"The greatest test of courage on earth is to bear defeat without losing heart."

 —Robert Green Ingersoll.

The only time in my life I felt like I was floating was a few years ago during an RCS outdoor training in the middle of winter, when my brother gave me some strange mushrooms, we found in the middle of nowhere to ease our growing hunger. We never imagined that, at the end of that cold day, we would end up singing the anthem of the Great Nation while watching the sky changing colors intermittently. The next day we were found in the middle of nowhere by a search and rescue team who, seeing that two RCS soldiers had not returned from a relatively simple training, had no choice but to look for us in the snow. By then, the sky no longer changed colors, but the feeling of floating in the air remained.

That's how I feel now: disoriented, floating, and with a constant ringing in my ears that only increases the growing headache that has been present since I regained consciousness just a few minutes ago. It would be easy to describe where I am, but the truth is that when I open my eyes, all I see is darkness. It takes me a little while to realize the feeling of pressure on my eyes, and that's when I realize that something is tied to my head with the sole purpose of obstructing my vision. My heart races only in the moment when, trying to uncover my eyes, I realize that I have some kind of handcuffs on my hands that somehow tie me to the chair I am sitting in.

These series of small details trigger the lever of memory in my brain, and although at first I can't remember anything that happened before losing consciousness, Samuel's trembling fingers pointing at a metal object on the ground reflect in my mind as if it were a projector, followed by the loud sound of an explosion. Then the rest of the memories come back to me gradually, and the worst conclusion is the only one that makes sense: we have been caught by the dissidents.

As I realize this, despite my body activating in defense with a series of symptoms including tachycardia and the urge to scream and flee, I manage to stay calm and remain as still as possible. The last response one should give in situations like this is anguish and desperation; staying serene, or at least trying to, may allow the body to regulate and at the very least think clearly. So many years of training have amounted to something, or so I hope. Only the sound of small whimpering cries reaches my ears, attempting to distract me. Nevertheless, I remain silent.

My brother is the only thing on my mind now; I need to know if he's here, if he managed to escape, or if he's even alive. My hands start to grope around themselves as much as they can, and then I realize that the handcuffs I have on are common ones, only by partially touching them with my fingers in an unnatural position. In the back interior of my pants, I always keep a tiny hairpin attached to the label, just in case. Sergen has always insisted that primitive methods of picking locks are never reliable or effective, but I've proven him wrong in a couple of training sessions. Those black, thin, elongated clips we use to secure our hair to our scalp during army special events come in handy sometimes. When I find it and grasp it in my hands, I try to locate the handcuff lock. I bite my lips in concentration so hard that they're starting to ache.

The frightened moans once again reverberate in the place where we are, and the immature voice of a boy whom I identify as Samuel, Tom's lackey, reaches my ears.

"Tom?" he whispers, his voice high-pitched and trembling.

In my mind, I scold him, urging him to stay quiet, while I insert the hairpin into the recently found handcuff lock. But he continues with his insistent expulsion of words.

"Tom? Are you there?" he exclaims, with more force.

"Shhhh!" another voice hushes, and then I know that Tom is in the same place as us.

"Are they going to kill us, Tom? Are the dissidents going to kill us?"

"Shut up, Samuel!" he scolds through his teeth with his usual bad temper.

But Samuel, disobeying his superior's orders, continues with the chatter that would cost him his job at RCS. Tom keeps scolding him under his breath, but I've stopped paying attention to them because the almost inaudible click of the handcuffs has reached my ears. They make a loud noise as they fall, and without a second thought, I stand up and bring my hands to my eyes to remove the blindfold. However, before I can even reach it, the cold, solid barrel of a pistol is pressed hard against my forehead. Then the air leaves my lungs in such a way that I feel like I'm going to suffocate. I swallow hard as I raise my hands in surrender.

"Where do you think you're going?" inquires a deep, masculine voice, which, although I can't see who it belongs to, I know is in front of me, pointing a gun at my head.

