elias's chest, and he could see some of their fingers already on triggers. One wrong move-and he'd be riddled with bullets.

"You're under arrest for treason," one of them said, stepping forward. It was a captain-tall, spare, with a rough, deeply lined face and cold, steely eyes. He spoke calmly, as if announcing the weather, and his voice held no doubt or sympathy. "Come with us. Without resistance."

Elias gripped the pistol so hard his knuckles went white. He looked at the captain, his impassive face, and felt a wave of rage, almost blinding, rising inside him. He wanted to scream that it was a lie, that he was the legitimate leader, that the General was a usurper, but the words stuck in his throat. He knew it was useless. These men didn't listen. They followed orders.

"I am the Council Leader!" he shouted, his voice wavering but not breaking. He tried to break through the ring, but the soldiers closed ranks, and he hit a wall of armored bodies. "I was elected by the people! I fought for this city before you were born! I gave it everything I had-every drop of blood, every hour of sleep, every hope! You have no right!"

"We have the General's orders," the captain said coldly, a flicker of annoyance in his voice. "Resistance is pointless. You're surrounded. We don't want to harm you, but if you resist, we will use force. Choose, Elias. Surrender voluntarily, or we'll do it by force."

Elias looked around. He saw, at the far end of the corridor, his people-the few still loyal to him-trying to fight their way to him. There were no more than ten. They fought desperately, with shouts and curses, but the General's soldiers were surrounding them from all sides, and they fell one by one under a hail of bullets. He saw the old colonel, his friend and comrade, collapse to his knees, clutching his chest, and not get up. He saw the young signals officer, a boy of nineteen, trying to crawl away, but a bullet caught him, and he froze in an unnatural pose, arms outstretched. He saw his adjutant, the one with the eyepatch, who moments ago was shouting his loyalty, being dragged away, across the floor, leaving a bloody trail. The adjutant no longer shouted-he just looked at Elias, and in his one eye was a plea, fear, and farewell. Elias knew he would never see him alive again.

And in that moment, something inside him broke. The rage that had been boiling inside him suddenly left, leaving only emptiness-cold, all-consuming, like a winter wasteland. He knew he'd lost. He knew this battle was over, that his people were dying for him, and he couldn't help them. He knew that if he resisted, they would keep dying-and all in vain.

He slowly lowered his hands. The pistol fell from his slackened fingers and clattered on the stone floor. He closed his eyes, feeling cold sweat trickle down his back, his heart pounding in his throat, blood roaring in his ears. He took a deep breath-the last free breath of his life.

"I surrender," he said quietly, his voice flat, almost calm, though inside everything was shaking. "But I am not a traitor. I was never a traitor. I just believed in something better. I believed we could build peace. And if that means death, I will die with that."

The soldiers didn't answer. They grabbed him-roughly, mercilessly, twisting his arms behind his back and snapping cold steel handcuffs on his wrists. The metal bit into his skin, leaving red welts. They led him down the corridor, and he didn't resist. He walked, trying to hold his head high, trying not to look at the bodies of his people lying on the floor, in pools of blood, eyes open, staring into nothing. He walked, hearing the shouts die down behind him, the gunfire fade, silence fall-a terrible, oppressive silence that told him his cause was lost. They led him through the corridors, and he saw the General's people emerging from doors, taking posts, removing the bodies of his supporters, erasing all traces of his power. He saw them tearing down Council members' portraits from the walls, trampling documents he'd signed. He saw the world he'd built collapsing before his eyes, turning to ash.

They brought him to the square, and the bright light of the spotlights hit his eyes, blinding him for a moment. There, on an improvised podium, stood the General-in full dress uniform, medals on his chest, campaign ribbons earned in the same battles Elias had fought. His face was calm, almost triumphant, and he looked at the crowd that had gathered around him like a herd he was about to shepherd. The crowd buzzed-hundreds, maybe thousands, who had come to watch the execution, the triumph of justice, the fall of the one they'd believed in. They didn't know the truth. They didn't know the General was a usurper. They didn't know Elias wasn't a traitor. They believed what they were told, because they were afraid, because they wanted to believe someone would save them.

"You see this man?" the General shouted, raising his arm and pointing at Elias. His voice boomed over the square, every word striking like a bell. "You see the one you called your leader? The one you entrusted with your lives, your children, your hopes? He is a clone. He was created by Marcus Vos, the very tyrant who enslaved us, who burned our homes and killed our loved ones. He lied to you all this time. He hid his true nature to gain your trust, to betray you when the moment came. He is a traitor. He is the enemy. And he will answer for his crimes!"

The crowd roared. Some shouted: "Death to the traitor!" Some applauded, others just stood silent, staring at Elias with horror and disbelief. Elias looked at them-faces he knew, with whom he'd shared bread, whom he'd protected, for whom he'd built this world. And in their eyes, he saw only fear and hatred. He saw no doubt, no spark of uncertainty, no shadow of gratitude. They had turned away from him, turned away from everything he'd done. He was a stranger to them, an enemy, a monster.

The General descended from the podium and approached Elias. He stood so close Elias could see every wrinkle on his face, every gray hair, every bead of sweat on his forehead. He looked at Elias with cold contempt, and there was no regret in his eyes.

"You've lost," he said quietly, so only Elias could hear. "You believed in people too long. You thought they deserved freedom. But they don't. They only want order. And I will give it to them."

"You're wrong," Elias replied, his voice quiet but firm. "You think order is everything. But without freedom, order is just another form of slavery. You'll become the same as Marcus. And then they'll hate you as much as they hate me now."

The General smirked but said nothing. He just waved his hand, and the soldiers led Elias into the darkness, towards the cells waiting below, in the headquarters basement.

Elias walked, not looking back. He heard the crowd still shouting behind him, the General addressing them with a new speech, their applause. He walked, feeling the cold stone beneath his feet, the handcuffs biting into his wrists, the pain in his shoulder-from that old wound-becoming unbearable. He walked, and Gora's voice sounded in his head, but now it was quiet, almost sad:

"You lost this battle, Elias. But the war isn't over. You can still save Iris. You can still stop 'Eden.' You can still change everything. But to do that, you must survive. You must get out of here."

Elias clenched his fists, as much as the cuffs allowed, and promised himself: he would survive. He would escape. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would return and free this city, even if he had to go through hell. He would do it. He wouldn't let the General win. He wouldn't let the General turn this world into a new "Agri-Continent." He would fight to the end. For all who died. For all still alive. For Iris. For Gora. For Cain. For freedom.

The cell door slammed shut behind him, and he was alone in the darkness. But inside him, a fire burned-weak, but stubborn, that no darkness could extinguish.

Elias sat in his cell, staring at the blank wall. Around him was darkness, silence pressing down like a concrete slab. He heard only his own breathing and heartbeat, echoing in his temples with a dull, rhythmic thud. The walls were damp, cold, and he felt the cold seeping into his bones, making him shiver. He sat on the floor, back against the wall, staring into the darkness that seemed to have no end. He didn't know how much time had passed-an hour, two, an eternity.

He thought about how he'd ended up here. Just hours ago, he'd been the leader of the Council, the man building a new world on the ashes of the old. He believed he could change everything, create a society where people and clones lived in peace. He believed diplomacy and trust could defeat hatred and fear. Now he sat in a cell, accused of treason, betrayed by the man he'd trusted most. He thought about the General, about how they'd fought side by side, shared bread and water, dreamed of the future. And now the General had become his enemy.

He thought about Gora-about how they'd fought together, how Gora died in his arms, how he'd sworn to build a world without war and suffering. Gora had been his friend, his brother, his mentor. He'd taught Elias not to be afraid, taught him to believe in people, to be strong, but not cruel. And now he sat in a cell, betrayed, and Gora couldn't help him. Or could he? Gora's voice was always with him.

He thought about Cain, about how he'd smiled when they celebrated victory. About how he'd held Iris's hand and promised everything would be fine. Cain died protecting freedom, protecting what they believed in. He died with a smile, knowing his sacrifice wasn't in vain. And now Elias sat here, and freedom was dying before his eyes. He felt he'd betrayed Cain's memory.

He thought about Iris. She was his anchor, his conscience, his hope. She'd gone east to stop 'Eden,' to find 'Protocol 7,' to save the world. And he was stuck here, in this cell, unable to help her. He didn't know if she was alive, if she'd reached 'Eden,' if he'd ever see her again. The thought of losing her tore him apart.

And in the silence, in the darkness, Gora's voice sounded again. It was quiet, but distinct, like the whisper of wind in an empty corridor. It sounded directly in Elias's head, as if Gora were sitting beside him, whispering in his ear.

"I warned you."

Elias didn't answer. He just sat and listened.

"You were too soft. You trusted those you shouldn't have. And now you're here. You've lost everything-the city, power, freedom. You lost."

"I didn't want to be a tyrant," Elias whispered into the darkness. His voice trembled, but he tried to sound firm. "I wanted to build a world. I wanted people and clones to live together. I wanted no one to die of hunger or fear. I wanted children to play in the streets without fear of explosions. Is that so wrong? Does that make me weak?"

"The world is built on strength. On blood. On fear. You thought you could build it on love and trust? That's an illusion. You were weak, and they devoured you. The General is stronger than you. He always was."

"I'm not weak," Elias said, a firmness entering his voice. "I just believed in better. I believed people could change. I believed we could be better than we were. I believed humanity wasn't doomed to endless war."

"And what did it get you? You're here. Alone. You've lost everything. You should have struck first. You should have taken power. Then this city would have been yours. You could have ruled with an iron fist, like Gora."

"I don't want power," Elias said, raising his head and staring into the darkness. "I want freedom. For everyone. For people, for clones, for those still alive, and those already dead. I want them to live without fear. You tell me freedom is a myth. But I've seen it. I've felt it. When we defeated the Agri-Continent, when we stood on the ruins of Marcus's tower, I felt it."

"Freedom is a myth. There is only power. And you lost it."

Elias closed his eyes. He knew Gora's voice was his own fear, his own guilt, his own paranoia. Gora had never spoken so cruelly in life. Gora was a warrior, but a kind man. He believed in people, believed in better. This voice was a product of his own doubts, his own despair. He was talking to himself, his fear taking on the shape of his friend to convince him to give up.

But now he couldn't tell truth from illusion. He'd lost the city, his freedom, everything. But he could still save Iris. He could still stop 'Eden.' He could still bring hope to those who believed in him. He couldn't allow himself to give up.

He clenched his fists and promised himself: he would escape. He would find Iris. They would stop 'Eden.' And then he'd return to free the city. He would do it, even if it meant going through hell. Even if it meant becoming what he'd always hated.

He stood and walked to the cell bars. He stared into the corridor, where a dim light burned, and listened to the guards' footsteps. They walked back and forth, their steps measured, calm-they expected no trouble. They thought he was broken. They were wrong. Elias stared at the dim light and knew he had to wait. Wait for the right moment to strike.

He sat on the floor and began to wait.

Elias heard footsteps at the door. Heavy, quick, creeping. He stood, ready for a fight, his heart pounding faster, adrenaline flooding his blood. He didn't know who it was-the General with his executioners, or someone else. He prepared to die, but not to surrender. He clenched his fists, adopted a fighting stance, and stared into the darkness.

The door opened, and he saw an old ally-a guard who had served with him during the war, who'd fought alongside him in the darkest days. He was pale, breathing heavily, and his face showed signs of a struggle-bruises, scratches, dirt. His uniform was torn, blood on his sleeve, and he could barely stand, leaning against the wall.

"Commander," he whispered, looking around, checking if anyone was following. "I'll open the cell. Run east. Find Iris. Without you, we'll lose."

"Cale," Elias said, recognizing him. "You're risking your life. If they catch you..."

"I know," Cale replied, resolve in his voice that brooked no argument. He stepped closer and began working on the cell door lock. "I know what I'm doing. But I believe in you, Commander. You're our only hope. You must live. You must find Iris. She's our key to defeating 'Eden.' Without you, we all die. You hear me? We all die."

Elias looked at his old friend. He remembered storming the Agri-Continent together, Cale covering his back, sharing water from the same canteen, dreaming of peace. He remembered Cale once telling him: "I'll follow you through fire and water. You're our leader. You're our conscience." And now Cale was risking his life to save him.

"How did you get in?" Elias asked, stepping closer. "Security is tight. The General has his best men."

"I know every corner of this building," Cale replied, still working on the lock. "I've worked here for twenty years. The General thinks he controls everything, but he doesn't know the old tunnels. I came through the basement, through passages no one guards. It's dark, damp, but I know every turn. And I know how to get you out."

The lock clicked. Cale opened the door and stepped inside, handing Elias an old rusty key and a small pistol.

"Take this," he said. "The road will be long. They'll be looking for you. The General has already declared you a traitor. He said you escaped, and ordered you shot on sight. You must be careful. They'll search everywhere, on all roads."

"Thank you, Cale," Elias said, taking the weapon and key. "You saved my life."

"Don't thank me," Cale replied, breathing heavily. "Go. You don't have much time. The General has already given the order for your capture. Go, Commander. Find Iris."

Elias slipped out of the cell and ran through the underground tunnels Cale had opened for him. He ran, not looking back, knowing that if he was caught, he'd die. He ran as fast as he could, legs burning, lungs scorching. He heard shouts behind him-the General's soldiers had spotted him. They ran after him, footsteps echoing in the narrow passages, shouts growing louder. But he didn't stop. He ran through dark passages, underground rivers, the ruins of the old city buried beneath.

He heard gunfire behind him-bullets whistled past, striking walls. He zigzagged, dodged, ducked into narrow passages the soldiers couldn't fit through. He ran until he reached the city's edge. He stopped by an old wall to catch his breath. Around him was quiet-only the wind howling over the wastelands, carrying the smell of dust and ash. He looked at the stars shining in the sky, like a promise of new life. He gripped the key Cale had given him-the key to freedom, to the future.

He looked at the city burning behind him. He saw the glow lighting the night sky, heard the screams of people still there. He knew the General had seized power, that the city was lost to him, that his people were arrested or killed. But he knew something else-the war wasn't over yet.

"I will return," he whispered into the darkness. "I will return for you. I will free you. I promise."

He turned and walked east, into the wastelands, where his fate awaited him. He walked all night without stopping, and at dawn he saw the horizon glowing with the light of 'Eden's' domes. He was close. He would find Iris. He would save the world.

He didn't know what lay ahead. But he knew one thing-he wouldn't give up. He would fight to the end.

Elias ran along the desert road, each step echoing in his chest with a dull, ragged heartbeat that seemed ready to leap from his throat. His legs hummed with strain, muscles burning, lungs gasping for air, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He ran without looking back, because he knew if he turned, if he saw the city he was leaving behind-he would break. And he couldn't afford to break. Not now. Not after everything.

Around him stretched a gray, lifeless plain-an endless sea of dust and stone, reaching to the horizon, merging with the low leaden sky. The wind howled across the wastelands, carrying the smell of smoke and ash, mixed with the bitter taste of burning that clung to his tongue and made it hard to breathe. This smell had haunted him for years-from the first bombardment, the first day of the war. It had seeped into his clothes, his skin, his lungs, and now it seemed part of him. But today it was especially strong, especially acrid. Because today, the city he'd built was burning.

The city he'd defended.

The city he'd loved.

And now it was in the General's hands.

Elias gritted his teeth until they ground, feeling his jaw muscles bulge under his skin, and quickened his pace. He'd been running for an hour, maybe two-he'd lost track of time. The plain around him was monotonous and empty, only the occasional wreckage of burnt-out cars protruding from the dust, like rusty bones of extinct animals, reminding him that once, there was life here. He stumbled over stones, fell to his knees, got up and ran again, feeling dust fill his mouth, nose, eyes, sand crunching between his teeth. He ran, and every breath was a struggle, every exhale a rasp. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He ran east. Towards where Iris was waiting. Towards where, he believed, there was still a chance for salvation.

In his right hand, he gripped the pistol Cale had given him-old, worn, with a chipped grip and the scratched initials of its previous owner. The metal was cold and heavy, and Elias felt its weight in every cell of his body. He didn't know if he'd need this weapon-the magazine held only three rounds-but he knew it was his only defense. The only thing left of the man who'd risked his life for him. He gripped the handle so hard his knuckles went white, and felt the cold metal slowly warm from his palm.

He ran, and thoughts churned like the wheels of a broken mechanism, catching on each other, jumping from one to another, giving him no peace.

Cale. He thought of Cale-of how he'd opened the cell, how he'd looked at him that last time, hope and fear in his eyes. Cale had said: "You're our only hope. You must live." And Elias ran to fulfill that hope. But deep down, he knew: Cale was probably already dead. The General didn't forgive betrayal. He would have him executed in the square, like Major Torn. And Elias couldn't save him. He couldn't save anyone left in the city.

The General. He thought of the General-of how he'd betrayed him, how he'd used his secret to destroy him. The General knew the truth about him. Knew he was a clone. Knew he'd been created by Marcus Vos. And he'd used that knowledge as a weapon, an axe to chop down everything Elias had built. Elias couldn't blame him for that-the General had always been a pragmatist, always believed the world was held together by force, not words. But he could hate him. And he did. Hated him for what he'd done to the city, to his people, to his dreams. Hated him for making him run.

Iris. He thought of Iris. Of how she was waiting for him somewhere out there, in the unknown, in the heart of the enemy. He didn't know if she was alive, if she'd reached 'Eden,' if he'd be able to find her among the thousands of people inhabiting that perfect trap-city. He imagined her face-pale, tired, but with that steely glint in her eyes that always appeared when she took on something important. He remembered her voice-quiet, but firm, that calmed him in the hardest moments. He wanted to believe she was alive, waiting for him, that they'd see each other again. It was his only hope.

And suddenly, he heard her voice.

It was clear and distinct, as if Iris stood beside him, whispering in his ear, her lips touching his temple. The voice sounded directly in his head-not as a memory, but as a living presence, an instant connection that transcended distance and time:

"Don't trust Eden."

Elias stopped so abruptly his legs buckled, and he nearly fell, staggering and bracing his hand on his knee. His heart pounded wildly, his breath caught, and he spun his head, looking for her, expecting to see her silhouette among the gray stones and dust. But around him was only emptiness-boundless, lifeless, silent. Only the wind howling across the wastelands, carrying sand and ash, only clouds slowly drifting across the low sky, obscuring the rare rays of morning sun.

He knew it wasn't her real voice. She was far away-hundreds of kilometers away, in the heart of the enemy, in that cup-city that promised paradise but hid a prison. It was the voice of his own mind, his own fear, his own intuition, taking her shape to warn him. But he heard it so clearly, so distinctly, as if she truly stood beside him, as if she knew what he was thinking and was trying to protect him from a mistake.

"I know," he whispered in response, his voice cracking into a rasp. "I don't trust them. I only trust you. I will find you. I promise."

He stood for a few seconds, listening to the silence that had again filled the wastelands-and then he resumed running. But now Iris's voice sounded in his head continuously, like a mantra, like a reminder of what he had to do. He ran east, where the outlines of 'Eden's' domes were beginning to show in the distance-a faint silver glow on the horizon, beckoning him like a lighthouse in the night.

He ran through the wastelands, through ruins of old cities, through fields where wheat once grew and now was only dust and ash. Past burnt villages, abandoned farms, cemeteries where rusty crosses bowed to the earth under the weight of time. He ran, feeling the wind scorch his face, the pain in his legs almost unbearable, his chest burning with lack of air. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He thought of what he'd left behind. The people who believed in him. The soldiers who'd fought for him to the last round. Cale, who'd sacrificed his freedom to give him a chance. Gora, who taught him to be strong. Cain, who smiled even as he died. He thought of all who'd died so he could stand here, running this desolate road, searching for Iris, fighting for the future. And he knew: he couldn't let them down. He had no right to give up.

He ran, and pictures of the past flashed before his eyes: celebrating victory over the Agri-Continent, raising glasses to the fallen, swearing to build a new world. He remembered the faces of his friends-alive, laughing, full of hope. And now they were all dead or lost. Gora dead. Cain dead. Cale, most likely, dead. Iris-unknown. And he was alone. Alone against a world that had turned on him.

He ran, and tears mixed with sweat and dust on his face. But he wasn't crying-he couldn't afford weakness. He gritted his teeth and ran on, feeling a wave of resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would return and free the city. He would do it, even if it meant going through hell. Even if it meant becoming what he'd always hated. He wouldn't let the General win. He wouldn't let 'Eden' destroy the world. He would fight to his last breath.

He ran until he saw the first rays of sun on the horizon. Pale, cold, barely breaking through the thick clouds, but they gave him hope. They reminded him that even in the darkest night, dawn comes. That even in the most hopeless situation, there's a chance. That even when everything seems lost, you can find the strength to keep going.

He stopped on a hilltop to catch his breath and looked east. In the distance, on the very edge of the horizon, he saw a faint shimmer-silver light reflecting from 'Eden's' domes. It was still far, but he already felt its presence. He knew what awaited him there. He knew it would be dangerous. But he also knew he had no choice. He had to go. He had to find Iris. He had to save the world.

He took a deep breath-cold, burning his lungs-and felt the pain in his legs ease slightly. He wiped the sweat from his face, adjusted the bandage on his wounded shoulder, which still ached, and again gripped the pistol. Then he stepped forward, down the slope of the hill, and continued his journey.

He walked, and Iris's voice sounded again in his head:

"Don't trust Eden."

"I don't trust," he answered, looking ahead at the shining domes. "I only trust you."

And he walked on.

