"Hate, it has caused a lot of problems in the world, but has not solved one yet."

—Maya Angelou

It only took a couple of words from me to generate discord between Tom and me; a couple of words to completely collapse an entire plan; a couple of words to make me a traitor to the Great Nation. But the most important thing, at least for now, is that those words were enough to save my brother.

However, I can't help feeling uneasy. As I am forced to walk towards an unknown place, surrounded by two humanoids and having been separated from the others a few minutes ago, my mind can't focus on the duality of the situation I just caused: we narrowly escaped, but for how long? I could have allowed them to kill my brother and even that wouldn't have been enough to survive this nightmare; after killing him, they surely would have tortured us one by one until they extracted information, until they let us die. We have sworn silence to the Great Nation, loyalty; but I have betrayed those principles. Has it been worth committing the deepest of betrayals to my country to save my own blood? For now, the answer is yes, but I still don't know the consequences. And it is at this moment when I realize that no amount of training is strong enough to make me ignore my instinct to save those whom I love. For years I thought I could, but it seems simply impossible to turn a deaf ear to the cries of pain of the people you appreciate the most.

I am guided through a torch-lit hallway, and the whole place seems to follow the same decorative pattern as that circular room we were in before; I can only imagine such an elegant structure in the headquarters of MOC or in the residence of the leader of the Great Nation. The floor, made of polished tiles in warm colors, has some black patterns every few steps. Both sides of the hallway are decorated with columns that rise up to the ceiling forming arches, and the paint in green, earth and red colors, despite being extremely worn, also adds details of elegance to the place. I can't imagine what this was decades ago, before it fell into disrepair and was subsequently taken over by the dissidents. And only when a piercing pain invades my stomach, my face, and my right hand, does even the exquisite decor fail to distract me from these physical symptoms.

At the end of the hallway is a double white wooden door, in which they make me enter. I find myself in an office with dark wood walls and blue and green tapestries, with a large desk made of what seems to be polished oak in the center. Tables, chairs, and shelves decorate the place, but I can't even focus on the objects they contain because just as I stop in the middle of the room, the lack of adrenaline and movement make my pains worse, and at a certain point, I have to rest my left hand on the surface of the desk to avoid falling. With my trembling right hand, I hold my stomach, in a futile attempt to relieve the pain from the blows received. My hand is swollen and red, and when I try to move my fingers, I have to stifle a cry of pain as this task is impossible.

In the end, the aftermath of that absurd fight begins to be felt. I close my eyes as I think of the possible consequences of my actions, but all I process is how the intensity of our emotions can lead us to unimaginable levels of irrationality. When I open my eyes and look up, a dirty and worn rectangular mirror on the wall in front of me reflects a bloodied Abigail. However, the vision of myself lasts only a short time as my face begins to morph into someone else's. Suddenly, the mirror begins to lose its reflective effect, and a white, intermittent light replaces it, illuminating the whole place. My face is no longer there, and in its place is that of a red-haired, weary-looking woman. My heart skips a beat as I see the live broadcast of my mother; the signal is very erratic, cutting off from time to time, which indicates to me that it has been intercepted somehow by the dissidents. Still leaning on the desk, I take a few steps forward, my mouth hanging open. At the bottom, it reads "Renée Reed. Director of TORCLON." My mother has started speaking, and despite the poor quality of the audio reaching me, I can understand what she says:

"Today is a day of success for our Great Nation. Solemnly, I have the honor of transmitting the good news that arises amidst regrettable events, such as the death of soldiers at the hands of students in the violent protests at the District University," she says, with a serious tone. "Today, members of the Riot Control Squadron have accomplished one of the most important missions of our nation in recent decades."

I furrow my brow upon hearing her words. The others, apparently, have managed to escape.

"Throughout our history, certain events have stained the peace in which we have always lived. The Humanoid Rebellion, so long ago, left unimaginable havoc. Remember, humanoids are dissidents, traitors to our nation, and the only reason they exist is thanks to Torclon," she says, with her last words especially emphasized. "For decades, we at Torclon have sought ways to investigate the reasons why the humanoid system failed, resulting in them having freedom of thought, consciousness, and action. Most of our attempts have been useless. However, today is a milestone in the history of our society, as RCS members, on a special mission, have managed to capture a humanoid specimen."