The weapon seems a little useless and ironic considering that a humanoid could knock me down without needing it. Maybe he has it out of obligation, caution, or for his own amusement. Samuel's small cries have increased upon hearing the voice of the humanoid. I remain silent, with my hands raised and the gun to my forehead. A growing anger towards this being I can't see fills me completely, and once again Martin's face comes to my mind. I haven't heard his voice in this room. Something tells me he's not with us. And although I know I should remain silent, the urge to speak takes over all reason.

"Where are the others?" I ask.

I can hear Tom's exasperated sigh from here. The dissident doesn't answer my question.

"Tell the boy to shut up," the voice orders.

"Samuel..." I murmur, stopping abruptly.

I can't think of anything to calm him down, only my brother comes to mind. I can hear him sigh as he removes the safety from his gun. Despite being in a life or death situation, I show no signs of fear as I lower my arms. The humanoid might take it as a challenge, but the only thing I'm sure of is that if they wanted to kill us, they would have done so already. No, they're not killing us yet; they have us locked up for a reason. And as if I had attracted luck with my mind, a heavy door opens and someone else enters the room.

"The prisoners, Lugh. It's time," another humanoid says.

As they exchange a few words, I surreptitiously lift the blindfold covering my eyes a little to get at least a small, thin line of sight, straining my eyes to look down and try to get any information. Although it doesn't allow me to see anything in detail, it gives me a little bit of relief to see a hint of light.

The floor is completely white and illuminated, as if the light were present in every corner of the room. I can see two pairs of military boots near me, indicating that it's only Samuel, Tom, and me left. But I won't declare defeat just yet, not until I know what happened to my brother.

Another pair of much more worn-out boots approaches me, positioning themselves behind me. I feel the cuffs being reattached to my wrists roughly, and I clench my fists tightly in an attempt to hide the small hairpin in my hands.

"The cuffs are to prevent you from doing something stupid," explains the voice of the humanoid who pointed the gun at me, whom I now identify as Lugh. It's he who has just put the cuffs back on me. "So far, you've been the only one who's tried something like that," he concludes with a laugh.

This time the gun is at my back, pushing me to start walking. In the small crack of space I left in the blindfold, I force my eyes to look down without moving my head. Samuel and Tom walk in front of me, and I can only tell this because I recognize their boots. The other humanoid walks alongside us, pushing the others with an assault rifle whose specific model I can't recognize.

Along the way, we only receive silence. Despite my vision being almost completely obstructed, I can still see a little bit of the places we pass through. Well, at least the floor of the places we pass through. In the first part of the journey, we cross endless corridors whose white floor is as bright as the room we were previously in. Somehow it reminds me of the large facilities in Torclon, which could blind anyone with so much unnecessary white around. Every so often, they push us in one direction or another, and just when the path seems endless, I hear the sound of doors opening and the cold wind of the first traces of winter hitting my face. Then, I can see the pavement, but when we move away from the illuminated place we were in before, everything turns dark again.

I try to think logically and analyze the situation we are in. The only thing I am certain of in my mind is that we will soon die. Sergen, with his particular way of being in charge of the RCS, will not spend resources to come looking for us. Even knowing this and being aware of my possible fate, I can't help feeling angry with the RCS. How did everything go so wrong? It was a carefully planned scheme, and although I only know the most superficial details, I can remember that my mother worked on that document in an ultra-secret way for months. Is it even possible that this mission has failed? Has it been our fault?

But then my thoughts are interrupted by the loud sound of a multitude of voices. We have entered some building, as the ground suddenly feels smoother than pavement, but it is still dark. We only walk a little to feel that such sound is getting closer and closer with each step we take. Suddenly, I trip over the edge of a staircase. The humanoid grabs me tightly and forces me to get up quickly and keep walking. Then, we stop. I look down, and the darkness is interrupted by a warm light that appears spreading out to the sides, indicating that they have opened a door. Then the noise of the voices intensifies even more as they make us enter, and now the shouts and boos are almost unbearable to hear. I couldn't even estimate the magnitude of the crowd that surrounds us just by the volume of the voices.