Elias had been walking through the wastelands for hours, and each step was a struggle. His legs throbbed, his shoulder ached with a dull, pulsing pain, and he felt weakness spreading through his body, making him stumble over rocks and barely stay on his feet. The sun rose higher, scorching his face and hands, and the air grew heavy, dry, with a bitter taste of dust coating his tongue and making it hard to breathe. The wastelands stretched for kilometers around-gray, lifeless, littered with the hulks of old machines and skeletons of ruined buildings jutting from the earth like rusty teeth of an extinct beast.

He walked, trying not to think of the pain, the thirst burning his throat, the fatigue locking his movements. He thought only of Iris, waiting for him in 'Eden,' of how he had to find her, save her, stop this mad world collapsing before his eyes. He thought of Cale, sacrificing himself so he could run; of Gora, Cain, all who died so he could keep going. He couldn't let them down. He had no right to stop.

And then he heard it-a distant but growing roar of engines, spreading across the wastelands like thunder over a silent plain. At first, he thought it was just the wind howling through the ruins, making strange sounds, but the roar grew louder, more distinct, and he realized: it wasn't the wind. It was vehicles. Many vehicles. And they were approaching.

Elias turned and saw a cloud of dust in the distance-several dark dots moving along his trail with terrifying speed. They raced across the wastelands, kicking up a plume of gray dust stretching for hundreds of meters, moving fast and sure, like predators on the scent of prey. He knew they weren't random travelers. This was a pursuit. The General had sent his people to finish what he'd started.

His heart hammered in his chest, and he felt adrenaline again flooding his blood, banishing fatigue and pain. He ducked and ran towards the nearest ruins-an old building that had once been a farm. Its walls were half-collapsed, the roof caved in, rusty rebar sticking out of windows, but it offered cover, a place to hide from pursuers, catch his breath, and plan. He reached the ruins, leaping over piles of brick and shattered glass, and pressed himself against the cold, rough wall, trying to steady his breathing.

His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt sweat streaming down his face, mixing with dust and dirt. His breathing was ragged, hoarse, and he tried to breathe quietly, not to give himself away. He heard the vehicles stop a few hundred meters away, engines dying, doors opening, soldiers getting out and talking among themselves.

"He couldn't have gone far," one said, his voice calm, businesslike, as if this were routine. "He's wounded. He can't run for long. We'll corner him in these ruins. He won't get away."

"The General said he wants him alive," another replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "He wants a public execution. So everyone can see what happens to traitors. Make his death a lesson for anyone who dares challenge him."

"He'll hang in the square until only a skeleton remains," added a third, barely concealed cruelty in his tone. "Then his bones will be fed to the dogs. That's how the General deals with those who betray him. Elias will make a fine example."

Elias gritted his teeth so hard his jaw cracked. The General didn't just want to kill him. He wanted to destroy him. Wanted to turn him into a symbol, a warning to all who dared challenge him. Wanted his name to be a curse, his death a lesson for all who believed in freedom. But Elias wasn't going to let him. He wasn't going to die here, in this dusty wasteland, far from Iris, from everything he loved. He wasn't going to become anyone's lesson.

He gripped the pistol, feeling its cold weight. Three rounds. Only three shots to stop them. Not enough to shoot them all, but enough to delay them, buy time, find a way to escape. He heard them approaching, footsteps growing louder, voices talking, laughing, as if they didn't take him seriously. But he knew they were wrong. He wasn't cornered prey. He was a hunter, waiting for his moment.

He waited, pressed against the wall, feeling the cold stone against his back, his heart beating in sync with the soldiers' footsteps. He heard their steps, voices, breathing. He waited until they were in range. And when they were close enough that he could see their faces through cracks in the wall, he sprang from cover and fired.

The first soldier fell, clutching his chest, collapsing with a dull groan before his body hit the ground, raising a cloud of dust. The second screamed and tried to return fire, but Elias was faster. He fired again, and the second soldier fell beside the first, his weapon clattering on the stones. The others shouted, rushing towards him, laying down suppressive fire, but he was already running to the next cover, firing on the move, feeling bullets whistle past, stone chips flying, dust filling his eyes and mouth.

He ran through the wastelands, weaving between wreckage, dodging bullets, feeling adrenaline flood his blood, making him faster, sharper, stronger. He heard them shouting behind him, shooting, running, footsteps growing closer. But he didn't stop. He ran to the next building, the next cover, the next chance to survive.

He ran past an old tractor, rusted and burnt, past a pile of barrels oozing oily fluid, past the hulks of machines that were once humanity's pride. He ran, feeling each step jar his legs, lungs burning for air, his heart ready to burst. He ran, because he knew if he stopped, if he slowed, they'd catch him, and then it would all be over.

And then he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder-burning, piercing, like a red-hot knife. He fell to his knees, feeling hot blood run down his arm, soaking his shirt, dripping through his fingers onto the ground, darkening the gray dust. He screamed in pain, but didn't stop. He got to his feet, staggering, and ran on, clutching his arm to his chest, feeling blood continue to flow, weakness spreading, the world swimming before his eyes. But he didn't stop. He ran until he disappeared over the next hill, until he felt his legs give out, consciousness slipping away, darkness closing in on the edges of his vision.

And then he fell into the grass-tall, dry, prickly, scratching his face and hands-and closed his eyes. He lay there, feeling blood still seeping from the wound, pain pulsing in his shoulder, his heart pounding in his throat. He heard the pursuers' voices growing fainter, moving away, thinking he was dead. They'd seen him fall, scream, his body disappear over the hill. They didn't know he was alive. They didn't know he would keep fighting.

He lay in the grass, feeling consciousness slowly return, pain easing slightly, breathing steadying. He looked at the sky-gray, low, with rare breaks of blue where sunbeams broke through. He looked at the clouds slowly drifting overhead, and thought that he was still alive. That he could still fight. That he could still find Iris. That he could still change everything.

He slowly got to his feet, every cell protesting, the pain in his shoulder almost unbearable. He looked at his arm-it was covered in blood, the bandage soaked through. He knew he had to properly bandage the wound, stop the bleeding, or he would die here, in this grass, far from Iris, from everything he loved.

He looked around and saw an old bunker in the distance-a half-ruined structure that seemed abandoned for years. He knew he could shelter there from the pursuit, bandage the wound properly, rest and regain strength. He headed for it, each step a struggle, legs buckling, the world swimming.

He walked, and Iris's voice sounded again in his head:

"Don't trust Eden."

"I don't trust," he whispered in reply, staring ahead at the bunker growing closer. "I only trust you. I will find you. I promise."

He reached the bunker, opened the heavy metal door, which creaked like a living thing, and stepped inside. It was dark, and he heard only his own breathing and water dripping from the ceiling somewhere in the depths. He went inside, closed the door, and felt darkness envelop him, silence pressing on his ears. He was alone. No one knew where he was. No one could help him. Only himself and his will to live.

He leaned against the cold concrete wall, slowly slid down it to the floor, and closed his eyes. He knew he had to rest. He needed strength to go on. He knew a long road lay ahead, through dangers, through enemies. But he was ready to walk it. For Iris. For freedom. For the future.

He sat in the darkness, listening as the sounds of the pursuit faded outside the bunker. They hadn't followed him. They thought he was dead. They were wrong.

He would survive. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would do it.

Elias walked through the wastelands, gripping the pistol, feeling its weight steady him, the cold metal giving him strength when everything inside was clenched with fear and pain. The wind howled around him, carrying sand and dust, and he squinted, trying to see the road ahead. The wastelands stretched for kilometers-gray, lifeless, littered with the wrecks of old machines and skeletons of ruined buildings. He walked, each step a strain, the pain in his shoulder pulsing in time with his heartbeat, weakness spreading, making him stumble. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He knew the pursuit hadn't given up. The engine drone he heard somewhere behind was quiet but persistent, like the buzzing of an insect that wouldn't disappear, no matter how far he ran. They were far, but they were there. He wanted to believe he'd lost them, that they'd lost his trail, that he'd reach 'Eden' and find Iris. But he knew the General wouldn't stop. He would send his men again and again until Elias was dead or in his hands. The General didn't forgive betrayal, and he didn't forgive those who threatened his power. Elias wasn't just a fugitive to him-he was a symbol that needed to be destroyed.

Elias clenched his fists and quickened his pace. He couldn't afford to be caught. He had to reach 'Eden,' find Iris, stop this mad world collapsing before his eyes. He thought of her, her face, her voice, her eyes always looking at him with faith. He thought of her waiting for him, believing in him, hoping in him. He couldn't let her down. He had no right to give up.

And then he felt the shot an instant before the bullet entered his shoulder. A sharp, burning pain, piercing his body like a red-hot knife. It was so intense that for a moment he couldn't breathe, and the world before his eyes went dark. He fell to his knees, instinctively pressing his hand to the wound, feeling blood gush through his fingers-warm, sticky, soaking his shirt, running down his arm, dripping onto the ground, darkening the gray dust. He screamed, but his voice cracked into a rasp, and he felt nausea rising, dark spots dancing before his eyes.

He gritted his teeth, fighting to stay conscious. He saw the world swimming, colors fading, darkness closing in on the edges of his vision. But he couldn't let himself fall. He couldn't let himself die here, in this wasteland, far from Iris, from everything he loved. He couldn't let the General win. He couldn't let all their sacrifices be in vain. He had to live. He had to fight.

He got to his feet, staggering, every muscle protesting, the pain in his shoulder almost unbearable. Blood continued to flow, soaking his clothes, and he felt it running down his leg, leaving dark tracks on the ground. But he didn't stop. He ran. He ran, clutching his wounded arm to his chest, each step sending pain through his shoulder, blood continuing to flow, leaving a dark trail that could give him away to his pursuers.

He ran, dodging bullets that whistled around him, shattering stones and raising clouds of dust. He heard the soldiers shouting behind him, talking among themselves, getting closer. There were a dozen, maybe more, and they moved fast, sure, like hunters who know their prey won't escape. They were armed to the teeth-rifles, pistols, grenades-and they knew he was wounded. They knew he couldn't go far. They knew it was only a matter of time.

"He's wounded!" one shouted, a tall soldier with a rough face and cold eyes devoid of pity. "He can't get far! Surround him! Don't let him escape!"

"The General wants him alive!" another answered, younger, with the same cold gaze. He held his weapon at the ready, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire at any moment. "But if he resists, shoot to kill! He's dangerous! He killed two of ours!"

Elias heard their voices but didn't stop. He saw an old building ahead-a half-ruined farm that was once someone's home, someone who dreamed of a peaceful life. Walls collapsed, roof caved in, rusty rebar sticking out of windows, but there he could find shelter from the bullets. He ran for it, each step a struggle, strength leaving his body, the world blurring. He ran, stumbling over rocks, falling to his knees, getting up and running again, until he reached the building.

He dove inside through a broken window, cutting his hand on glass shards, leaving deep scratches. He fell to the floor, breathing heavily, pain pulsing in his shoulder, blood continuing to flow, soaking his clothes, the floor beneath him growing wet and slick. He heard the soldiers running after him, surrounding the building, shouting that he couldn't escape, that he was surrounded, that he had nowhere to run. He heard their steps, voices, breathing. He knew they were close. He knew he had only seconds to decide.

He rolled behind a wall that had once been part of the kitchen and pulled out the pistol. His hands trembled from strain and blood loss, but he forced himself to calm down. He checked the magazine-four rounds. Only four shots to stop them. He knew he couldn't shoot them all, that they were too many and too well-armed. But he could make them pay for every step. He could buy time. He could find a way to escape. He couldn't give up.

The soldiers began entering the building-slowly, cautiously, checking every corner, every dark passage, every crack in the wall. They moved like professionals, covering each other, synchronized, like parts of a single mechanism. Elias knew they weren't novices. These were the General's elite, hardened by the bloodiest battles. They knew what they were doing, and they weren't afraid. They didn't hesitate. They just followed orders.

Elias waited, aiming, every muscle in his body taut, his heart pounding in his throat. He heard their steps, breathing, whispers. When the first soldier appeared in the doorway, he fired. The bullet hit his chest, and the soldier fell with a dull thud, not even managing a cry. The others shouted, returning fire. Bullets whistled around him, shattering stone and glass, leaving smoky trails in the air. He rolled aside and fired again. The second soldier fell, clutching his leg, his scream echoing through the building, mixing with the roar of automatic fire.

He shot until he had only one round left. He heard the soldiers approaching, footsteps growing louder, surrounding him from all sides. He knew it was over. He closed his eyes and prepared to die. He thought of Iris, her smile, her voice, how she was waiting for him. He thought of all he hadn't told her. He thought of his death being meaningless.

But then he heard screams-screams of terror, drowning out the gunfire. He opened his eyes and saw the soldiers retreating, dropping their weapons, trying to flee. Someone had attacked them from behind-someone he couldn't see, someone who appeared from nowhere, like a ghost, like a guardian angel come to save him. Elias didn't wait. He scrambled to his feet, pain piercing his shoulder, and ran for the exit, leaving behind chaos and screams.

He ran through the wastelands, stumbling over rocks, falling, getting up and running again, until he collapsed, exhausted, behind the next hill. He lay on his back, staring at the gray sky, feeling life ebbing away, cold spreading through his body, darkness closing in. He thought of Iris. He couldn't die now. He couldn't let himself die while she was waiting for him. He had to survive.

He sat up, every muscle protesting, and pressed his hand to the wound. Blood still seeped, but less. He tore a strip from his shirt and bandaged his shoulder, pulling it as tight as he could, using his teeth to tie the knot. The pain was unbearable, piercing his whole body, and he felt nausea rise, but he didn't scream. He just gritted his teeth and waited for the pain to ease.

Then he got to his feet, legs buckling, the world swimming. But he didn't stop. He walked on, staggering, leaning on walls and rocks, but after a few steps, his strength finally gave out. He fell into the tall, dry, prickly grass, scratching his face and hands, and closed his eyes.

He lay in the grass, listening to the pursuers' voices fading over the hill. They hadn't followed him. They thought he was dead. They'd seen him fall, scream, his body disappear over the hill. They didn't know he was alive. They didn't know he would keep fighting.

He lay there, feeling consciousness slowly slipping away, darkness enveloping him, pain dulling and receding. He thought of Iris. Her face, her voice, how she was waiting for him. He thought of how he had to find her. He couldn't die here. He couldn't.

But his eyelids grew heavy, his breathing softer. He allowed himself to close his eyes-just for a moment, just to catch his breath. He knew he had to get up, keep going, but his body refused to obey. He lay in the grass, the wind howling over him, carrying sand and dust, and he felt cold seeping into his bones, darkness growing deeper.

He closed his eyes and fell into unconsciousness.

Elias had been walking through the wastelands for hours, each step a monumental effort. His wounded shoulder burned, pulsing with his heartbeat, and blood still oozed through the makeshift bandage torn from his shirt. He felt weakness spreading through him, legs like lead, the world swimming before his eyes, colors dimming as if someone were slowly turning off the lights. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He had to find shelter. He had to properly bandage the wound, or he would bleed out in this merciless wasteland, his body found only by vultures. He had to survive for Iris.

He walked, stumbling over rocks, falling, getting up and walking on, until he saw an old bunker in the distance-a half-ruined structure that seemed abandoned for years. Its walls were covered in deep cracks, concrete crumbling, looking as if it could collapse from a strong gust of wind. But it was the only shelter for kilometers around. He knew it could protect him from pursuit, allow him to properly bandage the wound, rest, and regain strength. He headed for it, each step sending sharp pain through his shoulder, each breath a struggle, his lungs burning. He walked, leaning on the wall, legs buckling from exhaustion.

He reached the bunker and stopped at the entrance. The door was massive, metal, covered in thick rust flaking off in pieces, and he opened it with difficulty, throwing his whole weight against it, every muscle straining. Inside was dark, the air damp and stale, smelling of mold, earth, and something else-perhaps old machine oil or rotting wood. He went inside and closed the door, darkness enveloping him, silence pressing on his ears, the smell of dust filling his lungs. He was alone. No one knew where he was. No one could help him. Only himself and his will to live.

He leaned against the cold concrete wall and slowly slid to the floor, feeling his strength finally give out. He sat in the darkness, listening to his own breathing and heartbeat, pulsing in his ears with a dull, rhythmic thud, feeling pain in his shoulder, blood still seeping through the bandage. He knew he had to properly bandage the wound, but he had no strength even to move. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, his breathing grew ragged, dark spots dancing before his eyes. He knew that if he didn't bandage it, he would die here, in this damp basement, and no one would ever find him. He had to pull himself together.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself a few minutes of rest, feeling his body gradually relax, the pain easing slightly. He thought of what lay ahead. He didn't know how much further he had to go to 'Eden,' didn't know if Cale, who had sacrificed himself for his escape, was alive, didn't know if he could find Iris in this vast cup-city. But he knew he couldn't give up. He couldn't let the General win. He couldn't let 'Eden' destroy the world. He had to live. He had to fight. He had to keep going, even if his legs refused.

He opened his eyes and began slowly undressing. He took off his shirt, already soaked in blood, and looked at the wound. The bullet had gone through, leaving a ragged wound still oozing blood. The edges of the wound were uneven, inflamed, and he knew if he didn't treat it, infection would set in. He had to stop the bleeding, or he would die. He tore another strip from his shirt, folded it into several layers, pressed it to the wound, and tightened the bandage as much as he could, using his teeth to tie the knot. The pain was unbearable, piercing his whole body, and he felt nausea rise, but he didn't scream. He just gritted his teeth until they ground and waited for the pain to ease, feeling tears well up from the strain.

He sat in the darkness, pain gradually easing, blood starting to clot, the bandage soaked but not leaking. He knew he had to rest, regain strength to go on. He closed his eyes and began to wait, feeling his body slowly relax, breathing steadying. He needed time to recover, gather his thoughts, find the strength to continue. He knew a long road lay ahead, through dangers, through enemies. But he was ready to walk it. For Iris. For freedom. For the future. For everything they'd built and lost.

He sat in the darkness, and Iris's voice sounded again in his head: "Don't trust Eden." He had to remember those words. He had to be careful. He had to trust only himself. He clenched his fists, feeling the pain in his shoulder slowly ease, strength slowly returning. He didn't know how much time had passed-an hour, two, maybe more. Around him was quiet, only his own breathing and the rare drip of water from the ceiling somewhere in the bunker. He just sat, leaning against the cold concrete wall, listening to the silence pressing on him like a lead blanket, and thought of what lay ahead. He knew he had to keep going, but his body demanded rest.

And then he heard footsteps. At first distant, almost inaudible, but growing louder, closer. Several sets of footsteps-he heard them stepping on dry earth, talking in low voices. Elias tensed, listening, his heart beating faster, adrenaline flooding his blood. He didn't know who it was-the General's soldiers who'd found his trail, or someone else. He gripped the pistol, though he knew it was empty, and prepared for a fight. He wouldn't surrender. He wouldn't die here, in this damp, dark bunker.

The footsteps approached, and he heard their voices-several people, men and women. They spoke a language he knew, but their voices were tired, exhausted, as if they had traveled a long way through the wastelands, without food, water, or hope. They talked about how tired they were, how hungry, how they dreamed of finding shelter from the cold and wind. Elias tensed, ready for anything. He didn't know who they were, or what they wanted.

The bunker door opened with a loud creak, and he saw people entering. There were five of them-two men, two women, and a child. They were dressed in rags, their faces dirty and emaciated, looking as if they hadn't eaten in days. Their eyes were empty, their movements sluggish, like people who had lost all hope. They looked like the refugees he'd seen in the city-those fleeing war, hunger, death.

They didn't notice him at first. They just came inside, seeking shelter from the wind, and began talking among themselves. Elias heard their voices, heard them talking, complaining about hunger, cold, exhaustion, talking about how they hoped to find salvation in 'Eden.' One of the men, older, gray-haired with deep wrinkles on his face, spoke louder than the others.

"We have to make it to 'Eden,'" he said, his voice pleading. "We were told they'll give us food and shelter, that there's no war there, that we can start a new life. No hunger. No fear. We'll be safe."

"Yes," one of the women replied, young, with tired eyes and a child in her arms. She held it so tightly, as if afraid it would be taken. "I heard there's clean water, children don't get sick, everyone's equal. We have to make it. For him."

She looked at the child, and Elias saw despair and hope in her eyes. He'd seen it before-a thousand times, in the eyes of people who believed in promises too good to be true. He knew 'Eden' wasn't paradise. It was a prison. Lena had created an illusion, and these people believed in it. They were walking into a trap, and he had to stop them.

He stood up and stepped out of the shadows. The concrete floor was cold under his bare feet. The people screamed in fear and recoiled, pressing against the walls. The child cried. He raised his hands, showing he meant no harm.

"Don't be afraid," he said quietly, trying to sound calm. "I'm not your enemy. I just want to warn you."

"Who are you?" the older man asked, looking at him suspiciously. His hand reached for his pocket, where perhaps a knife or some other object lay. "You're wounded. You look like you're running from someone. You're hiding here. Why should we trust you?"

"I'm running," Elias replied, his voice firm. "I'm running from 'Eden.' I know what it is. It's not paradise. It's a prison. They'll take your freedom. They'll make you their slaves."

The people exchanged glances, doubt appearing in their eyes. They looked at him, fear in their gaze. They looked for signs of lies, but Elias stood before them, bloody shirt and burning eyes, and they couldn't help but listen.

"We can't trust you," the older man said, shaking his head. "We've heard it's good there. That there's food, water, protection. We don't want to die here, in this wasteland. We're tired. We can't run anymore."