Images of the armed forces leading a chained humanoid through the main square towards Torclon's facilities are shown in the broadcast. Hundreds of thousands of citizens of the Capital District surround the square, celebrating this event. The mission was successful, then. But only one detail is missing, only one detail.

"The capture of this specimen will allow us to conduct deeper investigations into the artificial intelligence system of these humanoids and the reason why it mutated unexpectedly and uncontrollably..."

I clench my left hand into a fist as I wait for her to say what I need to hear, the only hope left for Martin, Samuel, Tom, and me. However, she doesn't.

"We will keep you updated on the investigation," she concludes.

Suddenly, the anthem of the Great Nation plays in the background before the image of Renée Reed disappears completely. Then, the white light goes off, and once again, I am faced with my own reflection, but this time I experience a mix of bewilderment and horror that is difficult to process.

"Mom..." I whisper, with obvious disappointment.

"Not even a mention," a deep male voice interrupts.

I turn immediately, watching Gannicus enter the room with Lugh, Ariana, and another dissident. Gannicus somehow voiced exactly what was on my mind. However, I command myself to remain silent and show a neutral expression.

"Your own mother," he continues, getting closer to me.

His empty and artificial eyes observe me without any expression. Suddenly, he briefly raises his arm, pointing to the chair in front of the desk, where he takes a seat in the main chair. But I refuse to sit in front of him. Instead, I remain standing right where I am.

"I would like to handle things diplomatically between you and me."

"You have no diplomacy," I respond sharply. After the beating I just received, no consequences for my actions seem to scare me.

He smiles and orders one of his followers, whom he calls Alai, to bring something that I can't understand. Alai then takes an elegant white pitcher and pours a greenish liquid into a small cup, which he offers me roughly, almost spilling it on me. I take it with suspicion, watching the smoke emanating from the liquid, indicating that it is freshly prepared. But I don't even think for a second about drinking it, not if they're the ones offering it to me.

"Valerian tea," Alai says rather rudely. "You're not going to drink it?"

The sudden despotic attitude of that humanoid takes me by surprise. As I look around, I can see that he is not the only one whose hateful gaze is fixed on me. Ariana and Lugh, if they wanted to, could kill me with their eyes. However, Gannicus is the only one who looks at me with relative calmness. His hard expression, the one I saw during the public interrogation a few moments ago, has changed a bit.

"It would be a bit rude of you not to drink it," Ariana says mockingly. "As you can imagine, we don't eat the same things as you do. Gannicus had us search for a book of tea recipes to soothe the incredible pain you must be feeling after thinking you could defeat me."

The laughter of the others bursts out of nowhere, making me startle. But only one thing she said has stayed in my mind.

"A book?" I inquire, more to myself than to them. It is the first time in my life that I hear that word.

"So, the human doesn't know what a book is," Lugh emphasizes.

For some reason, his comment is even more annoying, as he says it with such a tone that it is evident that his only goal is to insult me. But even if I wanted to kill him with my looks, it is impossible, and I have no choice but to lower my head. Holding the gaze of these beings inspires strange emotions that are not at all pleasant.

"Please, Abigail Reed, take a seat," insists Gannicus.

After a few seconds, I comply, only because standing is becoming particularly painful. I put the cup aside, indicating that I will not drink its contents. This time, no one says anything, although I can feel the hateful glares behind me. Gannicus looks at me intently, with his almost neon blue eyes fixed on me. This time, I make an effort to maintain eye contact with him.

"As you may have noticed, we find ourselves in a somewhat unpleasant situation," he explains, sighing. "Some of yours have taken one of ours. We could even say that if your companions had fled before reaching such a level of audacity, we would have set you free long ago. However, taking one of ours implies serious consequences."