They make us stop suddenly. Out of nowhere, someone removes the blindfold from my head, causing almost instantaneous blindness in my vision as I go from total darkness to an intensely illuminated place with warm lights. I squint, trying to adjust to the change. For the moment, my senses are confused with the screams of these people, and little by little everything becomes clearer: the floor is made up of rectangular cream-colored tiles, as polished as the marble floor of the MOC facilities. The disorientation continues as I raise my head and look around. We are in a huge circular place, whose walls of white stone and marble illuminate it in a particular and luxurious way. Looking up, I frown at what my eyes see: the circular shape of the installation extends over seventy meters upwards, ending in a huge and impressive dome supported by equally elegant columns at the top. Human-shaped figures decorate the top. I had never felt so small, not even in the Torclon headquarters, which is tens of times larger than this place.

But my reverie ends as soon as it begins when I notice that about fifty meters above me, a large circular balcony is filled with hundreds of people dressed in black, watching us from above. Around me, on the level where we are, almost the same number of people surround us. But then, as I observe their artificial-colored eyes, some of them gray like the mercury in thermometers, and others a blue that almost seems to glow, like neon signs, my mind reminds me that these are not people: they are robots, humanoids, dissidents; and hundreds of them shout and boo at us.

I shudder as I spin around on my own axis and observe the magnitude of the threat that surrounds us. In a moment, I collide with someone, and as I turn, I find Tom's eyes on me. Despite not looking scared, he signals with his gaze that this is the end. Samuel, the sixteen-year-old blond boy who always seeks to please Tom, has become completely paralyzed. His state of shock is such that he remains immobile and pale, and his eyes reflect the terror his body experiences. I tighten my grip on the small hair clip in my hands, holding onto a last hope. I'm scared, I can't deny it. Humanoids are the most dangerous beings on the face of the earth. Although I knew from the beginning that this was an almost suicidal mission, saying "no" was not an option.

The humanoids who brought us left our side as soon as they removed our bandages, and right now, I couldn't distinguish them from the crowd, because I didn't even see their faces. I get as close to Tom as I can, trying to calm the anxiety that is beginning to run through my body.

"Where's Martin?" I ask quickly.

"The whereabouts of your brother are the least of your problems, Reed," he responds sharply. "Have you looked around?"

"I need to know if he's alive."

"It won't do any good." His voice is barely audible above the dissidents' screams.

"Tom, please," I plead through gritted teeth, with a threatening look.

"When the explosion of whatever they threw at us happened, the last thing on my mind was saving your brother, Reed," he murmurs with a cold gaze. "In the first few minutes, we couldn't even see the dissidents even though they were attacking us. We ran, we fought, but it wasn't enough. I don't remember seeing him."

As I am about to respond, the crowd suddenly falls silent. We look ahead, to where all eyes are turning. A man with gray and black hair, strong features, and a large scar diagonally crossing his face, observes us with his artificial blue eyes. He is accompanied by a few more humanoids, but judging by his posture, he seems to be the highest ranking among them.

He remains silent for a moment, never taking his gaze off us. It is overwhelming to see them; to see their faces, their coldness. No one alive has ever seen a humanoid before; we only know of them from what we were taught as children; from government statements and because simply, we all know that dissidents are a threat, even though we have never seen one. I couldn't explain which details of them impose fear, because except for their eyes, they could be mistaken for humans. Maybe their eyes, those that indicate they are just machines, are what truly scare. Our own creation, against us.

But to have them right in front of us is more terrifying than just the mere thought of their existence.

That man takes a few steps towards us, but still remains at a distance.

"Who is your leader?" he interrogates in a deep voice.

The tone of his voice is one that I have never heard before. The way he pronounces his words sends shivers down my spine, and the expression of coldness makes it impossible to keep my gaze fixed on his eyes. Nevertheless, I stare at him, trying to show strength, although I know I couldn't even take down one of them.

Tom clears his throat, standing up straight.

"I am," he answers.

Wow, Angry Tom looks the same as Neutral Tom.

The humanoid smiles to the side, a smile that doesn't even bring warmth.

"Who is your leader?" he inquires again.

"I said, I am," Tom emphasizes, dragging the words.