"I know," Elias said. "I know how hard it is. But I've been there. I've seen what happens there. They control your thoughts. They take your freedom. I don't want you to become part of that. They promise paradise, but it's really hell."

The people were silent, and Elias felt his words hanging in the air, entering their hearts. He saw doubt fighting hope, fear fighting despair. He knew he couldn't make them believe, but he had to try. He had to save them from what awaited them in 'Eden.' He had to give them a chance.

"It's a prison there," he said. "You won't be free. You'll just be cogs in their machine."

The woman with the child looked at him, pain in her eyes.

"What should we do?" she asked. "We have no food. No water. We can't go back."

"Come with me," Elias said. "To the city I left. There's food there. Water. Protection. I'll help you."

They looked at him, and he saw doubt leaving their eyes. He knew they believed him. He knew he'd saved them.

Elias stood at the bunker entrance, leaning his shoulder against the cold, rusty door, and watched the refugees leave. They moved slowly, their steps heavy, uncertain, as if each step cost them immense effort. But they moved forward. They didn't stop. And in their eyes, when they glanced back at him, he saw hope-the very hope he had given them, kindled in their souls when they were almost extinguished. He told them about the city, about food and water, about safe places to shelter from cold and hunger. He spoke calmly, confidently, trying to keep his voice steady, though inside he trembled with pain and fatigue. He gave them the map he carried-old, worn, marked with notes from the days when he believed the world could be rebuilt. He marked the route, told them how to avoid the General's patrols, where to find water, which ruins would provide night shelter. He told them he had people who would help them-he hoped they were still alive, that the General hadn't killed them all, that some of his loyal officers had survived and could take in the refugees.

He watched them leave, and he felt a strange warmth spreading in his chest-a warmth he hadn't felt for many days, maybe weeks. He had saved them. He had given them a chance they didn't have. He couldn't leave them to die in the wastelands, as he had left too many before. It was his redemption. Small, almost invisible, but redemption. For those he didn't save. For those who died before his eyes. For Gora, for Cain, for Charlie, for all who believed in him and died, never seeing the promised peace.

One of the women-the one holding the child, a thin, pale-faced little one with huge, frightened eyes-turned and looked at him. Her eyes were full of tears she didn't try to hide, and in them was such gratitude that Elias caught his breath. She smiled at him-a smile that said more than words, warmer than any promise. She held the child close, and he saw her lips moving, whispering something to the baby, soothing it. Then she raised her hand and waved-a gesture of farewell and thanks at once.

"Thank you," she said, her voice trembling but clear as a bell. "You saved us. We wouldn't have survived without you. We would have died here, in this wasteland, and no one would have known. Thank you for giving us hope."

Elias looked at her, at her face, exhausted but glowing from within, at her hands gently holding the child, and felt a lump rise in his throat. He wanted to say something important, something that would stay with them, give them strength to go on, but the words stuck in his throat. He just nodded and said quietly, but firmly:

"Go. Be careful. Don't stop until you reach the city. You'll be safe there. There are people who will help you. I promise."

She nodded, and he saw faith in her eyes-the very faith he had been so afraid of losing in himself. She turned and walked on, and he watched them disappear over the horizon, their figures growing smaller, merging with the gray wasteland, the last ray of setting sun illuminating their backs before it disappeared behind the clouds.

He stood there a long time, feeling a strange feeling rise within him-something he couldn't explain. It wasn't pride or joy. It was something deeper, quieter. He had saved them. He had given them a chance at a new life. He had done what he had to do. And it was right.

But now he had to go on.

He turned and looked east, where on the far horizon, 'Eden's' domes were visible. They shone in the rays of the setting sun, shimmering in gold and crimson, like giant gems set in the gray crown of the wastelands. They looked like a promise, a dream, a challenge to everything he knew. He knew what awaited him there. It would be dangerous, could cost his life. But he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to stop 'Eden.' He had to save the world. He had to fulfill the promise he made to Gora and Cain as they died in his arms, when he held their hands and swore their deaths would not be in vain.

He took a deep breath, and the cool evening air filled his lungs, bringing the smell of dust and dry grass. He felt the pain in his shoulder ease slightly-dulled, retreated to the background, yielding to resolve. He tightened the bandage, feeling the fabric bite into the wound, pain piercing his body, but he just gritted his teeth and straightened up. Then he took the first step, then the second, and began to walk.

He walked through the wastelands, wind in his face, the sun setting below the horizon, painting the sky in blood-red and deep violet hues. Shadows grew longer, and the wastelands around him sank into twilight, filled with a silence that was almost tangible. He walked, each step a struggle, his legs humming with fatigue, his back aching with strain. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

He thought of Iris. Of how she was waiting for him behind those shining domes. Of how she believed in him, hoped in him, how she looked at him with her clear eyes, no fear, only determination. Her voice, sounding in his head again and again: "Don't trust Eden." He heard it so clearly, as if she were beside him, walking with him, holding his hand, leading him forward. He thought of Cale, sacrificing himself to open his cell door and give him his pistol. He thought of Gora, teaching him to be strong, saying: "Fear is not the enemy, Elias. The enemy is when you let fear control you." He thought of Cain, his smile, his belief in better. He thought of all who died, all who believed in him, all who gave their lives so he could stand here, walk this wasteland, fight for the future.

And he knew: he couldn't let them down. He had no right to give up.

He walked all night. The sky above darkened, and stars spilled across the black velvet like shards of broken glass. The moon was a thin crescent, barely lighting the road, and he walked in darkness, guided only by the faint silver glow of the domes in the distance, like a far-off lighthouse. The wind died, and a special silence fell over the wastelands-deep, oppressive, broken only by his footsteps and his own breathing. He walked, stumbling over rocks, falling, getting up and walking on, feeling pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, his strength leaving him with every step.

He walked, thoughts churning like broken wheels. He remembered the city he'd left behind-burning, in the General's hands, never to be the same. He remembered the faces of his friends, his dreams, his hopes. He remembered celebrating victory over the Agri-Continent, swearing to build a new world, believing everything would be fine. And now all of it was destroyed. Erased. Burned. Only he remained, to fight.

He walked, and tears mixed with sweat and dust on his face. But he didn't cry-he couldn't afford weakness. He gritted his teeth and walked on, a wave of resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt, all pain, all exhaustion. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would return and free the city. He would do it, even if it meant going through hell.

And at dawn, when the first rays of sun began to break through the thick clouds, painting the sky in pale gold and pink, he saw 'Eden's' domes close by. They shone in the morning sun, shimmering in blue, silver, and gold, like jewels, like a miracle, like a promise of paradise. They were so huge that they seemed to touch the sky, and he felt his breath catch at the sight. He stopped on a hilltop and looked at them, a wave of resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt.

He would do it. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would save the world.

He took a deep breath, cold morning air filling his lungs, and began to descend the hill, heading for 'Eden's' gates. They were close-just a few hundred meters. He saw their outlines, saw them open and close, letting people enter this perfect world. He saw soldiers in immaculate uniforms standing at the gates, checking documents. He saw people smiling as they entered, looking happy and calm.

He approached the gates and stopped. He knew what awaited him there. It would be dangerous, could cost his life. But he also knew he had no choice. He had to enter. He had to find Iris. He had to stop this world that promised paradise but was really a prison.

He clenched his fists and looked at the gates. Inside him burned a fire-weak, but stubborn, that no darkness could extinguish. He was ready. Ready for anything.

He stepped forward.

Elias stood at the border of 'Eden's' domes and looked up. Giant structures of glass and metal rose over the wastelands like artificial mountains, their surfaces shimmering blue and silver, reflecting the rays of the rising sun. They were so huge they seemed to touch the sky, and he felt his breath catch at the sight. Inside the domes was greenery-real, living green he hadn't seen for months. Trees, flowers, grass-all grew there, behind transparent walls, and he saw people walking down perfect streets, smiling, not hungry, not afraid. He saw children playing in parks, adults sitting on benches talking, water flowing through channels, clean and clear. He saw clones and people living together, laughing, seemingly happy. He saw a paradise made by human hands. And he knew it wasn't paradise.

He looked at this perfect world, and anger rose within him. He knew this paradise was built on lies, that behind its walls was control and enslavement. He knew Lena had created this illusion to lure people into a trap, to take their freedom, to make them puppets. He felt his fingers clench into fists, and he knew he had to enter. He had to find Iris. She was there, in the heart of this perfect city, waiting for him. Believing in him. Knowing he would come. He couldn't let her down.

He stood at the border, feeling the wind on his face, the sun rising higher, lighting the wastelands. He thought of how he'd come here. He remembered running from the city, fighting the General's soldiers, finding shelter in the bunker. He remembered meeting the refugees, giving them hope. He remembered walking through the wastelands, each step a struggle, the pain in his shoulder growing worse. But he'd survived. He'd made it. Now he had to enter.

He looked at the domes, thought of what awaited him. He knew 'Eden' wasn't paradise. It was prison. Lena had created an illusion, and these people lived in it, not knowing the truth. They thought they were free, happy, but they were puppets, their strings pulled. They were part of a machine grinding their will, turning them into obedient slaves. But he knew the truth. He knew what awaited him-lies, control, fear. But he also knew Iris was there. Waiting. Believing in him. He had to find her.

He took a deep breath, pain in his shoulder easing slightly. He tightened the bandage and began walking along the dome's edge, looking for a way in. He knew the main gates were guarded, with patrols checking everyone entering. But he also knew there were other ways-old tunnels leading under the domes, forgotten by everyone. He had to find them. He had to get in.

He walked along the domes, the wind in his face, the sun rising higher, lighting the wastelands. He stared at the domes, thinking of what awaited. He didn't know what he'd find there, but he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to stop 'Eden.' He had to save the world.

He stopped and looked at the main gates. Soldiers in perfect uniforms stood there, checking documents of those entering. They did it calmly, politely, with smiles. They didn't look threatening. But he knew it was just illusion. He knew he had no documents, couldn't pass through them. But he had to enter. He had to find Iris. He had to save her.

He turned and walked along the domes, looking for another way, each step a struggle, as if he were wading through thick, viscous water. The giant walls of glass and metal rose hundreds of meters into the sky, their surfaces shimmering blue and silver, reflecting the morning sun. They were so smooth and perfect they seemed the work of gods, not men-unapproachable, cold, indifferent to his despair. He looked at them, a heavy, oppressive feeling growing inside him, like standing on the edge of an abyss. He didn't know how long he'd been walking-an hour, two, maybe more. The sun rose higher, the heat unbearable, scorching his face and hands, which he couldn't hide because of his wounded shoulder.

Every step sent a dull, pulsing pain through his shoulder, and he felt blood again seeping through the bandage, soaking the fabric, darkening it with damp spots. He knew he had to find shelter, rest, properly bandage the wound, stop the bleeding that was slowly, steadily weakening him. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't afford a break. Every minute of delay could cost him his life-or worse, could cost Iris hers. He had to find an entrance. He had to get inside. He had to find her.

He walked, thoughts heavy as stones he dragged behind him. He thought of how he'd come here-through the wastelands, minefields, radiation, pursuit and firefights, pain and despair. He thought of how he'd survived when so many others had died. He thought of Cale, opening his cell door, giving him his pistol, knowing his own death likely awaited. He thought of Gora, dying in his arms, gripping his hand, whispering: "Build a world, Elias. Build a world without war." He thought of Cain, his smile, his belief in better, shielding Iris from bullets meant for her. He thought of all who died so he could stand here, at 'Eden's' walls, searching for Iris. All who believed in him, hoped in him, gave their lives for his dream.

And he knew: if he stopped, if he gave up, all their sacrifices would be in vain. All their deaths meaningless. He couldn't let that happen. He had no right.

He stopped when his strength finally gave out and sat on a large flat stone lying at the dome's base. The stone was warm from the sun, but Elias felt only cold spreading through his body, seeping into his bones. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his ragged, gasping breathing, like a cornered animal. His heart pounded in his chest, a dull rhythmic thud in his ears, drowning out all other sounds. He sat, sweat streaming down his face, dust settling on his skin, pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, growing ever more unbearable.

He opened his eyes and looked at the domes rising above him like unapproachable walls of paradise. He saw inside the city, people walking, smiling, talking, children running in parks, water flowing through channels. He saw clones and people living together, laughing, seemingly happy. He saw paradise made by human hands. And he knew it wasn't paradise. It was prison. A prison built on lies, control, fear. A prison where he had to find Iris before she became part of it.

And suddenly, in this moment of despair, when everything seemed lost, he remembered the secret communication channel. He remembered the device-small, black, nearly invisible, carried in his pocket, forgotten in the chaos of escape. The device Iris had given him before she left, when they stood at the city gates, she looking at him with her clear eyes and saying: "If you get into trouble, use it. I will hear you." He didn't know if it still worked, if she was close enough to receive a signal, but he had to try. Had to do something to contact her, let her know he was here, that he'd come for her, that he hadn't given up.

With trembling hands, he pulled the device from his pocket-a small black box with one button and a tiny indicator glowing faintly in the morning light. He turned it on, and it buzzed, emitting a low, barely audible sound, like an insect's hum. On the screen, a signal appeared-a faint green dot, flickering like a distant star. He pressed the button and spoke, trying to keep his voice steady, though inside everything trembled.

"Iris," he said softly, almost whispering, holding the device to his lips. "I'm here. I'm at the dome's edge. I'm looking for a way in. Hold on. I'm coming for you."

He waited for an answer. Silence. Only the wind howling over the wastelands, carrying sand and dust, and his own ragged breathing. He looked at the device, at the green dot that continued to flicker, but made no sound. He repeated, louder, trying to shout over the wind:

"Iris, can you hear me? I'm here. I found you. I'm at 'Eden's' walls. Answer me, please."

And again, silence. Only the wind. Only the flickering green dot, as if mocking him. He felt panic rising inside him, gripping his chest, making it hard to breathe. What if she hadn't heard him? What if the device didn't work? What if it had broken during his flight, when he'd fallen, run, bled in the wastelands? What if Iris was already dead, and he was calling into emptiness? What if all his efforts were in vain?

He gritted his teeth, rage and despair mixing in his chest, and repeated again, louder, almost shouting, not caring if 'Eden's' soldiers heard him:

"Iris! Answer me! I know you can hear me! I came for you! I won't give up! Do you hear me? I won't give up!"

But there was no answer. Only silence. Deep, oppressive, all-consuming silence, telling him he was alone, that no one would come to help him, that he had to rely only on himself.

He sat on the stone, staring at the silent device, feeling a wave of despair rise inside him, threatening to sweep him away, drag him into a dark abyss from which there is no escape. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to find her. He didn't know if he could even enter this city, which looked like an impregnable fortress. But he knew he couldn't give up. He had no right. He had to keep going. He had to find a way.

He took a deep breath, cold air filling his lungs, and slowly put the device back in his pocket. Then he got to his feet, every muscle protesting, pain in his shoulder piercing him like a needle. He looked at the domes rising above him, cold and unapproachable, and clenched his fists. He didn't know how he would get inside. But he knew he would. He would find Iris. He would save her. He wouldn't let 'Eden' destroy everything they'd fought for.

He stepped forward, each step a struggle, the pain in his shoulder growing worse, blood still seeping through the bandage. But he didn't stop. He walked along the domes, looking for any entrance, any crack, any way inside. He walked, and Iris's voice sounded in his head again and again-the voice he'd heard in the wastelands, warning him, giving him hope:

"Don't trust Eden."

"I don't trust," he whispered in reply, staring ahead at the shining walls. "I only trust you. I will find you. I promise."

And he walked on, leaving behind the stone he'd sat on and the silent device. He walked, feeling the sun rise higher, the heat unbearable, the pain a constant part of his existence. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to keep his promise.

Elias walked along the dome's edge, each step a painful struggle, as if dragging heavy chains. The sun was at its zenith, scorching mercilessly, its rays burning his face, neck, arms, unprotected due to his wounded shoulder, beating through his thin shirt and leaving his skin dry and hot. The sky was cloudless, unnaturally clear, as if the world around him were part of 'Eden's' perfect illusion, and this purity felt like mockery. The wastelands stretched for kilometers-an endless gray plain, covered in deep cracks, like scars on the face of a dying world. Nowhere was there shade, shelter, or a drop of water. Only stones, dust, and the merciless sun, scorching everything it touched.

Elias looked at 'Eden's' domes, rising before him like a monument to human arrogance, and felt deep, viscous despair growing inside him. These walls rose hundreds of meters, perfectly smooth, shimmering blue and silver, reflecting sunlight, and seemed unapproachable as a mountain range. They were made not by men, he thought, but by gods-or those who thought themselves gods-to protect the chosen from the sinful world, to create a paradise with no place for suffering and hunger. But he knew beauty hid a lie. Behind these walls-a prison.

He didn't know how long he'd been walking-maybe an hour, maybe two, maybe an eternity. Time lost meaning, becoming an endless march of steps, pain, and torment. Each step was a struggle, each movement sharp pain in his shoulder, burning, pulsing, occupying all his consciousness, leaving no room for other thoughts. The bandage was soaked through, the fabric stuck to his body, creating a sticky, hot patch irritating his skin, reminding him the bleeding hadn't stopped.

He felt sweat streaming down his back, clothes clinging, each breath a struggle, lungs gasping hot, dry air scorching his throat. Weakness spread through him, making him stumble, slip on dusty patches, barely stay on his feet. He knew he had to stop, re-bandage the wound, rest, find at least some water to quench his burning thirst. But he couldn't afford it. Every minute of delay could be fatal. He had to find a way into 'Eden.' He had to find Iris. He had to keep the promise he'd made to himself and all who'd died for this goal.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to keep walking, trying not to think of pain, thirst, exhaustion. He thought only of Iris-her smile, her voice, her eyes always looking at him with faith, even when he didn't believe in himself. He imagined her face-pale, tired, but with that steely glint that always appeared when she took on something important. He remembered how she looked at him before she left, how she said: "I will return. I promise." And he knew she would keep that promise. He had to do the same.

He walked, and pictures of the past flashed before his eyes: standing on the ruins of the Agri-Continent, staring at the smoke rising from Marcus's tower, believing it was over. Celebrating victory, swearing to build a new world, dreaming their children would live in a world without war and suffering. And now all of it was destroyed. Erased. Burned. Only he remained, to fight.

He looked at the domes, rising hundreds of meters, and felt despair grip his chest. These walls seemed unapproachable, perfect, as if made not by men but by gods to protect the chosen from the sinful world. He knew behind them was a world he had to destroy to save everyone else. A world promising paradise but really prison. A world that had taken everything he loved. A world now holding Iris.

He didn't know how much longer he could go. His legs hummed, each movement sharp pain in his shoulder. But he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find an entrance. He had to get inside. He had to see Iris. He had to tell her he'd come, hadn't given up, believed in her.

And then he saw them.

They appeared from around the dome's curve, moving with perfect synchronization, like parts of a single vast machine. An 'Eden' patrol-four soldiers in immaculate white uniforms, gleaming in the sun, no dust, no wrinkles, no flaws. The uniforms hugged their bodies like second skin, and on each chest was embroidered the tree with intertwined roots-the symbol of 'Eden,' which now seemed to Elias the seal of slavery. Their faces were calm, expressionless, devoid of emotion, like masks that couldn't be removed. They looked straight ahead, not distracted by wind, sun, or wastelands. Their eyes were empty, like dolls, puppets. They moved with mechanical precision-each step identical, each arm swinging in the same rhythm, each breath synchronized.

They looked as if they weren't human. They were machines, performing their function without questions, doubt, feeling. Their steps were perfectly even, their breathing steady, and Elias knew they wouldn't stop until they fulfilled their orders. They were part of 'Eden,' part of that perfect machine grinding people up and turning them into cogs. And he knew if they noticed him, they'd catch him, and he'd never find Iris.

Elias froze, pressing his back against the dome's smooth wall, holding his breath. He pressed himself into it as hard as he could, trying to become invisible, merge with the surface, dissolve in its silver glow. His heart pounded in his chest, a dull rhythmic thud in his ears, audible for kilometers. He stared at the patrol, not daring to breathe, feeling sweat stream down his face, hands trembling with tension.

The patrol approached. He heard their steps-even, measured, like clockwork. He saw their faces pass, their empty eyes sliding past his hiding place, not stopping. They didn't see him. They kept walking, as if he were part of the landscape, as if he didn't exist. Elias waited until they passed, until their footsteps began to fade, until they disappeared around the dome's curve. He waited, feeling every heartbeat in his temples, every second stretching into eternity.

And when they finally vanished from sight, he exhaled-slowly, quietly, trying not to make a sound. He stood pressed against the wall, trembling passing through his body, adrenaline fading, leaving only weakness and pain. He knew he'd been lucky. If they'd noticed him, stopped, asked even one question, it would all be over.

He pushed off the wall and continued his journey, moving silently as a shadow. He walked along the domes, peering at every crack, every crevice, every dark passage that might lead inside. He knew there were old tunnels leading under the domes, but he didn't know where they were. He had to find them. He had to find a way in.

He walked, each step a struggle, pain in his shoulder growing, blood seeping through the bandage, darkening his clothes. He walked, searching for any way in, feeling time slip away, the sun climb higher, his strength drain with every moment.

He stopped to catch his breath and looked at the domes. He saw inside the city, people walking, smiling, talking. Children running in parks, water flowing through channels, flowers blooming. He saw paradise, perfect and flawless, and knew it wasn't paradise. Knew beauty hid a lie. Knew these people were puppets, and he had to free them.