I glance back slightly, and when I realize that Samuel is hiding behind me like a frightened child, I feel the hairpin in my sweaty hands and wonder if what I'm about to do makes any sense.

"No, no, kiddo. You're not the leader, you're just another piece."

The humanoid places his hands behind his back, imposing his gaze on Tom.

"I'll ask one more time: who is your leader?"

This time, Tom doesn't respond. I can hear the grinding of his teeth from here as he glares with obvious anger at the leader of the dissidents.

"I had heard that the average human was somewhat slow-witted, but I didn't imagine it was to this level."

Laughter erupts in the place, but I don't even pay attention. All my focus is on my hands.

"I'll give you a hint, all right?"

The place falls silent again.

"Let's start with a name that you surely recognize: MOC. The human government. Here's another: Egan Roman, the leader of the Great Nation."

None of us says a single word. The dissident nods slowly.

"I suspected as much, neither MOC nor Egan are your direct leaders, are they? All right, another clue? Ministry of Science and Development. Does that sound familiar to you?"

He approaches us even closer, and with each step, I become more aware of his true height. He is apparently even a few centimeters taller than Tom, who already seems unreachable in his height, just as unreachable as his ego. But even in Tom's rough exterior, I can sense a hint of fear in his eyes with each step the man takes towards him. I focus on my boots, as if they're the most interesting thing I've seen today. Looking this dissident in the eyes means feeling fear, and fear is the last thing I can afford to feel right now.

"Perfect; the Ministry of Science and Development doesn't sound familiar to you. However, that ministry has another name, doesn't it?" he asks Tom, who is now just one meter away from him.

Tom seems to hesitate about whether he should answer or not, but eventually he does.

"That's right, the Ministry of Science and Development is known by another name."

"And what is that?"

That humanoid knows the answer but seems to want to play with us for a moment.

"Torclon," he responds quickly.

"We're getting closer to the answer, young man. Now, who leads Torclon?"

Then my breathing becomes uneven. I quickly glance at Tom, who briefly lowers his gaze, almost wanting to turn it towards me.

"Renée Reed," he answers. "But she's not our leader."

I inwardly thank Tom for wanting to divert the topic away from my mother, but the tension is palpable. Even though all eyes are on my partner, I can feel a pair of eyes on me. When you feel someone watching you, you're rarely wrong. Behind the leader of the disidents, those who accompanied him have stayed in place; one of them stares fixedly at me. That humanoid looks young, like my brother. His black and rebellious hair frames his strong features and fair skin, and his insistent gaze falls on me. I can't maintain eye contact with him either and my eyes return to the ground. Something tells me he knows what I'm doing with my hands, but for some reason, he doesn't do anything about it.

"Renée Reed isn't your leader, you say?"

For some reason, hearing this dissident mention my mother and my own last name causes a sense of fear to well up within me. I quickly swallow, attempting to control the physical reactions that accompany this feeling.

"Our direct leader is Sergen Craig," Tom interjects.

"It would be foolish for you to think that Sergen is the only one standing in the way of the orders you receive. This mission that you've been tasked with, to come and kidnap one of us, who gave you that order?"

How could he know all of this? My gaze shifts to Tom, and it's the first time he's looked at me during the conversation with the dissident leader. However, he plays along with the man, maintaining his composure as a good mission leader.

"The RCS," Tom responds.

"You're overestimating your abilities," he affirms with a strong voice. "I can hear every beat of your heart, every labored breath you're taking right now. We are a thousand times more advanced than you. I know when you lie because I already know the answer to what I'm asking you. But here, we are fair. We understand that you don't have the same capabilities as us, so we try to do things the right way for you. You and I both know that the RCS didn't give the order, it was another institution, and I'll allow you to say which one it was."

Tom sighs. He knows they know, so why hide it any longer?

"It was Torclon who requested and organized the mission," Tom finally confesses.

"On that, we agree," the man smiles, patting him on the shoulder. "We also agree that Renée Reed is the one in charge of Torclon, so we can infer that she played a significant role in this."

He nods. Then, the man turns around and heads back to where he had been standing before, further away from us.

"I'll make it much simpler now: Renée Reed has two children, both of whom are part of the RCS. I also already know that both of them were involved in this mission. The only thing we don't know is who among you is who."

When he finishes speaking, I feel like the world is crashing down on me. I realize then that I am in much more danger than the rest of my companions. At least I can hope that Martin has maybe been saved, since they don't know he is Renée's son. Perhaps Martin managed to escape along with Amanda, Andrew, Luke, and Mandy. It's a possibility I hadn't considered before, but at the same time, I have a gut feeling that prevents me from calming down about the matter.

"I assume you won't tell me who they are," he says.

"No," Tom cuts in.

We can be sure of that: Tom may be the worst person on earth, but I don't think he's a snitch.

"As I said, I assumed as much." He turns to look at a humanoid behind him and says something I can't understand.

Everyone is silent again, and suddenly all eyes turn to one side of the place, where the dissidents are making way for something. For a moment, all I can see is a black mass being dragged by two humanoids, but when they throw it into the middle of the place, a muffled cry is about to escape from within me. Tom, who noticed it before I did, clears his throat slightly, silently asking me not to show any signs of concern.

My brother lies in the floor, his hair stuck to the blood that covers almost his entire face. Then I understand that they have been torturing him, and it is he who has given the information to the leader of the dissidents. But only the necessary information. The only relief I feel now is that he is alive, and his eyes meet mine, trying to give me a painful smile.

"Gannicus," one of the humanoids who brought my brother says, addressing the leader of the dissidents, "he didn't want to reveal the last thing you asked him."

Gannicus nods, turning his gaze back to us.

"The humans have a certain emotional weakness that bends them in many situations," he explains, nodding to the woman who has just spoken to him.

She turns to my brother, taking a syringe out of her pocket and plunging it directly into his neck, but without injecting the pink liquid it contains. A grimace of pain crosses Martin's lips, but he manages to remain calm, as always.

"Lethal injection," Gannicus explains. "If all of its contents are injected into the human body, it will cause death. We'll give you three chances to tell us which one of you is Renée Reed's son or daughter. Ariana will inject the content into this boy slowly. So let's try to keep it simple: which one of you is Renée Reed's child?"

Seeing the syringe buried in Martin's neck makes my face contort in pain, which I immediately correct. In the EMA, we not only receive physical training, but also emotional and mental training. I know that what I must do is remain silent and allow these soulless beings to kill my brother. Revealing any information would make me a traitor to the Great Nation; my brother, after being tortured and giving some details, is now a traitor of the Great Nation.

"Are they going to kill Martin, Tom?" Samuel asks, still hiding behind me.

"You shut your mouth," he replies.

I can't react to Samuel's question. My eyes are fixed on my brother's. I don't have to think much about it to be aware that I must let him die. But his deep eyes staring at me ask me to stay quiet.

"No answer," Gannicus says, giving a signal to Ariana.

She nods and injects some of the liquid from the syringe, causing Martin to express pain. However, despite his watery eyes and pursed mouth trying to avoid letting out a scream, he remains almost motionless. But my own body has started to shake, and only Tom's cough manages to keep me steady.

"Second chance. Will you say it this time?"

Martin's eyes are wide open and bloodshot. He shakes his head ever so slightly, silently pleading with me not to say anything. This will be the last time I see my brother alive; the one who has made my days a little brighter; the one who took care of me when I was little because Mom was always locked up in Torclon and we never knew our father.

I don't even register Gannicus' order; it's Martin's scream that snaps me out of my thoughts. They've injected him with more, and it's like the liquid is burning him from the inside out; this time he can't bear it, and a cry of pain escapes his throat. His face is red, as is the white of his eyes, almost matching the dried blood that stains his face from the beatings he likely received in the hours prior. His breathing is labored and unsteady, and small spasms wrack his body.

"The last dose, and his heart will stop," Gannicus explains. "This is your last chance, dear visitors."

Even in all this pain, Martin hasn't taken his eyes off mine once. This time I know I can't hide the expression on my face, and even though Tom coughs a thousand times, silently scolding me, I can't bear the sight of my brother about to die.