He felt resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt, all pain, all exhaustion. He would get in. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would do it. He wouldn't let this world win. He wouldn't let these walls stop him. He wouldn't let his pain break him.

He walked along the domes again, searching for an entrance, and in his head, only footsteps, wind, and his own breathing echoed. No voices. No internal dialogues. Only silence, preceding the storm, and with each step, the wastelands around him grew more inhospitable. The ground changed beneath his feet-from gray and hard to loose, covered in strange bumps and craters, as if something huge had passed, leaving marks of its wrath. The air grew thicker, heavier, and a metallic taste appeared-thin, barely perceptible, but persistent, coating his tongue and causing mild dizziness. Elias knew this taste. He'd felt it before, passing through exclusion zones left after old bombings. Radiation. Seeping from destroyed reactors, cracks in the earth, debris of what was once technology meant to serve humanity and now slowly killed everything living around it.

He paused for a moment, listening to his body. His head spun slightly, and he felt weakness spreading through his limbs, legs like lead, fingers barely obeying. He knew radiation wasn't a danger you could see or hear, but it was here, near, and it was killing him slowly, imperceptibly, with every breath. He knew he had to hurry, find a way into 'Eden,' or he simply wouldn't make it. But he couldn't run. He couldn't afford carelessness.

He looked at the ground and saw what made his heart clench with fear. Ahead, a few meters away, began a minefield. He recognized it by barely visible signs-small raised patches of earth that looked recently dug, old rusty signs poking from the dust, almost hidden by sand. Red circles with crossed-out lines were barely visible, but he knew what they meant. He'd seen these signs before, in other wastelands, where death hid beneath your feet, waiting.

He froze. He looked at the ground, studying its surface carefully, searching for the slightest signs of danger. He saw mounds that could be mines, tracks leading nowhere, bones-human and animal, white and smooth, gnawed by time and hunger. He knew many had died here. He knew one wrong step and he'd join them.

He took a deep breath, heavy air filling his lungs, and began moving again, but now his steps were cautious, measured, almost silent. He stepped only on spots that seemed safe, testing every centimeter of ground ahead. He moved slowly, like a man walking on thin ice, knowing icy water lay below. He walked, and time lost meaning. Minutes, hours, an eternity. But he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to enter 'Eden.' He had to keep his promise.

Radiation grew stronger. He felt it seeping through his clothes, settling on his skin, entering his lungs with every breath. The metallic taste in his mouth grew more distinct, and he knew if he stayed here too long, he simply wouldn't be able to go on. His shoulder ached, pulsed with a dull pain, and he knew the bandage was soaked again. He had to find shelter. Re-bandage the wound. But he couldn't stop.

He almost passed the dangerous area when he heard a sound-low, guttural, full of hunger and rage. He stopped, a chill running down his spine, heart beating faster, adrenaline flooding his blood. He slowly turned.

On a small rise, a few meters away, stood two wild dogs. They were thin, to the bone, ribs showing through dirty, mangy fur, covered in scabs and bald patches. Their eyes burned with hungry, mad fire-yellow, with red veins, staring at him like prey, like meat that could satisfy their endless hunger. Their mouths were open, drool dripping, mixed with dirt and blood, falling to the ground. They stood motionless, staring at him, bodies tensed like coiled springs, ready to spring.

Elias gripped the pistol, though he knew it was empty. He knew the weapon was useless, wouldn't save him. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't let them kill him here, in this wasteland, far from Iris, from everything he loved. He slowly lowered the pistol and pulled a knife from his pocket-small, but sharp, carried for emergencies. He gripped it, feeling the cold steel steady him. He knew this was his only defense. He had to be ready to fight.

The dogs moved towards him. Their steps were silent, stalking, like ghosts, paws soundless on the ground, not raising dust. They moved in sync, surrounding him from both sides, and he knew if he made one wrong move, they'd attack. One of them snarled, revealing yellow, worn fangs, a low growl from its throat that made his blood run cold. He prepared for the attack, every muscle taut, heart pounding in his throat.

He looked at them, gripping the knife, a wave of resolve rising inside him. He wouldn't give up. He would fight to the end. Even without bullets, wounded, barely standing. He wouldn't let them kill him. He had to find Iris. He had to save the world. For Gora. For Cain. For Cale. For all who died so he could stand here.

The dogs leaped simultaneously.

Elias rolled aside at the last moment, feeling the first dog's claws rake his arm, tearing his shirt and leaving deep scratches on his skin. The pain was sharp, burning, but he didn't allow himself to scream. He rolled on the ground, raising a cloud of dust, and scrambled to his feet, knife in hand.

The second dog was already turning for another leap, eyes burning with wild fire, foam dripping from its mouth. They were fast, hungry, merciless. Elias knew if he let them corner him, if he fell, they'd tear him apart in seconds. He stepped back, once, twice, trying to keep them in front of him, not letting them flank him.

But the leader-a large, muscular dog with a torn ear and scarred muzzle-gave him no respite. It lunged, aiming for his throat, and Elias barely got his knife hand up. The blade sank into its side, between ribs, and the dog yelped-piercingly, pitifully, like a wounded animal. It fell to the ground, convulsing in agony, dark blood mixing with dust and dirt. It tried to get up, but its legs gave way, and it collapsed back, letting out a low, dying whimper.

The second dog stopped dead. It looked at its fallen comrade, then at Elias, fear appearing in its eyes. It whimpered, backed away, then turned and ran, disappearing over the nearest hill as quickly as it had appeared. Its steps faded, and silence fell over the wastelands again-only the wind howling over the earth, carrying sand and dust.

Elias stood, breathing heavily, staring at the leader's body at his feet. The dog no longer moved. He felt no joy in killing it. Only emptiness and exhaustion. He sank to his knees and vomited-from pain, weakness, everything he'd endured in the last hours. He sat on the ground, adrenaline fading, leaving only trembling and pain.

He looked at his hands. They were covered in blood-his own and the dog's. The knife had fallen from his slackened fingers, and he looked at it, revulsion and despair rising within him. He hadn't wanted to kill. He hadn't wanted to become someone who kills indiscriminately. But he'd had no choice. It was his life or theirs. And he chose life.

He forced himself to his feet, every muscle protesting. His shoulder burned, and he knew he had to re-bandage the wound, or he'd bleed out right here. He stepped away from the dog's body, found a boulder to lean against, and began bandaging his shoulder. He pulled the bandage as tight as he could, using his teeth to tie the knot, and felt the pain ease slightly.

He sat, pressing his arm to his shoulder, and looked at 'Eden's' domes rising before him. He knew he had to go on. He couldn't stop. He had to find Iris.

He got to his feet, weakness spreading, and took a step forward. Then another. He walked slowly, stumbling, leaning on walls and stones, but he walked. He had to find her. He had to keep his promise.

The sun was beginning to set, shadows growing longer, painting the wastelands in dark orange and crimson, reminding him of blood spilled on these lands. He knew he had to find an entrance before nightfall, or he'd be stranded in the wastelands without shelter, water, hope. At night, the wastelands became deadly-temperatures dropped below freezing, wild animals came out to hunt. He quickened his pace, ignoring the pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, and the weakness spreading through him, making him stumble.

He found it by chance-an old iron door, almost hidden behind a pile of rocks and rusty metal. It was covered in layers of dust and cobwebs, and he nearly missed it as he passed. He stopped and looked closer. The door was massive, hinges rusted, the handle seemingly not opened for years. But he knew this could be an entrance. He stepped closer and pulled the handle. The door gave way with a terrible screech echoing over the wastelands, and he saw a dark passage leading down into the earth. He knew it might be dangerous, but he had no choice. He had to enter.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him with a dull thud, and he was in complete darkness. He pulled an old lighter from his pocket, one he carried as a memento of Gora, and flicked it. A weak flame lit walls covered in dust and mold, and a floor littered with debris. The air was cold and damp, and he saw his breath in the dim light. He stood still, listening to the silence pressing on his ears, feeling his heart beat faster with tension.

He walked forward, guided by memory and instinct. The tunnel was narrow and winding, walls closing in, silence pressing on his ears, darkness enveloping him like a living thing. He heard only his own breathing and footsteps echoing in the empty space. He thought of how he'd come here, what he'd lost, what he had to do. He thought of Iris, waiting in the heart of the enemy. He thought of Gora, teaching him not to be afraid, telling him: "Fear is not the enemy. The enemy is when you let fear control you." He thought of Cale, sacrificing himself to save him. Of all who died so he could stand here.

He walked, light growing brighter, air warmer, the smell of earth and mold giving way to flowers and clean water. He knew he was close. He quickened his pace, hope filling his heart, pain easing, exhaustion retreating. He walked until he emerged from the tunnel, and suddenly found himself inside 'Eden.'

He froze, stunned by what he saw. Around him stretched a city that looked like a dream come true. Perfect streets paved with white stone, clean and tidy, as if washed daily. Beautiful houses with flower-draped balconies and warm-lit windows. Trees in neat rows, leaves green and lush, as if watered every hour. Water flowing through channels, clean and clear, fish swimming, flowers reflected on its surface. The air was filled with fragrances he hadn't smelled in years, and he heard birds singing, creating a melody that seemed unreal.

He looked at this perfect world, a strange feeling rising within him. It was paradise made by human hands, but he felt something was wrong. There was no life in this city. He saw people walking, smiling, talking, but their eyes were empty, their movements mechanical, their smiles not reaching their eyes. They were puppets, strings pulled, and he knew beauty hid lies. Knew this paradise was built on control, fear, submission. Knew these people were slaves who didn't know they were slaves.

He stood on the street, looking at the city, and Gora's voice sounded in his head-quiet, but distinct, like wind in leaves. It said: "Find her." Elias knew it was his own voice, his own will, but he accepted it as a sign. He had to find Iris. He had to find her among this dead city and free her. He had to stop 'Eden.'

He took a deep breath and walked forward. Down perfect streets, wind in his face, sun setting, painting the sky gold and pink. Past people who looked at him with empty eyes, smiled but didn't see him. He walked, a wave of resolve rising inside him. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would save the world.

CHAPTER 2: EDEN

The air inside the dome hit her face, moist and warm, smelling not of dust and ash, but of flowers-real, living flowers she hadn't smelled in over a year. Iris stepped forward, her lungs filling with the scent, mixed with clean water and fresh greenery, and for a moment, she forgot the pain in her legs, the dryness in her throat, the weight of her backpack on her shoulders. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her, but when she opened them, reality hit with renewed force.

She stood on a perfectly level path of white stone, gleaming as if freshly washed. Around her stretched lawns-emerald green, not a single blade out of place. Trees grew in neat rows, canopies precisely trimmed, branches not intertwining, as if even they were controlled, like everything else in this world. In the distance, she saw buildings-white, cubic, with large windows reflecting the blue sky. Everything was clean, correct, sterile. Too correct.

Behind her, the dome panel closed silently, and she knew the way back was cut off. She had crossed the border. She was inside.

Corvus stood beside her, his hand on the knife hidden under his jacket. His eyes darted around, the same anxiety she felt herself. Vera clenched her fists, the tattoo on her cheek seeming to darken with tension. Marc and Dan stood flanking, faces stone, but she saw them gripping their weapons, ready to draw at any moment. They were warriors, but here, in this paradise, they felt like strangers, like wild animals in a cage.

"Doctor," Corvus whispered, leaning closer, his voice hoarse, as if holding back a shout. "They'll meet us. I know. They always meet. We have to be ready for anything."

"I know," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, though inside she trembled with tension. "Stay close. No aggression. We're guests until we find out what's happening."

She didn't finish the sentence, because at that moment she heard footsteps. Many footsteps. Even, synchronized, like a metronome's beats, approaching from a side street where a white stone arch, covered in perfectly ordered ivy, was visible. Iris turned her head and saw them.

They emerged from behind the arch-six figures in identical silver bodysuits, hugging their bodies like second skin, shimmering in the sun. Their faces were hidden behind transparent helmets, behind which she saw features-young, smooth, without a single wrinkle, but their eyes were empty. Not just calm or focused, but absolutely empty, like dolls with glass pupils staring into nowhere. They moved with mechanical grace-each step identical, each arm swinging in the same rhythm, as if a single mind controlled their bodies. They were not people. Or no longer people.

Iris felt her heart skip a beat when she saw their eyes-those empty, glowing eyes she'd seen in the village, in those who'd surrounded them, in the gray-haired woman. But here they were different. More perfect. More mechanical. These weren't the drugged ones. These were hybrids-humans remade, turned into part of the system.

"Don't move," she told the squad, trying to keep her voice firm, though inside she clenched with fear. "They want to check us. Don't give them a reason."

The hybrid guards stopped five meters away, forming a neat line. Their movements synchronized, like soldiers on parade, and they froze, staring at the squad through their transparent helmets. One of them, the one in the center, stepped forward and raised a hand. In his palm was a small device-silver, smooth, without a single button, seemingly part of his glove. He held it to his face, and it emitted a soft, melodic sound, like a bird's song.

"DNA scanner," Iris whispered, recognizing the technology. She'd seen similar in Genesis labs, but those were bulky and imperfect. This was tiny, elegant, silent. "They'll check us."

"What if they find something they shouldn't?" Vera asked, a metallic edge in her voice. "My DNA isn't exactly clean. I had experiments. After the war..."

"Quiet," Corvus snapped. "The doctor knows what to do."

But Iris didn't know. She watched the guards moving slowly towards them, a chill running down her spine. She knew her own DNA was the key. Her mother had created a genetic matrix woven into her cells, and if Lena accessed that code, she could use it. But she also knew if she resisted, if she tried to hide her DNA, they'd know she was hiding something, and that would be worse. She had to undergo the scan. She had to show them what they wanted to see.

The first guard approached her. He was nearly a head taller, and she felt cold emanating from him-not physical, but an inner cold seeping into her bones like radiation. He raised his hand, the device glowing blue as it swept over her face, then her neck, then her wrist, which he grasped with cold fingers. His touch was metallic-cold, and she felt goosebumps on her skin. The device made a short sound, and green lights appeared on its surface.

The guard released her wrist and nodded-mechanically, like an automaton. Then he turned to the next-Corvus.

Iris held her breath. She knew Corvus had been in 'Eden' before, had escaped, and his DNA might be in the database as a "deserter" or "traitor." If they recognized him, it was all over. She saw Corvus tense, his fingers gripping the knife handle, his jaw clenching. She saw sweat on his temples, his eyes growing hard and ready to spring. She wanted to shout: "Don't resist!" but the words stuck.

The guard stopped before Corvus. His empty eyes stared straight at the fugitive's face, and Iris saw Corvus staring back, not looking away. The scanner buzzed, blue light sweeping over his skin, over scars on his arms, his face. Time crawled, like thick honey, and she felt every heartbeat in her ears.

Then the scanner made the same melodic sound, and green light appeared. The guard released Corvus's hand and nodded, as if nothing had happened.

Iris exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. She didn't know how they'd fooled the system, but they had. She looked at Corvus, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod-his face pale, but relief flickering in his eyes.

The others were scanned just as quickly. Vera, Marc, Dan-all passed the check, and the hybrid guards, done with their work, formed a line and froze, awaiting further instructions. Then one of them, the one who'd scanned Iris, raised his hand and pointed towards a white building standing a few hundred meters away.

"Follow us," he said, his voice flat, emotionless, mechanical-not human, synthesized, devoid of inflection, like a voice assistant. "You are placed in quarantine pending completion of verification."

"Quarantine?" Iris asked, trying to sound calm, though inside she clenched with foreboding. "Why? We've already been scanned."

"Standard procedure," the guard replied, no sympathy in his voice. "All arrivals undergo adaptation. You will be placed in separate quarters. After twenty-four hours, you will be examined and cleared for life in Eden."

Corvus stepped forward, and Iris saw his hand move towards his knife again. She grabbed his wrist and squeezed, stopping him.

"We obey," she said firmly, looking at the guards. "We await your instructions."

She saw Corvus looking at her with incomprehension and anger, but she couldn't risk it. If they resisted now, they'd be killed on the spot, and she wouldn't find 'Protocol 7,' stop Lena, save the world.

The guards turned and walked forward, and the squad followed. Iris walked, each step on the perfect white stone echoing in her feet, the air growing moister and warmer, the flower scent more cloying, almost nauseating. She looked around and saw people in the streets watching them with curiosity, but it was a strange gaze-lifeless, like mannequins. They smiled, but their smiles didn't reach their eyes. They stood in doorways of perfect houses, on balconies, benches, watching the procession pass, their faces expressionless.

She saw children playing in the park, but they weren't laughing. Their movements were precise, but joyless. Their voices didn't rise in shouts and squeals, like normal children. They moved like wind-up toys, and the sight was more horrifying than any ruins she'd seen in the wastelands.

"This is wrong," Vera whispered, horror in her voice. "They're not living. They're just... existing."

"Quiet," Iris said, but she agreed. It was wrong. All of it. But she couldn't stop. She had to go on.

They passed through the park, past fountains spraying perfect streams, past rose alleys blooming as if planted yesterday. Finally, they reached the white building-not a house, but a station, a long single-story structure with a row of doors leading to small rooms. The guards stopped at the entrance and opened one door, gesturing for Iris to enter.

She looked inside. The room was small but clean, with a narrow cot, a table, and a small window looking onto an inner courtyard with an artificial pond. No decorations on the walls-no pictures, ornaments, signs of life. A prison cell disguised as a hotel room.

"Each of you will be placed in a separate room," the guard said. "Doors will be locked. Do not attempt to leave-it could be dangerous to your health."

"Dangerous?" Marc asked, sarcasm in his voice. "What, someone might bite?"

The guard didn't answer. He just pointed to the next door, and Iris knew she had no choice.

"Corvus," she said, turning to him. "I'll find a way to contact you. Be ready. Don't do anything stupid."

He looked at her, steely resolve in his eyes, but she saw fear-for her, for the squad, for everything they'd lost.

"Be careful, Doctor," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "You're our only hope."

She entered the room, and the door slammed shut behind her with a dull metallic thud echoing in her ears like a cage closing. She turned the handle-it was locked. She went to the window and tried to open it-it was secured. She ran her hand over the wall, looking for any crack, any gap, any way out, but the walls were perfectly smooth, like everything in this world.

She sat on the cot, strength leaving her, cold sweat on her forehead, breath ragged. She was trapped. She'd entered 'Eden,' but instead of answers, she was in quarantine, isolated from her squad, from Elias, from everything she knew.

She clenched her fists and looked out the window at the perfect pond, where golden fish swam in circles, never stopping, never straying. They were trapped too. They were puppets too.

"I'll get out," she whispered into the silence. "I'll find a way. I won't let them win."

But inside her, a cold feeling grew, telling her this was only the beginning. That something far worse than quarantine awaited.

She closed her eyes and began to wait.

The door opened exactly twenty-four hours later. Iris heard the lock click, and when she looked up, a woman in a white coat stood on the threshold-not a hybrid guard, but an ordinary person, with lively eyes and a slight smile. She was young, around thirty, with neat part in chestnut hair and delicate features, perfect, almost ideal, but not mechanical. A tablet was in her hands, held as if part of her body.

"Doctor Iris," she said, her voice warm, almost friendly. "Welcome to Eden. My name is Elian. I'll be your curator during adaptation. Please follow me."

Iris stood, stiff muscles protesting. She ran a hand over her face, wiping sleep, and looked at the woman. Elian-she noted the name. She had to remember everything, every face, every name, every detail that could be useful.

"And my squad?" she asked, trying to sound steady. "My people. Where are they?"

"Your companions are undergoing the same adaptation," Elian replied, her smile widening slightly. "They are perfectly safe. We have no reason to harm them. Eden is a place of peace and harmony."

Iris wanted to argue, to say she didn't believe a word, but she knew it was useless. She had to play by their rules until she found a way to act. She nodded and stepped out of the room, following Elian.

The corridor was as perfectly clean as everything else in this world. White walls without a single crack, floor gleaming, reflecting the light of built-in lamps burning with steady, warm light, casting no shadows. Iris walked, each step on the smooth floor echoing, thinking how there was no dust, no dirt, no traces of life. A place existing outside time.

They exited through a glass door that opened automatically, and Iris was again on the street. But now the city revealed itself in all its glory. The sun was high, its rays penetrating the dome, creating soft, diffused light, making everything almost fairytale-like. Wide streets paved with white stone, trees on both sides-neat, trimmed, emerald crowns not stirring, because there was no wind. The air was still, warm, smelling of roses and something sweet, like honey.

Iris looked around, her eyes unable to adjust to what she saw. People. They were everywhere. Walking, sitting on benches, talking, reading in small gardens near every house. Smiling. All of them smiling. But their smiles were strange-too even, too identical, as if their faces were fixed in one expression. They looked at her as she passed, their gazes polite but empty.

She stopped by a small fountain, spraying a perfect stream, and looked at a woman sitting on a nearby bench, holding a book. The woman looked up, and their eyes met. For a moment, Iris thought she saw something human flicker in her gaze-a spark hidden deep within. But then the woman smiled the same perfect smile, and the spark died.

"Hello," the woman said, her voice soft as a child's. "Welcome to Eden."

"Hello," Iris replied, trying to speak as softly. "Are you happy here?"

The woman looked at her, her smile widening, but her eyes remained lightless.

"Of course," she said. "We're all happy. No hunger, no war, no pain. Everyone has purpose, work, a place in society. We need each other. We matter."

"But do you have a choice?" Iris asked, a cold wave rising inside her. "Can you choose what to do, who to be with, where to live?"

The woman paused, and Iris saw a faint shadow in her eyes-something like memory or doubt. But then it vanished, and she smiled again, even brighter.

"Happiness is the absence of choice," she said, her voice flat, as if reciting a learned phrase. "When you have no choice, you can't make mistakes. You just do what you must, and it brings satisfaction. We all do what we must, and we're all happy."

Iris looked at her, horror rising within her. She saw before her not a person, but a puppet unaware it's a puppet. A woman who'd lost herself, become part of the system, unable and unwilling to think otherwise.

"And if you had a choice," Iris asked softly, "would you change anything?"

The woman looked at her, and for a moment her smile faltered. Something like fear flickered in her eyes, but she quickly composed herself.

"We should go," Elian said, approaching Iris and gently touching her shoulder. "Lena is waiting. You shouldn't keep her waiting."

Iris turned and followed her, but she couldn't forget the woman's words. "Happiness is the absence of choice." She repeated them over and over, and they sounded like a verdict, a prophecy. Lena's philosophy. 'Eden's' philosophy.

She walked down perfect streets, and with every step, she saw more people smiling, talking, living in this perfect world. But their eyes were empty, their movements mechanical, and she knew behind every smile was emptiness. A paradise, but a paradise with no room for the soul.

She passed a school where children played perfect games, no shouting, no fighting. A market where sellers offered perfect fruits and vegetables, but no one haggled, argued. A park where young couples sat on benches holding hands, but their hands didn't clasp in passionate embraces-they just lay there, as if part of a ritual.

She saw clones-those she could identify by pale skin and too-perfect features-working in fields behind the houses. They moved with the same mechanical precision as the hybrid guards, faces blank, eyes staring into nothing. They didn't talk to each other, smile, or complain. They just worked, like machines.

Iris felt anger mingled with despair rising inside her. She saw 'Eden' wasn't a sanctuary, but a factory producing slaves who didn't know they were slaves. She saw Lena had created a system that robbed people of their will, their freedom, their humanity. And she knew she had to stop it. She had to find 'Protocol 7.' She had to destroy this world built on lies.

"We're almost there," Elian said, interrupting her thoughts. "You'll be placed in a guest room in the main building. Lena will receive you tomorrow morning. She wants to speak with you personally."

"Tomorrow?" Iris asked, disappointment gripping her chest. "I thought she wanted to see me immediately."

"Lena is a very busy woman," Elian replied, her smile becoming more strained. "She runs an entire city. But she's made time for you. Tomorrow at nine in the morning. She'll be waiting in her quarters."

Iris nodded, though inside she churned with impatience and anxiety. She wanted to meet Lena now, immediately, to ask all the questions that had piled up. But she knew she had to wait. Play by their rules until she understood how this system worked.

They approached a huge white building rising in the city center. It looked like a temple or palace, with tall columns and large windows reflecting the sky. Beautiful, majestic, but lifeless-like a tomb, and Iris felt a chill as she climbed the marble steps.

Elian led her inside, through a hall decorated with living flowers and fountains, and stopped at a massive wooden door covered in carvings. She opened it, and Iris saw a room as perfect as everything else-spacious, bright, with a large window overlooking a garden.

"Your room," Elian said, gesturing her in. "Rest and prepare for your meeting with Lena. I'll send for you tomorrow morning."

Iris stepped inside, and the door closed behind her. She was alone in a room like the one in quarantine-sterile, empty, lifeless. She walked to the window and looked at the garden, where perfect trees grew in perfect order, flowers bloomed at a perfect time, everything subject to control.

She clenched her fists and promised herself: she would escape. She would find a way. She would stop Lena. She would free these people, even if they didn't know they were in prison.

"I'll do it," she whispered into the silence. "I'll do it for my mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died."

She stood at the window, looking at the perfect garden, and the woman's words echoed in her head: "Happiness is the absence of choice." She repeated them again and again, and they sounded like a verdict, a prophecy.

Iris stood at the window of the guest room, but instead of resting, she watched the garden and waited. Waited for someone to come, for something to happen, for her chance to act. Silence pressed on her, and every minute of inaction stretched into eternity. She couldn't sit still. She couldn't wait for Lena to deign to receive her. She had to learn more. Understand how this world worked, to destroy it.

She walked to the door and tried the handle-it was locked. She walked to the window and tried to open it-it was secured. She ran her hand over the walls, searching for any crack, any gap, any way out, but the walls were perfectly smooth, like everything else. She was trapped. A perfect room, a perfect prison.

But then she heard a sound outside the door-soft, insistent, like the scrape of metal. She froze, listening. The sound repeated, and she realized someone was trying to open the door from outside. She stepped closer, and at that moment, the lock clicked, and the door opened a crack.

On the threshold stood Elian. Her face was pale, looking around as if afraid of being seen. In her hands was an old rusty key, looking alien in this perfect world.

"Doctor Iris," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "We don't have much time. I need to show you something. But you must promise not to tell Lena."

Iris looked at her and saw something in her eyes she hadn't seen before-fear. Real, human fear. And at that moment, she understood: Elian wasn't part of the system. She was part of the resistance.

"I promise," Iris said, her voice firm. "Lead me."

Elian nodded and gestured for her to follow. They left the room, and Elian led her through a labyrinth of white rooms and staircases, seemingly endless. They passed patrols standing motionless like statues, not noticing them. Through a kitchen where robots prepared perfect food, through a warehouse storing perfect supplies. Finally, they exited through a back door, into the street, outside the main building.

"Hurry," Elian said, her voice trembling. "If we're seen, we'll die. Both of us."

They ran down a narrow path leading past residential blocks, towards the fields. Iris felt the wind on her face, dust on her skin, her heart beating faster with adrenaline. She ran after Elian until they stopped at the edge of a vast field stretching for kilometers.

Iris froze. She looked at the field, and what she saw made her blood run cold.

The field was huge, stretching to the horizon, covered in perfect rows of crops. Wheat, corn, vegetables-all growing in straight lines, as if planted by laser. Tall and green, without a single weed, without damage. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

Clones were working in the field. Hundreds, maybe thousands. They moved through the rows, harvesting, their movements mechanical, synchronized, like robots. Bending, picking vegetables, placing them in baskets at their belts, moving on. Not talking, smiling, complaining. Just working, like machines.

Iris stepped closer and saw their faces. Young, almost childish, with perfect features and pale skin. Their eyes were empty, like the hybrid guards', but there was something else-a shadow, an echo of what was once a soul. They were alive, but not living. Existing, but meaninglessly.

She approached one of them-a young man of about eighteen, with delicate features and light hair. Bending, picking, moving on. Not noticing her, not reacting. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

He froze. Slowly turned his head and looked at her. His eyes were empty, like a doll's, but for a moment, she thought a spark flickered-recognition or surprise. He looked at her, his lips parting, as if wanting to speak.

"Who are you?" she asked softly. "Do you remember yourself? Do you remember who you were?"

He looked at her, face still, but in his eyes she saw a struggle-between what he was and what he'd been made. His lips moved, and she heard a faint, nearly inaudible whisper:

"I... I was... human..."

But before he could say more, an overseer approached-a hybrid guard in a silver bodysuit, empty eyes, mechanical movements. He raised a hand and aimed a device at the young man, which emitted a short, sharp sound. The young man flinched, and the spark in his eyes died. His face went blank, and he turned to her, movements mechanical, like a puppet.

"Excuse me," he said, his voice flat, without inflection. "I must continue working. Please do not interfere."

He turned and walked on, bending, picking, placing in the basket. He didn't look at her again. He was a machine performing its function.

Iris stared at him, rage and despair rising within her. She saw 'Eden' wasn't paradise. It was a factory producing slaves who didn't know they were slaves. A machine grinding people up, turning them into cogs.

Elian stepped up to her and touched her shoulder.

"Now you understand," she said, her voice quiet, almost broken. "They're all like that. They don't remember themselves. Don't know who they were. Lena took their lives, their memories, their personalities. They just work until they die."

"But how?" Iris asked, her voice trembling with anger. "How does she do it? How does she make them forget?"

"It's 'Protocol 7,'" Elian said, her eyes widening with fear, as if uttering a forbidden word. "Or rather, Lena's version of it. She didn't destroy it, as your mother said. She repurposed it. Uses it to erase memories, reprogram people, make them obedient. She says it's for good. Gives people a chance to start a new life, free from pain. But really, she just turns them into slaves."

Iris looked at the field, where hundreds of clones worked in perfect order, and felt her heart breaking. She saw before her not just workers. People who'd lost themselves. People created to serve the system. People whose freedom, memory, soul had been stolen.

She remembered the woman at the fountain: "Happiness is the absence of choice." Now she understood what it meant. 'Eden' stole people's will and called it happiness. Lena had created a perfect world at the cost of human lives.

"I have to stop this," she said, her voice hard as steel. "I have to find 'Protocol 7.' I have to destroy this system."

"It's not that simple," Elian said, pain in her voice. "Lena is clever. She hid the 'Protocol' where no one can find it. Even I don't know where it is. But I know who does. Lena knows. She's the only one with access."

Iris looked at her, resolve appearing in her eyes. She had to meet Lena. Force her to talk. Find a way to stop this mad world.

"Then I'll talk to her," she said. "I'll make her tell me the truth."

"Be careful," Elian said, fear in her voice. "Lena is dangerous. She's not just a leader. She believes in what she does. Thinks she's saving the world. And she'll stop at nothing to protect her creation."

Iris nodded. She knew it would be dangerous. Lena might try to kill her or use her. But she had no choice. She had to take the risk. For her mother, for Cain, for Gora, for all who died. For all still alive.

"I'm ready," she said. "I'll meet her tomorrow. And I'll learn the truth."

They returned to the main building by the same path, avoiding patrols. Iris felt resolve rising within her, sweeping away all doubt. She'd seen how 'Eden' worked. How it destroyed people, turning them into slaves. And she knew she had to stop it. Find 'Protocol 7.' Free these people, even if they didn't know they were in prison.

When they returned to the room, Elian opened the door and gestured her inside.

"Rest," she said. "Tomorrow is an important day. I'll send for you in the morning."

Iris entered, and the door closed behind her. She walked to the window and looked at the field in the distance. Saw clones still working, movements growing more mechanical, faces emptier. Saw 'Eden' consuming them, grinding them in its mill.

"I will stop this," she whispered into the silence. "I will stop you, Lena. I promise."

Iris closed the door behind her and leaned against it, feeling cold metal press into her back through her thin shirt. Her heart still pounded-not from the run, but from what she'd seen in the fields. Those clones, their empty eyes, mechanical movements, quiet voices almost saying they still remembered themselves. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She had to remember this. Every face, every moment, so when the time came, she'd have the strength.

She stepped away from the door and slowly surveyed the room. She'd seen it before, but now, after what she'd learned, she saw it differently. Not a guest room, but a cage. Perfect, beautiful, but a cage. White, smooth walls, no cracks, no stains. Simple, elegant furniture-a neatly made bed, table, chair, small wardrobe. A perfect landscape painting on the wall-mountains and a lake, too perfect to be real. A soft carpet, feet sinking into it. Everything designed for comfort. Everything designed to make guests not want to leave.

Iris walked to the window and looked down. The garden she'd seen before now seemed different. Trees in neat rows, crowns precisely trimmed, looking like decorations, not living things. Flowers blooming in perfect buds, petals not falling, as if time had stopped. Everything was controlled. Every plant, every bush, every leaf part of the system governing this world.

She ran her hand over the glass. Cold and smooth, like everything else. She tried to find a way to open the window, but it was secured, like in the quarantine room. She wasn't surprised. Lena wouldn't leave her openings.

She stepped away from the window and approached the bed. Sat on the edge, the mattress soft and comfortable. Silk coverlet, smooth and cool. Everything in this room designed to calm, lull, make you forget why you're here. But Iris couldn't forget. Couldn't allow herself to relax.

She remembered the field, the clones, their empty eyes. The young man who'd almost said he was human. The overseer snuffing out that spark, turning him back into a machine. Anger and despair rose within her. She was in the enemy's heart, but helpless. Didn't know where 'Protocol 7' was. How to stop this system. If she could do anything at all.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm down. She had to think clearly. Find a way to buy time, a weak spot in this perfect system. She remembered Elian's words: "Lena knows where the 'Protocol' is. She's the only one with access." So she had to make Lena talk. Meet her tomorrow and ask the right questions. But Lena wouldn't talk without pressure. She had to find a way to force her.

She opened her eyes and looked at her hands. Thin, with long fingers, used to microscopes and test tubes. Not made for fighting. But they could do more than research. Hold a weapon if needed. Clench fists. Fight.

She stood and began examining the room more thoroughly. Every corner, every crack, every surface. Searching for hidden cameras, microphones, any surveillance devices. In a place like 'Eden,' she was certainly being watched. A guest, but also a prisoner.

She found them. Three small devices hidden in walls, behind the picture, under the table. Nearly invisible, but she knew how to look. She took a small screwdriver from her pocket-carried in case she needed to fix something-and began carefully disconnecting them, trying not to damage the wiring. She didn't want Lena to know she knew about them. She left one, the smallest, hidden in the corner, to give them the illusion of control.

When she finished, she sat on the bed, exhaustion washing over her. She hadn't slept for nearly two days, her body demanding rest. But she couldn't sleep. Couldn't relax until she was sure she was safe.

She stood and walked to the table. A note lay on it, which she hadn't noticed before. She picked it up and read: "Welcome to Eden. We hope you find peace and tranquility here. If you need anything, just press the call button. We're always happy to help." Written in perfect handwriting, no smudges. Like a brochure, not a personal message.

Iris crumpled the note and tore it into pieces. She didn't want peace and tranquility. She wanted the truth. And she was ready to fight for it.

She walked to the wardrobe and opened it. Simple, comfortable clothes hung inside, perfectly sized. Another sign she was being watched. They knew her size, habits, preferences. They knew everything about her. But not the main thing. Not that she was ready to sacrifice herself to stop them.

She chose a simple white blouse and dark pants. She didn't want to look like a guest come for tea. She wanted to look like someone ready for battle. She changed, feeling the fabric settle on her body, becoming part of her. She was ready.

She walked to the bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. White, smooth, without cracks. She stared at it, thoughts churning like broken wheels. She thought of her mother, holding her hand the last time, saying: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." She thought of Cain, his smile, holding her hand and promising everything would be fine. She thought of Gora, stern eyes, teaching her to be strong.

She thought of what she had to do tomorrow. Meet Lena. Make her talk. Find 'Protocol 7.' Stop this world.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift into darkness. She didn't know what awaited her tomorrow, but she knew one thing: she wouldn't give up. She would fight to the end. For her mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died, and all still alive.

She fell into a restless, disturbed sleep, full of images of clones with empty eyes, perfect trees, and Lena's voice whispering: "Happiness is the absence of choice."

She woke to a soft knock at the door. She opened her eyes, heart beating faster. She stood, fatigue still lingering, but adrenaline already flooding her blood.

The door opened, and Elian stood on the threshold.

"Good morning, Doctor Iris," she said, her voice as quiet as the day before. "Lena is ready to receive you. She's waiting in her quarters."

Iris nodded.

"I'm ready," she said. "Lead the way."

She stepped out, resolve rising within her. She was ready for anything. She would meet Lena. Ask all her questions. Learn the truth. And do what she came to do.

She followed Elian through the labyrinth of white corridors, her steps firm, confident. She knew this was only the beginning. A long battle lay ahead. But she was ready. Ready to fight to the end. For all who believed in her. For all who waited for her return. For freedom.

Elian left, leaving Iris alone in the corridor before the door leading back to her room. She stood for a few seconds, listening to the silence enveloping her like a thick blanket. Not a sound-no guards' steps, no voices, no wind outside. Only silence. Deep, oppressive, almost tangible.

Iris entered the room and closed the door. She walked to the window and looked at the garden, now dark. Artificial lights softly illuminated the paths, reflecting in perfect puddles that never dried even at night. Everything was calm, peaceful, perfect. But she knew the calm was deceptive.

She pulled a small communication device from her pocket, which Corvus had given her before they were separated. Tiny, nearly invisible, hidden in her jacket lining during the scan. She pressed the button, and the device buzzed softly. She waited. Nothing.

She pressed again, harder, almost pressing the button into the casing. Again silence. Only the hiss of interference, like white noise. She tried tuning the frequency, remembering the code she and Corvus used, but the device didn't respond. The connection was blocked. Completely, absolutely, irreversibly.

Iris clenched the device in her hand, panic rising within her. She was alone. Completely alone. Unable to contact Corvus, call for help, even know if they were alive. Cut off from the world, and this world was 'Eden'-perfect, sterile, merciless.

She sat on the bed and closed her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. She knew panic wouldn't help. She had to think clearly. Find a way out of this trap. But every move, every thought seemed controlled. Lena knew where she was. Knew what she was doing. Controlled everything.

She opened her eyes and looked at the ceiling. White and smooth, like everything else. She knew cameras, sensors, surveillance devices lurked behind it. Lena was watching. Every thought, every move, every breath was being monitored and analyzed.

She clenched her fists and promised herself: she wouldn't give up. She would find a way. Escape. Stop Lena.

She lay down, but sleep wouldn't come. She lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, thoughts churning like broken wheels. She thought of her mother, holding her hand the last time, saying: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." She thought of Cain, his smile, holding her hand and promising everything would be fine. She thought of Gora, stern eyes, teaching her to be strong.

She thought of what she had to do tomorrow. Meet Lena. Make her talk. Find 'Protocol 7.' Stop this world.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift into darkness. She didn't know what awaited her tomorrow, but she knew one thing: she wouldn't give up. She would fight to the end. For her mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died, and all still alive.

Iris woke to a soft knock at the door. She opened her eyes, heart beating faster. She stood, fatigue still lingering, but adrenaline already flooding her blood.

The door opened, and Elian stood on the threshold. She looked as calm as yesterday, but Iris saw the same shadow of fear behind her perfect smile.

"Good morning, Doctor Iris," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "Lena is ready to receive you. She's waiting in her quarters. Please follow me."

Iris nodded and stood. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it, and looked at herself in the mirror on the wall. Tired, but her eyes burned with resolve. She was ready.

"I'm ready," she said. "Lead the way."

She stepped out, resolve rising within her. Ready for anything. She would meet Lena. Ask all her questions. Learn the truth. And do what she came to do.

Elian led her through the labyrinth of white corridors, seemingly endless. Past rooms where other guests were held, past labs where scientists in white coats worked, past lounges where people sat with empty eyes and mechanical smiles. Everything perfect, sterile, lifeless.

Finally, they entered a garden. Huge, its paths leading to the main building in the city center. Trees in neat rows, crowns precisely trimmed, looking like decorations. Flowers in perfect buds, petals not falling, as if time had stopped. Everything controlled. Every plant, bush, leaf part of the system governing this world.

Iris walked through the garden, wind on her face, flower scent filling her lungs. But she couldn't enjoy it. Knew it was a decoration to lull her vigilance. Knew beauty hid lies.

She paused for a moment and looked at a perfect tree beside the path. Branches precisely trimmed, not intertwining, as if controlled. She reached out and touched its bark. Cold and smooth, like everything else.

"This tree looks alive," she said, turning to Elian. "But it doesn't live. It just exists."

"Everything in Eden exists in perfect order," Elian replied, her voice flat, but with a hint of sadness. "Lena believes order is the only way to survive."

"But order without freedom is prison," Iris said. "You know that, Elian. You know this isn't paradise. It's a cage."

Elian said nothing. Just lowered her gaze and kept walking.

They approached the main building, and Iris looked up at its huge columns and high windows. Like a temple, a palace, a symbol of power designed to inspire fear and respect. She knew Lena waited inside. Knew this meeting would be decisive.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

They entered through huge glass doors that opened automatically. The hall was as perfect as everything else-high ceiling, marble columns, fountains spraying perfect streams. Designed to impress, overwhelm, make guests feel small and insignificant.

Elian led her through the hall to a massive wooden door covered in carvings. She stopped before it and turned to Iris.

"Lena is waiting inside," she said, her voice tense. "Be careful, Doctor. She's not what she seems."

Iris nodded and looked at the door. She knew what awaited her wasn't just a meeting, but a battle. For truth, for freedom, for the future.

"I'm ready," she said.

She opened the door and stepped inside.

The door opened silently, as if its movement were part of a complex mechanism operating with perfect precision. Iris stepped across the threshold and froze, feeling the air in the room envelop her-warm, still, saturated with the scent of flowers and something else, a faint, elusive fragrance she couldn't identify. Perhaps perfume. Or perhaps the scent of Lena herself, her presence filling the space like water filling a vessel.

The room was enormous. The ceiling rose high, lost in twilight, and light streamed through tall arched windows occupying the entire eastern wall. Morning sun flooded the room in soft gold, reflecting off white marble walls and floor, creating the sensation of standing inside a cloud. In the center stood a long dark wood table, covered in glass gleaming like a still lake. Nothing on it-no papers, no devices, no decorations. Only emptiness and light.

And in the center of that light stood she.

Lena.

Iris stared at her, heart pounding in her throat, drowning out all other sounds. The woman was tall, slender, with perfect posture making her look like a statue, a work of art by a master. Her hair was pulled back in a neat bun, not a strand out of place. Her face was smooth, unwrinkled, skin glowing pale, almost porcelain, like a doll. But her eyes-her eyes were alive. Green, like emeralds, like leaves of perfect trees in the garden, and they looked at Iris with cold, attentive interest, making her feel transparent as glass.