Then Gannicus orders Ariana to inject the final dose, and everything around me seems to slow down. The reasonable commands my brain is giving my body won't execute because my emotions take over. Just as she's about to inject the lethal dose, I drop the handcuffs I managed to open a few minutes ago and quickly run towards my brother. Tom gives an order, but I don't obey; Martin says "no," but I don't listen. With agility and adrenaline pumping through my veins, in a matter of milliseconds, I reach where they are and throw my entire weight on Ariana, pushing her slightly but enough to dislodge the syringe from my brother's neck.

Then, I can see Ariana lunging towards me, and with just one swing of her arm, she manages to throw me away, so far away that I hit a wall that was more than seven meters away from us, feeling a sharp pain in my back. The humanoids on this side, surrounding me, watch me with amusement. A human trying to fight against a humanoid is completely absurd. But right now, I can't think logically. I get up, returning to the center of the room, where Ariana waits for me with a smile. Gannicus doesn't stop the fight, as it seems that my unfortunate attempt to bring down this humanoid has been the most amusing thing these dissidents have seen in months. Next to Gannicus, that humanoid who was staring at me crosses his arms casually, clearly enjoying the situation. Suddenly, the hundreds of dissidents present begin to cheer for Ariana.

She approaches so quickly that only Samuel's shout has managed to alert me, and I dodge perfectly.

"Stop now! It's an order!" Tom shouts.

I punch Ariana in the stomach, and the pain in my knuckles makes me dizzy for a moment. I feel like I've broken my hand just by trying to hit her. She laughs, and with a kick to the stomach, she throws me away again, causing shouts of enthusiasm from the dissidents. She has left me breathless, and I feel like I'm drowning. I fall at Tom and Samuel's feet. The former looks at me angrily.

"She's not even using all her strength on you. They're playing, having fun. It's a lost fight. Stop it once and for all."

But I ignore him. I get up and run towards her, dodging a couple of punches she throws at me. Sergen always said that my reflexes were some of the best he had ever seen, but they were useless if I combined them with my irrational impulsiveness. She easily evades my punch, and instead, hers lands on my lips. She's been gentle enough not to break my teeth, but not enough to avoid breaking my lips. When the taste of rust fills my mouth, I spit blood on the floor. I must look completely pathetic trying to match the strength of a being created in laboratories decades ago with the sole purpose of killing. I don't even have time to react when she throws me again with one blow to the other side of the room.

This time, I hit the humanoid who was staring at me fixedly a few minutes ago, who with a smile grabs me by the shoulders.

"I told you that the handcuffs were to prevent you from doing something stupid, but you have still managed to outdo yourself," he says.

The familiarity of his tone surprises me. This humanoid is Lugh, the one who pointed a gun at me earlier. His strange eyes have a hypnotic quality, like liquid mercury running through his iris.

I push myself away from him and turn to Ariana, but before I can react, she punches me hard in the face. Blood starts running down my forehead and cheek, and for a moment, everything becomes blurry. From the ground, I look up at Martin, who is still kneeling a few meters away from me, shaking his head. A tear escapes my eye and mingles with the blood on my face as Ariana kicks me in the stomach. Just as she is about to deliver another blow that will likely knock me unconscious, Gannicus's deep voice stops her.

"That's enough," he says.

Two other humanoids take hold of my arms and pull me to my feet. The pain in my stomach and face is so intense that I feel like I might pass out. I'm still struggling to catch my breath, which Ariana has knocked out of me twice now, when I look at Gannicus. He orders Ariana to inject the last dose into Martin.

Then, in a last-ditch effort to save him, the words spill out of me: 

"My name is Abigail Reed! I am Renée Reed's daughter!"

Suddenly, everything goes quiet. A wicked smile spreads across Gannicus's face as he signals for Ariana to stop.

He approaches me slowly, his arms crossed elegantly behind his back. His artificial blue eyes, up close, remind me of the shimmering liquids I once saw my mother mixing in a laboratory. A machine, just a cold machine before me.

"Welcome, Abigail, to the dissident city of Carthage!" he declares in a soft voice. "We have much to discuss."