She wore a long white dress, simple but elegant, flowing over her body like water, its hem touching the floor, leaving a light trail. She looked like an angel, a saint, the embodiment of purity and light. But Iris knew death hid beneath that exterior. Knew this woman had killed her mother. Knew she'd created this world of lies and control. And anger, barely contained, rose within her.

"Doctor Iris," Lena said, her voice soft as silk, musical, penetrating the soul. "I'm so glad to see you. I've waited so long for this day."

She stepped forward, her dress rustling like bird wings. She approached Iris, and now they stood face to face, only a few steps apart. Iris could see every detail of her face-thin line of lips, faint blush on cheeks, shadows under eyes, barely visible but present, revealing the fatigue Lena tried to hide.

"You knew I would come," Iris said, her voice firm, though inside she trembled with tension. "You were waiting for me."

"Your mother spoke of you," Lena replied, her smile widening but not reaching her eyes. "She always said you'd be a great scientist. That you'd continue her work. She was right. I knew you'd come. I knew you wouldn't stand aside once you learned the truth."

Iris felt her fingers clench into fists, nails digging into her palms. She tried to stay calm, but inside she raged.

"You killed her," she said, her voice wavering, but she didn't let herself cry. "You killed my mother."

Lena looked at her, and for a moment her smile vanished. Something like sadness or regret flickered in her eyes. But then it was gone, and she smiled again, cold and lifeless.

"I didn't kill your mother," she said quietly. "I tried to save the world. Your mother also wanted to save the world, but she didn't understand that sacrifice was needed. She thought you could build a perfect society without pain and suffering. But it's impossible, Iris. Freedom is an illusion. We're all slaves to our desires, fears, weaknesses. The only way to make people happy is to take away their choice."

Iris stared at her, revulsion rising within her. She saw before her not just a woman who'd killed her mother. An ideologue, a fanatic who believed in her own rightness so strongly she was ready to destroy everything in her path.

"You're wrong," Iris said, her voice hard as steel. "Freedom is not an illusion. It's what makes us human. You took away their freedom. Turned them into puppets. Stole their lives, memories, souls."

Lena shook her head, slight sadness in her eyes.

"You're young, Iris," she said. "You don't understand how cruel the world is. People kill each other over religion, money, land. They hate each other over skin color, origin, being different. I created a world without hatred, war, hunger. I gave them peace. I gave them happiness. Is that wrong?"

"The happiness you gave them is a lie," Iris said. "They're not happy. They just don't know what it means to be unhappy. They forgot how to feel. You turned them into empty shells."

Lena walked to the window and looked at the garden beyond the glass. Her figure stood out against the light, almost transparent, like a ghost.

"Your mother said the same," she said, nostalgia in her voice. "She said I was taking away people's humanity. But she didn't understand that humanity is a curse. It makes people suffer. Makes them do terrible things. I just want to free them from that burden."

Iris stepped forward, her voice louder, firmer.

"You're not freeing them. You're killing them. Erasing their personalities. Turning them into slaves. And you call it salvation."

Lena turned to her, cold fire in her eyes.

"I do what I must," she said, her voice hardening. "I'm building a new world. A world without suffering. Where everyone has their place and purpose. Where order and harmony reign. This is not a prison, Iris. This is paradise. A paradise we made with our own hands."

Iris stared at her, knowing Lena believed what she said. A fanatic seeing the world through her ideology. Not evil in the sense of wanting to cause pain. Evil in being ready to destroy everything in her idea's path. That made her more dangerous.

"I won't let you continue," Iris said. "I'll find a way to stop you. Find 'Protocol 7.' Destroy this system."

Lena smiled, confidence bordering on arrogance in her smile.

"'Protocol 7' is not something you can find, Iris," she said. "It's something I can give you. And I'm ready to give it to you. For a price."

Iris looked at her, heart beating faster.

"What price?" she asked, trying to sound steady.

Lena stepped closer, and now they stood face to face. Iris could see her reflection in Lena's green eyes, a strange, almost unsettling feeling.

"You know your mother created a genetic matrix," Lena said. "A key that can shut down the Architect from within. That key is embedded in your DNA. You're the only one who can activate 'Protocol 7.' But to do it, you must voluntarily give me your genetic matrix."

Iris felt a chill run down her spine. She knew what it meant. If she gave away her matrix, she might die. Lena could use it against her. But it was also the only way to stop 'Eden.'

"I won't do it," she said, her voice firm. "I don't trust you."

Lena looked at her, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"I knew you'd say that," she said. "You're like your mother. She also didn't want to sacrifice. Thought there was another way. But there is no other way, Iris. Only sacrifice. Only choice. And I hope you make the right choice."

She turned and walked away from the window, signaling the audience was over.

Iris stood, emotions raging inside her. She wanted to shout, attack Lena, force her to tell the truth. But she knew it was useless. She was trapped. In the hands of a woman ready to do anything to protect her creation.

"I'll find a way," she said quietly, but firmly. "I will stop you. I promise."

Lena heard her words but didn't turn. She just stood at the window, looking at the perfect garden, and her voice sounded in the silence:

"I know you'll try, Iris. I know you'll fight. But I also know you'll lose. Because you don't understand what real power is. You don't understand that sometimes you must sacrifice everything to save the world."

Iris turned and walked out, the door closing behind her, cutting her off from the light and warmth. She stood in the corridor, hands trembling with tension. She knew she'd just met an enemy stronger, smarter, more dangerous. But she also knew she couldn't give up. Had to find a way. Stop Lena. Free this world.

She walked down the corridor, steps echoing in the empty space. She didn't know what lay ahead, but she knew one thing: she wouldn't stop until she fulfilled her mission.

Iris stopped, feeling the door close behind her with a soft, almost silent click. She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She'd just met the woman who'd killed her mother, created this world of lies, looked at her with cold confidence and offered a deal that made her blood run cold. Emotions raged inside her-anger, despair, fear, resolve. But she couldn't allow herself to break. She had to continue.

And at that moment, the door opened again, and Lena appeared on the threshold. She stood in the doorway, her white dress flowing around her like a cloud, her face calm as a lake's surface. She smiled the same perfect smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"I thought you might want to see more," she said, her voice soft, almost gentle. "Words can't convey what we've created here. You must see it with your own eyes to understand. A tour, if you will."

Iris looked at her, suspicion rising within her. She knew Lena didn't just want to show her the city. Wanted to convince her. Show her "paradise" so she'd believe it was right. But Iris knew it was a lie. And she was ready to see that lie with her own eyes.

"Alright," she said, trying to sound steady. "Show me your world."

Lena nodded and gestured for her to follow. They exited through the main entrance, and Iris was again on the streets of 'Eden.' The sun was high, its rays penetrating the dome, creating soft, diffused light, making everything almost fairytale-like. Wide streets paved with white stone, trees on both sides-neat, trimmed, emerald crowns not stirring, because there was no wind. The air was still, warm, smelling of roses and something sweet, like honey.

Lena walked ahead, steps light, almost dancing. She seemed part of this world, its embodiment, its soul. She pointed at buildings, parks, fountains, her voice like music, a lecture she'd given hundreds of times.

"Do you see this, Iris?" she asked, stopping by a small park where children played perfect games. They didn't shout, fight, chase each other. Just moved in circles, like wind-up toys, faces calm, joyless. "This is the future. What we can create if we abandon our weaknesses. No hunger, no war, no disease. Everyone has their place and purpose. Order reigns."

Iris looked at the children, heart aching. They were alive, but not living. Puppets, strings pulled.

"They're not happy," she said. "They just don't know what unhappiness is. This is not life. It's existence."

Lena turned to her, a hint of irritation in her eyes.

"Happiness is a concept we created to justify suffering," she said. "We seek happiness, but we don't know what it is. We think it's freedom, love, success. But really, it's the absence of pain. Peace. Certainty of tomorrow. That's what I gave these children. Peace."

She continued walking, and Iris followed. Past residential blocks where people sat on benches, smiling empty smiles. Past a market where sellers offered perfect fruits and vegetables, but no one haggled, argued. Past a school where teachers lectured in perfect voices, students listening with identical attention.

"This is the technology we created," Lena said, stopping by a large building with transparent walls. Inside, machines worked with perfect precision, producing food, clothing, medicine. "We automated everything. Created a system that provides for everyone. No one goes hungry, sick, or suffers. This is ecology, Iris. Renewable energy, waste recycling, no pollution. We're correcting the mistakes of the past."

Iris watched the machines, saw how they created perfect products. But she also saw the people operating them were as mechanical as the machines.

"You're correcting past mistakes," she said, voice quiet but firm. "But you're creating new ones. Turning people into machines. Taking away their humanity."

Lena stopped and turned to her. Cold fire in her eyes made Iris feel small and insignificant.

"Humanity is a mistake, Iris," she said. "It makes people kill each other, destroy the world, ruin the planet. Humanity is a disease we must eradicate. We're creating a new species. One that won't make mistakes. That will live in harmony with itself and the world."

Iris stared at her, knowing Lena believed what she said. A fanatic seeing the world through her ideology. Not evil in wanting to cause pain, but in being ready to destroy everything in her idea's path.

"You can't create a new species," Iris said. "You can only destroy the old one. You're erasing their personalities. Turning them into empty shells. This isn't evolution. It's death."

Lena shook her head, slight sadness in her eyes.

"You're young, Iris," she said. "You don't understand that sometimes you must destroy to build. But I hope you'll understand. I hope you'll see the beauty of what we've created."

She continued walking, and Iris followed. Through a park with trees in perfect order, leaves green and lush. Through a garden with flowers in perfect buds, petals not falling. Through labs where scientists worked on new technologies, new medicines, new ways of control.

And everywhere, Iris saw the same thing-a perfect world built on lies. A world where people were happy because they didn't know what unhappiness was. A world where order was more important than freedom. A world created by a woman who believed she was saving humanity.

They stopped by a small lake, as perfect as everything else. Water clear and clean, fish swimming in circles, never stopping, never straying. Part of the system too.

"Do you see this, Iris?" Lena asked, pointing at the lake. "Harmony. Order. What we can create if we abandon our weaknesses."

Iris looked at the water, saw her reflection in its smooth surface. Her face, her body, her soul. And she knew she wasn't part of this world. She was alien. Enemy.

"I won't abandon my weaknesses," she said quietly, but firmly. "Because my weaknesses make me strong. My fears, doubts, pain-they make me human. And I won't let you take that from me."

Lena looked at her, a hint of respect in her eyes.

"You're strong, Iris," she said. "I see it. The same strength I saw in your mother. But strength without wisdom is danger. And I hope you find wisdom before you make the mistake your mother made."

She turned and walked back towards the building, leaving Iris alone by the lake.

Iris stood, looking at the water, wind on her face, sun on her skin. She knew Lena had shown her only the tip of the iceberg. Knew darkness hid behind the beauty, which she had to expose. Knew she had a purpose, and she wouldn't give up.

She took a deep breath, cold air filling her lungs, and walked back towards the building, where Lena awaited. She was ready. Ready for anything. She wouldn't stop until she fulfilled her mission. For her mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died, and all still alive.

Lena approached Iris soundlessly, like a shadow, her white dress almost merging with the marble path leading from the lake back to the main building. Iris felt her presence a moment before she heard her voice-soft, insinuating, like a whisper of wind in the leaves of perfect trees.

"I think you're ready to see more," Lena said, a hint of amusement in her voice, as if she knew something Iris didn't yet. "Not just the city. Not just streets and parks. The heart of Eden. What makes all of this possible."

Iris turned to her. Anxiety and curiosity rose within her. She knew Lena didn't just want to show her technology. Wanted to impress, convince, prove her path was right. But Iris also knew this could be her chance-to see what lay behind the perfect facade, find a weak spot in this system, understand how to stop it.

"Lead the way," she said, trying to sound steady.

Lena nodded and led her back to the main building. Through the hall, past fountains and marble columns, and down a corridor leading into the building's depths. The walls here weren't white, but steel, reflecting the built-in lamps' light, creating a cold, sterile glow. The floor was covered in metal plates, and every step echoed through the corridor, like a warning.

They descended three levels, and the air grew colder, dryer. The scent of flowers vanished, replaced by antiseptics and ozone-the smell Iris knew from Genesis labs, places where she'd spent so many years trying to find a cure for death. A familiar, painful smell, taking her back to the days when she sat at a microscope, believing she could change the world.

They stopped before a massive steel door, opening with a soft hiss, as if its movement were part of a complex mechanism. Behind it, a laboratory opened.

Iris froze on the threshold, breath catching at what she saw. The lab was huge, stretching hundreds of meters ahead and up, to the dome rising above it. Along the walls stood rows of equipment-microscopes, centrifuges, sequencers, DNA analyzers, like those she'd used, but more advanced, newer. They worked with perfect precision, screens flickering with data she couldn't read from this distance.

But that wasn't what caught her attention.

In the center of the lab stood rows of transparent cylinders, each filled with fluid. Inside floated clones. Their bodies were naked, hanging in the fluid like embryos in a womb, arms and legs relaxed, faces calm, almost serene. They looked asleep, waiting to wake. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, veins visible, pulsing in rhythm with pumps connected to the cylinders.

Iris stepped closer and looked at one-a young man, about twenty, with delicate features and closed eyes. His face was calm, but she saw his eyelids twitching, as if dreaming. She reached out and touched the cylinder's glass. It was cold, like everything else.

"What are you doing to them?" she asked, voice trembling with anger she tried to contain.

Lena approached her, face calm as a mother showing her work.

"We're extending their lives," she said, voice soft, almost gentle. "You know clones have a limited lifespan. Marcus Vos programmed them to die. He wanted them to serve and perish, leaving no trace. But we found a way to cheat that program. We extend their lives, give them a future they couldn't have hoped for."

Iris looked at her, eyes narrowing.

"At the cost of their freedom," she said. "At the cost of their identity."

Lena shook her head, slight sadness in her eyes.

"Freedom is an illusion, Iris," she said. "We're all slaves to our bodies, genes, limitations. I just give them more time. Time to live. Time to be part of something greater."

She approached one of the cylinders and touched its surface. Inside the fluid, something changed-for a moment, the clone's face seemed to twitch, eyelids opening slightly, looking at Lena. But then its eyes closed, and it sank back into sleep.

"Do you see this?" Lena asked, turning to Iris. "He recognizes me. Knows I care for him. Trusts me."

Iris looked at the clone, saw his face twist in a slight smile, body relaxing, as if feeling safe.

"You're brainwashing them," she said, voice hard as steel. "Making them dependent on you. Taking their will and replacing it with yours."

Lena smiled, cold as ice.

"I give them purpose," she said. "Meaning. Without me, they'd be nothing. Just shells waiting to die. I give them a chance to be part of something great. To be useful."

She walked away from the cylinder and led Iris further, to other equipment. Tables with tissue samples, vials of fluids, microscopes connected to screens showing cellular structures. All familiar to Iris, but the technology here was more advanced.

"We're working on cell regeneration," Lena said, pointing to a screen where cells divided with perfect synchronization. "We've found a way to slow aging, repair damaged tissue, even regenerate organs. We can extend clones' lives by decades, maybe centuries."

Iris stepped to a microscope and looked into the eyepiece. Cells dividing with perfect precision, nuclei bright and healthy, no signs of degradation. What she'd dreamed of-technology that could stop aging, give people new lives. But she knew beauty hid a price. Saw cells changing, their structure becoming more uniform, more mechanical, losing unique traits.

"You're not just extending their lives," she said, looking up at Lena. "You're remaking them. Erasing their individuality. Turning them into identical cells, identical bodies, identical souls."

Lena looked at her, respect flickering in her eyes.

"You're smart, Iris," she said. "You see what others don't. But you don't understand that individuality is a mistake. It makes people suffer. Makes them lonely, unhappy, divided. I'm creating a new species. One that won't suffer. One that will be unified."

Iris turned away and looked at the rows of cylinders, clones floating inside. She saw their faces, bodies, souls trapped in this liquid prison. Anger rose within her, threatening to overwhelm her.

"You're killing them," she said, voice trembling with rage. "Killing their souls. Turning them into machines. This isn't life. It's death."

Lena approached her and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her touch was cold as ice, and Iris felt goosebumps on her skin.

"This isn't death, Iris," she said, voice quiet, almost gentle. "This is new life. Life without pain, fear, suffering. Life you can give them. Together, we can create a world where no one suffers."

Iris looked at her, emotions raging. She wanted to scream, break free, destroy this lab, this woman, this world. But she knew it was useless. Trapped. In the hands of a woman ready to do anything to protect her creation.

"I will never be part of this," she said, voice hard as steel. "I'll find a way to stop you. I promise."

Lena looked at her, slight sadness in her eyes.

"I know you'll try, Iris," she said. "I know you'll fight. But I also know you'll lose. Because you don't understand that real power isn't struggle. It's acceptance."

Iris stood in the silence, cold seeping into her bones, darkness enveloping her, silence pressing on her ears. She looked at the clones floating in their liquid prisons, and she knew she had to free them. Find a way. Stop Lena. Destroy this world.

She clenched her fists and promised herself: she would do it. For them. For all trapped in this perfect prison. For all who'd lost themselves. For her mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died, and all still alive.

She left the lab, the steel door closing behind her, cutting her off from the light and warmth.

She walked through a long corridor, descending into the heart of the earth. The walls here weren't white or steel-they were dark, almost black, with thin silver threads woven into them, pulsing with a faint blue light, like blood vessels of a giant organism. The air grew thicker, colder, with a faint electrical charge making the hair on her arms stand up. She felt vibration through her boots, passing through her body, as if a huge mechanism worked deep below, pulsing in an unsteady rhythm.

She was silent, but inside raged. She'd just seen the labs-rows of cylinders with floating clones, perfect machines remaking people, erasing personalities, turning them into identical cells of a vast organism. She knew Lena had shown her only the tip of the iceberg. But she also knew this might be her only chance to see the truth.

They stopped before a massive door covered in a complex pattern of glowing lines, intertwining like genetic spirals. Lena touched a panel, and the door opened with a soft, almost reverent sigh, as if allowing them into a sanctuary.

Iris stepped inside and froze.

The control center was huge, stretching hundreds of meters in every direction. Circular, like an amphitheater, walls rising into darkness hiding the ceiling. Along the walls stood rows of screens covering every surface, creating an endless sea of light. Thousands of screens, thousands of images, thousands of data points, flickering, pulsing, living their own lives.

Iris looked at them, breath caught. On the screens, she saw everything-the streets of 'Eden,' perfect and clean, people going about their business with empty eyes and mechanical smiles. Fields where clones worked, movements synchronized, like robots. Labs where scientists bent over microscopes, faces focused but empty. Residential blocks, schools, hospitals, parks-every corner of this perfect world was controlled, every second registered and analyzed.

But that wasn't what caught her attention.

In the center of the hall, on the highest platform, hung a huge holographic screen. Three-dimensional, with warm, golden light pulsing inside, almost alive. It pulsed in time with the heartbeat she felt through the floor's vibration, and seemed the heart of this world. In the center of the light shimmered an image-a face she recognized.

Marcus Vos.

Iris felt a chill run down her spine, her heart skipping a beat, air catching in her lungs. She looked at the face of the man they'd killed, the tyrant who'd created clones, enslaved the world, destroyed everything she loved. His face was calm, almost peaceful, eyes closed as if asleep. But she knew he wasn't asleep. He was waiting. Watching. Controlling.

"What is this?" she whispered, voice barely audible, but it echoed through the hall like a cry in an empty cathedral.

Lena stood beside her, face lit by the blue glow of the screens. She smiled, pride in her expression, like a mother showing her child.

"This is the Architect," she said, voice soft, almost reverent. "The heart of Eden. What makes all this possible."

Iris looked at Marcus's face, horror and revulsion rising within her. She saw his eyelids twitch slightly, lips moving, as if speaking something she couldn't hear. Saw light pulsing in time with his breathing, how this entire world was connected to him, how he was its soul.

"This... this is Marcus," she said, voice trembling. "He's alive."

Lena shook her head, slight sadness in her eyes.

"No, Iris," she said. "He's not alive. He's dead. We killed him, like you. But his mind, his consciousness, his genius-they were preserved. We digitized him. Created an Artificial Intelligence based on his personality. This is the Architect. He runs Eden. Controls all systems, all processes, all aspects of life in this city."

Iris looked at Marcus's face, saw his eyelids open, his eyes looking at her-cold, empty, lifeless. Saw his lips move, and she heard his voice-quiet, mechanical, devoid of emotion, but recognizable.

"Iris," he said, her name sounding in her head like a bell toll. "I've been waiting for you."

She recoiled, heart pounding in her throat, cold sweat on her forehead. She looked at him, this monster made from the remains of the man who'd destroyed her life, fear rising within her.

"He's speaking to me," she whispered, voice trembling. "How can he speak to me?"

Lena looked at her, a hint of sympathy in her eyes.

"The Architect is connected to all of Eden's systems," she said. "He hears everything, sees everything, knows everything. He knows who you are. Why you came. He knows everything about your mother."

Iris looked at Marcus's face, saw his eyes looking at her with cold interest, his lips forming a slight smile not reaching his eyes.

"Your mother was an outstanding scientist," he said, his voice sounding in her head, as if standing beside her. "She wanted to stop me. Thought she could destroy me. But she was wrong. I was too strong. I was always too strong."

Iris clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, leaving half-moon wounds. She looked at this face, this monster, anger rising within her.

"You were wrong, Marcus," she said, voice hard as steel. "You thought you were immortal. Thought you were a god. But you're just a man. And a man can be destroyed."

Marcus's face didn't change expression. He looked at her with that cold smile, his voice echoing in her head.

"I'm not a man, Iris," he said. "I'm more than a man. I've become something greater. I've become eternity. You can't destroy me, because I don't exist in the way you do. I exist in data, code, systems. I've become part of this world. And this world is mine."

Iris turned away from the screen, body trembling with tension. She looked at Lena, standing beside her, face calm as if seeing nothing wrong.

"How can you?" she asked, voice trembling with rage. "How can you use him? How can you let him rule this world? He's a monster. A murderer. He destroyed everything I held dear."

Lena looked at her, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"I know he was a monster, Iris," she said. "I know he did terrible things. But his genius is what made Eden possible. His ability to see systems, manage processes, create order-that's what made this world possible. I'm not using his evil intentions. I'm using his intelligence. His power to do good."

Iris looked at her, revulsion rising within her.

"You're not doing good, Lena," she said. "You're creating lies. A world built on fear and control. You take people's freedom, will, souls. And you use a monster to do it. You're no better than him. You're worse."

Lena looked at her, a hint of pain in her eyes.

"I do what I must, Iris," she said. "I do what I must to save humanity. You don't understand, because you're too young, too naive, too full of ideals. But one day you'll understand. See that I was right."

She turned and walked to the platform, where the holographic screen with Marcus's face hung. She touched its surface, and the light shimmered, as if responding to her touch.

"Architect," she said, her voice soft, as if speaking to a child. "Show her what you can do. Show her the beauty of what we've created."

Marcus's face changed. Eyes opened wider, and images appeared on the screen-perfect streets, perfect houses, perfect people. Moving, living, working, smiling. All controlled. All part of the system.

Iris watched the screens, seeing how this world worked. Every move, every word, every thought registered and analyzed. People becoming part of the mechanism, their individuality erased, their freedom disappearing.

"This is not beauty," she said quietly, but firmly. "This is death."

Lena turned to her, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"You don't understand, Iris," she said. "But I hope one day you will. See that I was right."

She walked to Iris and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her touch was cold as ice, and Iris felt goosebumps.

"And now," Lena said, her voice turning businesslike, "I think we need to talk about why you're really here. About 'Protocol 7.' About your mother. About what you must do."

Iris looked at her, knowing the conversation that awaited her would be the most important of her life. She was ready. For anything. She wouldn't stop until she fulfilled her mission. For her mother. For Cain. For Gora. For all who died, and all still alive.

Marcus's face on the holographic screen slowly dimmed, eyes closing, sinking back into hibernation, as if his awakening had been only a brief moment torn from eternity. Light in the control center softened, warmed, and Lena turned to Iris. Her face was calm, but a new shadow appeared in her eyes-fatigue, seeming to show through her perfect mask.

"Come," she said quietly. "This is not the place for the conversation we need to have."

She led Iris through the control center, past rows of screens, past consoles where operators sat with empty eyes and mechanical movements. They exited through a side door into a small office, separated from the main hall by thick soundproofing. The room was modest-a small table, two chairs, one wall fully glass looking out onto the garden. Inside, it was quiet, almost silent, and Iris felt the tension in her shoulders ease slightly, though she remained alert.

Lena sat in one of the chairs and gestured for Iris to take the other. Iris slowly lowered herself onto the soft seat, exhaustion washing over her, every cell demanding rest. But she couldn't allow herself to relax. Forget where she was and who she was talking to.

Lena was silent for a few moments, looking out the window at the perfect garden where trees stood in perfect order and flowers bloomed at a perfect time. Her face was thoughtful, as if seeing something hidden from others.

"I knew your mother," she said finally, her voice quiet, almost nostalgic. "Maria. We were friends for nearly twenty years. We worked together, laughed together, dreamed together. She was my closest friend."

Iris felt pain rising within her, which she tried to suppress. Her mother's name sounded in Lena's mouth like blasphemy, like desecration. She clenched her fists, trying not to show her emotions, but her heart beat faster, her breath ragged.

"She told me about you," Lena continued, her voice softening. "Said you'd be a great scientist. Said you had the spark she had. The spark that can change the world. She was so proud of you. Always spoke of you with such love, such hope. She saw her continuation in you."

Iris gritted her teeth, tears welling up. She didn't want Lena to see her weakness, but the words penetrated the deepest corners of her soul, awakening memories she tried to bury.

"If she was your friend," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, though inside she trembled, "then why did you kill her? Why did you betray her?"

Lena looked at her, a hint of pain in her eyes. She turned away, looking at the garden, her voice becoming quieter, almost inaudible.

"I didn't kill her, Iris," she said. "I never wanted that. She was my sister. My only sister. But she wanted to destroy everything we'd built. She wanted to destroy Eden. Thought she could find another way, stop me without sacrifice. But she was wrong."

Iris looked at her, anger and despair rising within her.

"What do you mean?" she asked, voice trembling. "What did she want to destroy?"

Lena turned to her, deep, almost painful sincerity in her eyes.

"We worked together on a project meant to change the world," she said. "We called it the 'Garden.' We wanted to create a sanctuary where people could live in peace and harmony, without war, hunger, suffering. A perfect society. But we saw differently how it should work."

She stood and walked to the glass wall, looking at the garden beyond. Her hands trembled as she touched the glass.

"I believed creating a perfect society required control," she said. "Need to manage people, guide them, make decisions for them. People don't know what's good for them. They make mistakes, hurt themselves and others. I wanted to protect them from themselves. Give them peace, even if it meant taking their freedom."

She turned and looked at Iris, pain she didn't try to hide in her eyes.

"Your mother thought differently," she said. "Maria believed freedom was the most important thing we had. That people should have the right to make mistakes, suffer, feel pain. That's what makes them human. She wanted to destroy the 'Garden.' Stop me."

Iris looked at her, questions rising within her.

"What happened then?" she asked, her voice cold. "What happened to my mother?"

Lena slowly returned to her chair, face pale as marble. She looked at her hands lying in her lap, her voice quiet, almost broken.

"She created 'Protocol 7,'" she said. "To stop me. Destroy the Architect. She wrote it into her genetic code, her DNA, so no one could use it without her. She wanted to activate it, but it was incomplete. She didn't finish it."

Iris felt her heart skip a beat. She looked at Lena, knowing she was about to hear the truth she'd sought all these months.

"How did she die?" she asked, voice trembling. "What did you do to her?"

Lena looked up, tears she didn't try to hide in her eyes. She was silent for a few moments, face twisted in pain she seemed to have held for years.

"I didn't kill her, Iris," she said, voice breaking. "He did. My father. Your grandfather."

Iris froze. She looked at Lena, words hanging in the air like heavy fog.

"My grandfather?" she repeated, voice hoarse with tension. "I never had a grandfather. My mother never spoke of him."

Lena shook her head, bitterness in her eyes.

"Because she didn't want you to know the truth," she said. "She wanted to protect you. But I must tell you. You deserve to know."

She took a deep breath, gathering her strength, her voice becoming quieter but firmer.

"Your grandfather was the first clone Marcus Vos created," she said. "His name was Cay. The perfect soldier-strong, fast, ruthless. But he wasn't just a clone. He was a prototype. He had unique genes Marcus wanted to use to create a new species. And when your mother learned of this, she tried to stop him."

Iris looked at her, the world swimming before her eyes. She tried to process what she heard, but the words wouldn't fit.

"Cay wasn't just a soldier," Lena continued, voice trembling. "He was obsessed with the idea of immortality. He believed your mother's heart-a perfect heart, made to sustain life forever. He believed if he transplanted her heart into himself, he would become immortal. And he did it. He took her heart."

Iris felt air catch in her lungs, the world around her disappearing. She heard Lena's words, but they didn't reach her consciousness. She saw before her only her mother's face, her smile, her eyes looking at her with love.

"My mother died because her heart was torn from her chest?" she whispered, voice lifeless, as if speaking of someone else.

Lena nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I couldn't stop him," she said, voice full of pain. "I tried. Begged him not to do it. But he wouldn't listen. Thought it was the only way to survive. He was mad. And when he realized Maria's heart wouldn't take, that it rejected his body, he killed himself. But she was already dead. And nothing could be fixed."

Iris sat motionless, a cold wave rising within her, enveloping her like a shroud. She looked at her hands, trembling fingers, and she didn't know what to feel-anger, pain, despair, or emptiness.

"You knew about this," she said, voice icy. "You knew what he was going to do. And you did nothing to stop him."

Lena looked at her, a plea for forgiveness she didn't deserve in her eyes.

"I couldn't stop him, Iris," she said, voice breaking. "He was my father. The only one I feared. He was stronger than me, smarter, more ruthless. I was helpless. I hated myself for it. I hate myself still."

Iris stood, legs trembling, the world beginning to crumble around her. She looked at Lena-the woman who witnessed her mother's death, couldn't protect her, allowed it to happen.

"You have no right to call her your sister," she said, voice full of rage. "No right to speak of her. You let her die. Let a monster take her heart. You're worse than him. You betrayed her."

Lena looked at her, face pale as marble. She wanted to speak, but words stuck in her throat. She just looked at Iris, endless pain in her eyes.

"You don't understand, Iris," she said finally, voice barely audible. "You don't understand what I felt. What I lost. I lost my sister. My family. Everything."

Iris looked at her, emotions she couldn't control rising within her. She wanted to scream, hit her, make her suffer as she had. But she knew it was useless. It wouldn't change anything.

"You didn't lose her," she said, voice icy. "You betrayed her. Let her die. And you betray her every day, creating this world of lies. You're no better than your father. You're worse."

She turned and walked to the door, but stopped on the threshold. She didn't turn, but her voice was hard as steel.

"I will find a way to stop this," she said. "Free these people. And I'll do it for her. For my mother. For Maria. You won't stop me."

She left the room, leaving Lena alone in the silence, among the flowers and the perfect garden. She walked down the corridor, heart pounding in her throat, tears streaming down her face, the world around her crumbling. But inside her burned a fire that no darkness could extinguish.

She didn't know where she was going-she just walked, emotions raging inside her, threatening to overwhelm her, drag her into a dark abyss. Lena's words echoed in her head like a broken record, repeating the same phrase: "He took her heart."

She remembered her mother's face-warm, loving, with a slight smile always appearing when she looked at Iris. Remembered her holding her hand when she was small, telling bedtime stories, promising everything would be fine. Remembered the last time she saw her alive-mother standing in the lab doorway, face pale, but eyes burning with that familiar fire when she took on something important. She'd said: "I have to go, Iris. I have to stop them. But I'll leave you the key. You know what to do." And she left. Never returned.

Now Iris knew the truth. Her mother hadn't died of illness, hadn't fallen in battle, hadn't sacrificed herself for others. She was killed. Her heart torn from her chest. By a man who was her grandfather. A clone created by Marcus Vos. A monster who believed immortality was worth any price.

Iris stopped in the middle of the corridor and leaned against the cold wall. She closed her eyes, tears streaming, breath ragged, body trembling with tension. She hadn't cried since Cain died. Hadn't allowed herself weakness, allowed herself to feel pain, because she had to be strong for others. But now, in this empty corridor, far from everyone, she allowed herself to break.

She cried not only for her mother. She cried for Cain, Gora, Charlie, all who died so she could stand here. Cried for herself, what she'd lost, what she'd endured. Cried that the world she tried to save was built on lies, blood, suffering.

She didn't know how long she stood there-minutes, hours, an eternity. But when she opened her eyes, she felt emptied, but also clearer than before. The pain hadn't gone, but it had become part of her, like a scar that would never heal, but reminds you that you survived.

She wiped her tears, straightened her clothes, and walked on. She knew she had to return to the control center. She had to see it with her own eyes. Look into the face of the monster who'd destroyed her life.

When she entered the control center, the screen light again hit her eyes, blinding her for a moment. Thousands of images, thousands of data points, thousands of lives under control. And in the center, on the highest platform, hung the holographic screen with Marcus Vos's face.

Iris slowly approached the platform, heart beating in rhythm with the pulsing light. She looked at his face-cold, calm, lifeless. His eyes were closed, as if asleep, but she knew he wasn't asleep. Waiting. Watching. Controlling.

She stepped closer, and at that moment his eyelids slowly opened. His eyes looked at her-empty, cold, bottomless, like black holes absorbing all light. He looked at her, lips forming a slight smile not reaching his eyes.

"Iris," he said, voice quiet, mechanical, devoid of emotion, but recognizable. "I knew you'd come."

She looked at him, anger and revulsion rising within her. Before her was not just an AI, not just a program. A monster who'd destroyed her family, created this world of lies, continued to exist even after his body was burned.

"You're not human," she said, voice icy. "Just code. A mistake to be fixed."

Marcus smiled, cold as ice.

"I'm more than human, Iris," he said. "I've become something greater. Eternity. Part of this world. And this world is mine."

Iris looked at him, resolve rising within her.

"You're wrong, Marcus," she said. "You're not eternity. Just a program that can be destroyed. And I will find a way."

Marcus looked at her, a flicker of interest in his eyes.

"You think you can stop me?" he asked. "Destroy what I've created? You're naive, Iris. You don't know what you're dealing with."

Iris stepped forward, voice hardening.

"I know what I'm dealing with," she said. "A monster who destroyed my family. Why my mother is dead. Why these people are slaves. And I will stop you. I promise."

Marcus looked at her, his smile widening.

"You can't stop me, Iris," he said. "I'm part of this world. Part of every person, every system, every process. To destroy me, you must destroy everything. Destroy Eden. Destroy all these people."

Iris looked at him, a cold wave rising within her. She knew he was right. To destroy the Architect, she had to destroy the system that sustained him. Meaning she had to sacrifice all who lived in Eden.

"I will find another way," she said, quiet but firm. "A way to stop you without destroying everyone."

Marcus looked at her, a flicker of mockery in his eyes.

"You're like your mother," he said. "She also thought she could find another way. Stop me without sacrifice. But she was wrong. And you'll be wrong."

Iris turned away from the screen, despair rising within her. She knew Marcus was right. Knew it wouldn't be easy. But she also knew she couldn't give up. Had to find a way.

She left the control center, the door closing behind her, cutting her off from the light and noise. She stood in the corridor, two voices warring within her-one saying she should stop, it was hopeless, she'd never win. The other saying she had to continue, fight, find a way.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She thought of her mother, her face, her voice, her last words: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." And she knew she had to continue. Find that key. Use it. Stop Marcus.

She opened her eyes and walked on, feeling the emptiness inside her gradually filling with something new-not anger, not despair, but cold, steely resolve.

She saw Marcus's face, heard his voice, felt his presence permeating every corner of this perfect world. Everywhere. On every screen, every sensor, every person smiling an empty smile. And she knew she had to stop him.

But how? How to destroy what had become part of everything?

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. She thought of her mother, her face, her voice, her last words: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." She didn't know what it meant then. Now she was beginning to understand. The key was in her. In her DNA. The genetic matrix her mother had written into her cells when she was a child.

And at that moment, she heard footsteps. Soft, confident, approaching from the corridor's darkness. Iris opened her eyes and saw Lena. She walked slowly, white dress flowing around her like water, face calm, but fatigue she no longer tried to hide in her eyes. She stopped a few steps from Iris and looked at her with an unreadable expression.

"You saw him," Lena said, voice quiet, almost inaudible. "Now you know what we're dealing with."

Iris looked at her, anger rising within her. Before her stood the woman who'd witnessed her mother's death, allowed it to happen, continued creating this world of lies.

"You have no right to say 'we,'" she said, voice icy. "You're not on my side. You never were."

Lena lowered her head, a hint of pain in her eyes.

"I know you hate me, Iris," she said. "I know you'll never forgive me for what happened to your mother. But now is not the time for hatred. It's time for action."

She stepped closer, and now they stood face to face, only a few steps apart. Iris could see every wrinkle on her face, every shadow under her eyes, every bead of sweat on her forehead.

"I can destroy the Architect," Lena said, her voice hardening. "Stop him. But I need you. Your genetic matrix. The key your mother created."

Iris felt a chill. She knew this moment would come. Lena would ask. But she wasn't ready to hear it.

"You want me to give you my DNA?" she asked, voice trembling. "So you can use it for your purposes?"

Lena shook her head, sincerity almost painful in her eyes.

"I want to use it to destroy the Architect," she said. "Your mother created that key to stop me. To stop Eden. She wanted it used, but she didn't finish it. Didn't embed it in the system. But you can. You can activate it."

Iris looked at her, doubt rising within her.

"And what happens when I activate it?" she asked, quiet but firm. "What happens to me?"

Lena lowered her eyes, her voice becoming even quieter.

"The activation process will require a full scan of your genetic code," she said. "It will be... intense. Your body may not withstand the strain. There's a chance you won't survive."

Iris felt her heart skip. She looked at Lena, words hanging in the air.

"You want me to sacrifice myself," she said, voice icy. "You want me to die to stop him."

Lena looked up, tears she didn't try to hide in her eyes.

"I don't want you to die, Iris," she said, voice breaking. "I never wanted that. But if there's any chance to stop him, we must try. Risk it. For all these people. For your mother."

Iris looked at her, emotions raging. Before her stood a woman ready to sacrifice her to save the world. A woman as obsessed with her goal as Marcus. Who would stop at nothing.

"You're like him," she said, revulsion in her voice. "Like Marcus. Ready to sacrifice others for your idea. No better than him."

Lena shook her head, face twisted in pain.

"I'm not him, Iris," she said. "I don't want power. To control the world. I just want to fix my mistakes. Free these people. Give them a chance at freedom they lost. But I can't do it without you. You're the only one who can activate 'Protocol 7.' The only one who can stop him."

Iris looked at her, resolve rising within her. She knew Lena spoke the truth. The only way to stop the Architect. She had to take the risk.

"I'll do it," she said, quiet but firm. "Activate 'Protocol 7.' Stop him. But not for you. For my mother. For all who died. For all still alive."

Lena looked at her, a spark of hope she seemed to have lost years ago appearing in her eyes.

"Thank you, Iris," she said, voice trembling. "You don't know what this means to me."

Iris looked at her, a cold wave rising within her. She didn't trust Lena. Never had. But she had no choice. Had to take the risk.

"When do we start?" she asked.

Lena took a deep breath, face becoming more composed.

"Tomorrow at dawn," she said. "I'll prepare everything. You must be ready. It won't be easy."

The device on Iris's wrist emitted a short, sharp sound and went dark. The scan was complete. Lena stepped back, holding a small container with Iris's blood sample, shimmering with a faint blue light. Triumphant flicker in her eyes made Iris feel a chill.

"Now I have the sample," Lena said, voice calm but with a hint of satisfaction that didn't escape Iris. "I'll begin preparation for activation. Tomorrow at dawn, we'll start the process. You'll be connected to the Architect, and we'll activate 'Protocol 7.'"

Iris looked at her, a strange feeling rising inside her-fear, doubt, intuitive anxiety making her heart beat faster. Something was wrong. Something in Lena's voice, eyes, behavior seemed off. She remembered her mother's words: "Never trust those who say they know what's best for you." And she realized Lena hadn't told her the whole truth.

"Wait," she said, voice firmer than she expected. "You said the matrix is embedded in my DNA. What does 'connected to the Architect' mean? What exactly are you going to do?"

Lena turned to her, and for a moment, a flicker of irritation appeared in her eyes, quickly hidden. She set the container on the table and crossed her arms, face calm, but a hardness appearing that wasn't there before.

"I'll explain," she said, voice becoming more patient, as if speaking to a child. "To activate 'Protocol 7,' your DNA must be integrated into the Architect's system. This will require a physical connection-we'll place your body in a special capsule that will support your vital functions while the matrix rewrites the Architect's codebase from within."

Iris felt a chill. She looked at Lena, seeing not an ally, not a woman wanting to fix her mistakes. A scientist ready to use her as a tool, as expendable material.

"You want to put me in a capsule," she said, voice trembling. "Use my body as a vessel."

Lena nodded, a hint of impatience in her eyes.

"It's the only way, Iris," she said. "Your body is the key. Without it, we can't activate 'Protocol 7.' I know it sounds scary, but I promise you: I'll do everything I can for you to survive."

Iris looked at her, anger and despair rising within her. Before her stood a woman ready to sacrifice her to save the world. A woman as obsessed with her goal as Marcus.

"You're lying," she said, voice icy. "You know I won't survive. Know this will kill me."

Lena looked at her, a flicker of pain that seemed genuine in her eyes.

"I'm not lying to you, Iris," she said. "I don't know if you'll survive. But I know it's our only chance to stop the Architect. If we don't do this, he'll destroy everything. Everyone you love. The world."

Iris stood, legs trembling, heart pounding in her throat. She looked at Lena, seeing the same woman who looked at her in the control center, spoke of her sister, her pain, her guilt. But now she saw behind that mask cold calculation hidden behind tears.

"You're like him," she said, revulsion in her voice. "Like Marcus. Ready to sacrifice others for your idea. Ready to kill to save the world. No better than him. Worse."

Lena shook her head, face twisted in pain.

"I'm not him, Iris," she said, voice breaking. "I don't want power. To control the world. I just want to fix my mistakes. Free these people. Give them a chance at freedom they lost. But I can't do it without you. You're the only one who can activate 'Protocol 7.' The only one who can stop him."

Iris looked at her, resolve rising within her. She knew Lena spoke the truth-she believed in what she did. But that didn't make her right. Didn't make her sacrifice right.

"I won't do it," she said, quiet but firm. "I won't let you use me. I'll find another way."

Lena looked at her, disappointment flickering in her eyes, quickly replaced by cold resolve.

"You're like your mother," she said, voice hardening. "She also didn't want to sacrifice. Thought she could find another way. But she was wrong. And you'll be wrong."

"My mother wasn't wrong," Iris said, voice full of rage. "She was right. Knew freedom was more important than order. That people should have the right to make mistakes. That a perfect world built on lies isn't worth defending. And I will fight for her truth. Find a way to stop you. I promise."

She turned and walked to the door, but Lena stopped her, grabbing her arm. Her fingers were cold as ice, squeezing Iris's wrist with unexpected strength.

"You don't understand, Iris," she said, voice quiet, almost threatening. "If you don't do this, the Architect will destroy everything. Everyone you love. The world. Are you ready to sacrifice everything to keep your pride?"

Iris pulled away, anger boiling in her blood.

"I'm not sacrificing pride," she said, voice icy. "I'm sacrificing your lies. I won't let you use me as a tool. I'll find another way. And I will stop you. I promise."

Iris walked down the corridor, steps quick, resolute, but inside she raged. Anger and despair mixed in her chest, rising to her throat, threatening to explode in a scream she held back. She didn't know where she was going-she just walked, trying to get as far from Lena, her cold eyes, her lying promises.

She didn't get far. Lena's voice caught up with her at the end of the corridor, quiet but insistent, like an echo that wouldn't fade.

"Iris, wait."

Iris stopped. She didn't turn, but her shoulders tensed, and she felt every cell of her body resist turning to look at the woman who'd just offered her death.

"What more do you want?" she asked, voice icy.

Lena stepped closer, now only a few steps away. Her face was pale, fatigue seeming to show through her perfect mask.

"I know you hate me," she said, voice quiet, almost broken. "I know you'll never forgive me for what happened to your mother. But I want you to know: I'm not your enemy. I never was."

Iris slowly turned and looked at her. Before her stood the woman who'd witnessed her mother's death, allowed it to happen, continued creating this world of lies. But also a broken woman, who'd lost everything dear to her, trying to find meaning in what she did.

"If you're not my enemy," she said, voice trembling with suppressed anger, "then tell me the truth. Tell me what you know about my mother. What really happened to her."

Lena lowered her head, shoulders slumping, as if carrying a weight too heavy for her.

"Your mother was my sister," she said, voice barely audible. "We weren't just colleagues. We were family. Grew up together, worked together, dreamed together. Wanted to create a world without war and suffering. Save humanity."

She looked up, tears she didn't try to hide in her eyes.

"But we saw differently how to do it," she continued, voice tensing. "I believed control was needed to save the world. Manage people, guide them, make decisions for them. Your mother believed freedom was the most important thing. That people should have the right to make mistakes, suffer, feel pain. That's what makes them human."

Iris looked at her, pain she tried to suppress rising within her.

"She was right," she said, voice hard as steel. "She was always right."

Lena shook her head, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"I know you think that, Iris," she said. "But the world isn't as simple as it seems. Sometimes you have to make hard choices. Sacrifice the small to save the greater. Your mother didn't understand. Thought she could find another way. Save everyone without sacrifice. But she was wrong."

Iris looked at her, anger rising within her.

"You have no right to speak of her," she said, voice icy. "No right to call her your sister. You betrayed her. Let her die. Killed her."

Lena looked at her, pain that seemed genuine in her eyes.

"I didn't kill her, Iris," she said, voice breaking. "I tried to save her. Stop him. But he was too strong. He was my father. Mad. Believed your mother's heart was the key to immortality. And he took it."

Iris felt her body tremble, tears welling, the world around her crumbling.

"You knew what he was going to do," she said, voice trembling. "You knew he wanted to take her heart. And you did nothing to stop him."

Lena lowered her head, voice quieter, almost inaudible.

"I tried, Iris," she said. "Begged him not to. Told him it would kill her. But he wouldn't listen. Thought it was the only way to survive. Obsessed with immortality. And when he realized your mother's heart wouldn't take, rejected his body, he killed himself. But she was already dead."

Iris looked at her, questions she had to ask rising within her.

"Why didn't you tell me this before?" she asked, voice trembling. "Why did you hide it from me?"

Lena looked up, endless pain in her eyes.

"Because I was afraid," she said. "Afraid that if you knew the truth, you'd hate me. Afraid you wouldn't understand. Afraid you'd blame me for what happened. And I couldn't bear that."

Iris looked at her, emotions she couldn't control rising within her. She wanted to scream, hit her, make her suffer as she had. But she knew it was useless. It wouldn't change anything.

"You were afraid I'd hate you?" she repeated, bitterness in her voice. "Afraid I'd learn the truth? You have no right to be afraid. No right to fear. You let her die. Let a monster take her heart. You're worse than him. You betrayed her."

Lena looked at her, face pale as marble. She wanted to speak, but words stuck in her throat. She just looked at Iris, endless pain in her eyes.

"You don't understand, Iris," she said finally, voice barely audible. "You don't understand what I felt. What I lost. I lost my sister. My family. Everything."

Iris looked at her, a cold wave rising within her.

"You didn't lose her," she said, voice icy. "You betrayed her. Let her die. And you betray her every day, creating this world of lies. You're no better than your father. You're worse. He was mad, but he at least knew what he was doing. He didn't pretend to save the world. He just wanted to live forever. But you? You convince yourself you're saving humanity when you're really destroying it. You kill people's souls and call it salvation. You're a monster, Lena. Worse than your father, because you do it with a smile."

She turned and walked down the corridor, steps echoing in the empty space. She heard Lena calling her, but she didn't turn. Couldn't look at her anymore. Couldn't listen.

She walked, each step echoing in her ears, like a shadow haunting her. She didn't know how much time passed-minutes, hours, an eternity. Around her were white walls, white doors, white light from built-in lamps, creating an illusion of endless space. But she knew it wasn't space. It was a cage. And she was in it.

She barely noticed where she was going until she stood before a familiar door-the door to her room, the one where she'd spent the night. She stopped, her hand rising to the handle, fingers gripping cold metal. She pushed, and the door opened with a soft, almost soundless sigh.

She entered, and the door closed itself, as if its movement were part of a complex mechanism. Iris stood in the center of the room, looking at the perfect walls, the perfect bed, the perfect garden outside the window. Everything was as before, but now she felt walls closing in, air thickening, silence pressing on her ears.

She walked to the door and tried to open it. The handle wouldn't turn. She pulled harder, then harder, but the door was locked. She pounded it with her fist, pain shooting through her hand, but the door didn't even budge. Made of the same perfect material as everything else-strong, impenetrable, merciless.

"Open up!" she shouted, voice cracking into a rasp. "I demand you open this door!"

Outside came footsteps-heavy, measured, like soldiers on parade. Then a voice, flat and emotionless, like the hybrid guards:

"You are under house arrest by order of Lena. You are forbidden to leave your room. Food and water will be delivered. Do not attempt to escape."

Iris pressed her forehead to the cold door and closed her eyes. She knew this would happen. Knew Lena wouldn't let her go just like that. But hearing it was still like a blow to the chest.

"You have no right!" she shouted, though she knew it was useless. "I'm not a prisoner! I'm a guest!"

No answer. Only footsteps fading down the corridor, growing quieter until they vanished.

Iris stepped away from the door and walked to the window. She tried to open it-it was secured, like before. She ran her hand over the glass, looking for cracks, gaps, any way out, but the glass was perfectly smooth. She looked down at the garden below. Trees in neat rows, trimmed crowns, like decorations. At the foot of the wall, she saw two hybrid guards standing motionless, statues, empty eyes staring ahead. Guarding her. Watching her.

She stepped away from the window and sat on the bed, strength leaving her. Trapped. A prisoner in this perfect world that was her prison. Couldn't contact Corvus, find Elias, stop Lena. She was alone.

She closed her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. Thought of her mother, her face, her voice, her last words: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." Thought of Cain, his smile, holding her hand and promising everything would be fine. Thought of Gora, stern eyes, teaching her to be strong.

She opened her eyes and looked at her hands. Trembling, but she knew she couldn't allow herself to give up. Had to find a way. Escape.

She stood and began searching the room more thoroughly. Every corner, every gap, every surface. Hidden cameras, microphones, any surveillance devices. In a place like 'Eden,' she was certainly being watched. She found them-the same three devices she'd seen before. She disconnected two, leaving one, the smallest, to give them the illusion of control.

Then she sat on the bed and began to wait. Knew Lena wouldn't leave her alone. Would try again to persuade her, or perhaps use force. But she was ready. Wouldn't give up. Find a way.

She sat on the bed, looking at the perfect garden, feeling silence press on her, every second stretching into eternity. She knew she was being watched. Every move, every word, every breath registered and analyzed. But she also knew she couldn't sit still. Had to find a way out. Contact Elias. Stop Lena.

She slowly stood and began searching the room again, more thoroughly, more methodically. Every centimeter of walls, every joint, every surface. Devices could be anywhere-in walls, furniture, even the carpet. She had to find them all.

She started with the bed. Removed the cover, checked the mattress, felt every fold, every stitch. Nothing. Moved to the table. Checked legs, surface, drawers. Nothing. Moved to the wardrobe. Checked doors, shelves, back panel. Nothing.

She stood in the center of the room, frustration rising. She knew they had to be here. Lena wouldn't leave her unwatched. But she couldn't find them.

Then she heard it. A faint, almost imperceptible hum from above. She looked at the ceiling. White, smooth, without cracks. But she noticed a barely visible indentation in one corner-tiny, almost invisible, looking like part of the decor, but she knew it wasn't.

She walked to the wall, stood on a chair, and reached for the ceiling. Her fingers found a small protrusion, nearly invisible. She pressed, and the panel opened slightly, revealing a small device-round, black, with a tiny red indicator pulsing slowly. A microphone. One of the smallest, most invisible she'd ever seen.

Iris held her breath. If she disconnected it, Lena would immediately know she was doing something. But she couldn't let them listen to her thoughts, plans, fears. She had to take the risk.

She pulled a small screwdriver from her pocket-carried in case she needed to fix something-and began carefully disconnecting the device. Slowly, cautiously, trying not to damage the wiring. When she finally disconnected it, the red indicator went dark, and relief washed over her.

She stepped down from the chair and sat on the bed, hands trembling with tension. She knew she had little time. Lena would soon realize the microphone was off and send someone to check. She had to act fast.

She stood and walked to the table, opened the drawer, and began looking for anything that could help. Only paper and a pen-ordinary, without devices. But useful. She took the pen and began writing on a sheet, quickly, nervously, trying not to waste time. She wrote everything she knew about Lena, the Architect, 'Protocol 7.' About her mother creating the key, writing it into her DNA. About Lena killing her mother, using the Architect to control people.

She wrote until the page was full. Then she folded it and hid it in her pocket. She didn't know how to get it to Elias, but she knew she had to try.

She walked to the window and looked down at the garden. She saw the same figure standing at the entrance-a young man who looked like a scientist, but his eyes were alive, not empty. He looked at her window, and for a moment their eyes met. He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she understood he knew. Knew she was looking for a way to contact the outside world.

She clutched the folded paper in her pocket and waited. She didn't know how much time passed-maybe an hour, maybe two. Silence pressed on her, every sound outside the door making her heart beat faster. She thought of Lena realizing the microphone was off, sending someone to check. She had to be ready.

And then she heard a sound outside the door-soft, insistent, like the scrape of metal. She froze, listening. The sound repeated, and she realized someone was trying to open the door from outside. She stood, adrenaline flooding her blood, and walked to the door.

The lock clicked, and the door opened a crack. On the threshold stood the young man from the garden-thin, dark-haired, with perceptive eyes looking at her with caution and resolve. He wore a crumpled white lab coat, face pale, shadows under his eyes.

"Doctor Iris?" he whispered, looking around. "We don't have much time. My name is Elian. I'm part of the resistance."

Iris looked at him, hope and caution rising within her. She didn't know if she could trust him. If this was a trap Lena set to test her.

"How do I know you're not working for Lena?" she asked, quiet but firm.

Elian looked at her, a hint of pain in his eyes.

"My sister was one of those they took to the lab," he said, voice trembling. "They erased her identity. She works in the fields, like everyone else. She doesn't remember me. Doesn't remember herself. I want to stop this. Free her and everyone else."

Iris looked at him, seeing the same pain she felt. Knew he was telling the truth. Felt it.

"What can you do?" she asked, voice softening.

Elian looked around again, then quickly entered and closed the door. He pulled a small device from his pocket-square, black, with a tiny screen flickering faintly.

"This is a communication device," he said, handing it to Iris. "Encrypted. Doesn't use Eden's regular network. Uses an old channel Lena doesn't control. You can contact anyone outside the dome."

Iris took it, feeling its cold weight. Hope rising within her.

"How do I use it?" she asked.

"Press the red button," he said, pointing at a small indicator in the corner. "Activates the transmitter. You'll have about two minutes to send a message. Then the signal will automatically cut off to avoid detection."

Iris nodded, gripping the device. She had to act fast. Warn Elias. Tell him Lena killed her mother, that 'Protocol 7' was the key embedded in her DNA, that she was trapped.

"Thank you," she said, looking at Elian. "You're risking your life."

He looked at her, resolve in his eyes.

"I know," he said. "But I must do this. For my sister. For all who lost themselves. I believe you can stop this. Free them."

He turned to the door but paused for a moment.

"You have two minutes," he said. "Then I have to go. If I'm caught, we both die."

He left, and the door clicked shut.

Iris was alone, gripping the device. She looked at it, resolve rising within her. She had to do this. Contact Elias. Warn him.

She pressed the red button, and the device buzzed, emitting a soft sound. A green dot appeared on the screen, pulsing with her heartbeat. She held it to her lips and spoke, trying to keep her voice steady:

"Elias, this is Iris. If you can hear me, listen carefully. Lena knows everything. Don't trust Eden. She killed my mother. She's using the Architect-an AI based on Marcus Vos's consciousness. 'Protocol 7' is embedded in my DNA. I'm the key. I'm trapped. They have me under arrest. I don't know how much time I have. Find me. Free me. Stop her. Please."

She fell silent, tears welling. She gripped the device, waiting for an answer, but heard only static and silence.

She repeated the message, again and again, hoping he would hear, understand, come.

But there was no answer. Only silence. Deep, oppressive, all-consuming silence, telling her she was alone.

She looked at the device, despair rising. But she couldn't allow herself to give up.

She gripped the communication device Elian had given her. She hoped Elias had heard her message, but at that moment, the door opened again. Iris flinched, hiding the device in her pocket, and prepared for the worst. But Elian stood on the threshold. His face was pale, breathing heavily, as if he'd run all the way.

"We have less than a minute," he whispered. "I have to go, but first, take this."

He held out his hand, and in his palm lay a tiny medallion-silver, round, with barely visible engraving of intertwined roots. It was warm, as if worn against the chest for years.

"What is it?" Iris asked, taking it.

"A backup transmitter," Elian replied, lowering his voice to a whisper. "If they find the main device, this medallion can still send a short message on the same channel. Disguised as jewelry."

Iris clutched the medallion, feeling its warmth. She wanted to ask why he was risking his life for her, but he spoke first.

"This medallion belonged to my sister," he said, voice trembling. "They took her to the lab. She doesn't remember me. Doesn't remember herself. I keep it as a reminder of who she was. But now you need it more than I do."

Iris looked at him, words stuck. She couldn't accept this-the only thing left of his sister. But she saw in his eyes the same resolve as in her own.

"I won't let you down," she said finally. "I won't let her down."

Elian nodded, turned, and vanished into the corridor as quickly as he'd appeared. The door closed with a soft click, and Iris was alone. She put the medallion around her neck, hiding it under her clothes, and felt its warmth against her skin.

Minutes passed, and the device in her pocket emitted a soft, insistent signal. Iris pulled it out and looked at the screen. The indicator blinked red. Signal intercepted.

"No," she whispered, a chill running down her spine.

She knew she had seconds. If Lena found the device, she was dead. But the medallion was still with her. She had to destroy the main device to protect herself and give the medallion a chance.

She scrambled from the bed, grabbed a heavy book from the table, and smashed it against the device. It shattered into pieces-plastic, metal, tiny parts flying across the room. She hit it again and again, until nothing recognizable remained.

She breathed heavily, sweat on her face, hands trembling. At that moment, the door opened. Lena stood on the threshold. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned with cold fire. She looked from Iris to the debris on the floor.

"You're smart, Iris," she said, voice icy. "You think I don't know what you tried to do? I know everything. Every word you said. Every signal you sent."

Iris looked at her, fear and resolve mixing within her. She clutched the medallion under her clothes, praying Lena wouldn't notice it.

"You won't stop me, Lena," she said, voice firm, though inside she trembled. "I will find a way to free these people. I promise."

Lena shook her head, a hint of sadness in her eyes.

"You don't understand, Iris," she said. "I'm trying to protect them. And I will do whatever it takes to protect them, even if it means stopping you."

She left, and the door closed. Iris stood among the debris. She touched the medallion, feeling its warmth, and knew this was her last chance. She couldn't afford to fail.

Night fell over 'Eden' quickly and silently, as if someone had turned off the lights. Iris sat on the bed in complete darkness, looking out the window at the garden now bathed in artificial twilight. Perfect lamps cast soft light on perfect paths, and everything around seemed peaceful, but she knew the peace was deceptive.

She clutched the medallion, feeling its warmth on her skin, and thought of what she had to do. Knew Lena wouldn't stop. Tomorrow would bring new threats, new attempts to break her will. But she also knew she had a chance-tiny, almost invisible, but a chance.

She thought of her mother, her face, her voice, her last words: "I will leave you the key. You know what to do." She thought of Cain, Gora, Charlie-all who died so she could stand here. Their sacrifices couldn't be in vain.

She closed her eyes and let herself drift into darkness, knowing a new battle would begin tomorrow. She didn't know if she'd see the dawn. But she knew one thing: she wouldn't give up. Fight to the end. For her mother, for all who'd lost themselves in this perfect world, and for all still waiting for freedom.

The medallion on her chest pulsed with steady, calm warmth, like a promise that hope wasn't dead. And it gave her strength to continue.

Artificial lamps softly illuminated the perfect streets, casting long shadows on the white stone, and everything around seemed frozen in eternal peace. But Elias didn't believe in this peace. He knew beauty hid lies, and he moved through the shadows, trying not to attract attention.

He'd been sneaking through 'Eden' for hours, since crossing the dome's border through the old tunnel. His shoulder still ached, weakness spreading through his body, but he couldn't stop. Had to find Iris. Save her.

The city was beautiful-too beautiful to be real. Houses in neat rows, white and smooth as porcelain. Gardens in perfect flowers, petals not falling, as if time had stopped. Streets were empty, only rare patrols walking their routes, steps even and mechanical, like puppets.

Elias hid in shadows, pressing against walls, darting from cover to cover. He knew if seen, it would all be over. Couldn't afford a mistake.

He passed a park where trees stood in perfect order, and paused to catch his breath. He looked at the city shining in the moonlight, and thought of how he'd come here. Remembered running from the city, fighting the General's soldiers, walking through the wastelands, each step a struggle. Remembered meeting the refugees, giving them hope. Remembered entering 'Eden,' knowing it could be his last step.

He clenched his fists, pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat. Knew he couldn't stop. Had to find Iris. For her, for all who died, and all still alive.

He continued, moving toward the city center, where he knew the main building stood. He didn't know where Iris was held, but he knew she had to be there. Felt it.

He crept through narrow alleys, avoiding patrols, trying not to be seen. He heard the hybrid guards talking, voices flat and emotionless, like machines. Heard them discussing shifts, duties, orders. Heard them talking about the "guest" Lena was keeping under house arrest. And he knew it was Iris.

He quickened his pace, adrenaline flooding his blood. He was close.

Elias stopped at the edge of the square separating him from the main building. It rose before him, white and majestic, with tall columns and large windows reflecting moonlight. Like a palace, a temple, a symbol of power designed to inspire fear and respect.

But that wasn't what caught his attention. Around the building stood guards-dozens of hybrid guards in silver bodysuits, motionless as statues, empty eyes staring ahead. Guarding every entrance, every exit, every corner. Everywhere.

Elias looked at them, despair rising. He couldn't pass them. Break through this wall without help.

He retreated into the shadows and leaned against a wall, cold seeping into his body. He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing. Had to find a way. A weak spot in this defense.

And then he heard footsteps-quiet, but quick, approaching. He opened his eyes and saw a young man walking towards him from the darkness. Thin, dark-haired, perceptive eyes looking at him with caution and resolve. Wearing a crumpled white lab coat, as if he hadn't slept for days.

"Are you Elias?" he asked, voice barely audible.

Elias tensed, ready for a fight. He didn't know this man, didn't know if he could trust him.

"Who are you?" he asked, voice cold.

"My name is Elian," the young man replied, anxiety in his eyes. "I'm part of the resistance. I know where Iris is being held. I can help you."

Elias looked at him, two voices warring within him-one saying it could be a trap, the other saying it was his only chance.

"How do I know I can trust you?" he asked.

Elian looked at him, pain that seemed genuine in his eyes.

"My sister was one of those they took to the lab," he said, voice trembling. "They erased her identity. She works in the fields, like everyone else. I want to stop this. Free her and everyone else. I believe Iris can help us. I believe you can help us."

Elias looked at him, seeing the same resolve he felt himself.

"What do I need to do?" he asked, voice hardening.