I could make a mental list of all the possible serious consequences that dissidents could bring down on us, and I don't know which one is worse.

"If you kill me, you will be the ones with serious consequences," I say.

"It's curious, Miss Reed, that you say that. Apparently, you're already dead to them," he responds.

I try to steer the conversation away from the emotional factors he's trying to manipulate; I completely ignore what he just said to me and focus on the negotiation skills we were taught in the army when dealing with enemies.

"You were looking for people related to Renée Reed for a reason," I say, trying to stand as straight as possible to show confidence, bearing the pain in my stomach. "So, tell me, what do you want from me?"

"You are the key piece to our only objective at the moment," he responds, picking up a small figure from the desk that I hadn't seen before. It is black, in the shape of a horse, and it seems particularly familiar to me.

Then I remember seeing it once among confiscated objects from the black market, along with a huge wooden square and other similar pieces. As I heard that day, it's called chess. Gannicus, for his part, has taken the piece to imply some kind of symbolism about me, but I simply can't understand it.

"You will help us retrieve our companion, who has been kidnapped by orders of your mother, Reed," he continues, never taking his eyes off me. "Starting tomorrow, we will begin to create the plan, so you will have to be patient."

"Why not just forget about it?" I inquire, with a furrowed brow.

"Forget about it?" he repeats.

"It's just another machine," I conclude, cuttingly. "I won't help you."

Gannicus' relatively calm expression suddenly turns grim at my insulting words. Then, figures that I catch in my peripheral vision indicate that the other dissidents have surrounded me in a threatening manner. I manage to stay calm, despite being in an obvious dangerous situation.

He places the small horse on the table and folds his hands.

"And your brother is just another human."

Brother.

This time, I can't conceal the expression on my face at the mention of that word. My eyes widen to reveal emotions that I shouldn't be showing right now, especially in front of these beings. Gannicus doesn't seem surprised, as his gaze remains unchanged. For a moment, I feel like I can't breathe, and everything seems to crumble around me. Even with my thick RCS uniform, the rise and fall of my chest is noticeable as a result of my irregular breathing. It takes me a few seconds to realize that the only reason he knows he's my brother is because of me.

"You were the only one who dared to speak up for him. Feelings, Abigail, are the greatest weakness of your kind, but thanks to them, we've killed two birds with one stone. We have both of Dr. Reed's children, and if you want to save him, you'll do as we say."

My lips tremble slightly with the anger growing inside of me. I thought I had saved Martin, but now I've condemned him again and myself along with him. If I don't do as they say, this time we won't live to tell the tale.

"We wouldn't mind killing a human to get one of our own back," he continues, standing up. "We're more than machines, Miss Reed; we not only want him alive: we want everyone alive. He was kidnapped to write our condemnation; if they make progress with their experiments, we'll cease to exist. But that won't happen, unless you want another dose of lethal injection in your brother's neck."

I stand up as an imitative reflex to his action. Any display of emotions that the humanoids may show doesn't even seem real: they want to save their comrade only to prevent their own extinction. They don't feel any emotion within themselves, and anything similar is merely a mutation of the artificial intelligence that we, humans, created; but always, until the end of times, it will remain purely artificial. That fact doesn't bother me even a bit; it's the cold threat against my brother that manages to make my blood boil. Once again, my impulsiveness begins to surface within me, guiding my brain in the production of adrenaline; inciting me to commit irrational acts.

"Where is he?" I interrogate, with a trembling voice.

"Safe and sound," he replies.

"And how do I know you'll keep him safe? If I do whatever you need me to do, how can you promise me that you won't harm him?"

"Unlike humans," a different voice responds, someone who has dangerously approached me, "we have our word," Lugh concludes, murmuring under his breath before moving away from me again.

Our gazes meet for a millisecond. Never in my life have I felt such a level of pressure: in this office, I am a small mouse trapped in a trap, at the mercy of those who are more powerful than I am. None of this can end well: if I do what they order me to do, whatever plan they develop to save their comrade, I will never be forgiven by the Great Nation. Sergen, with his excessively developed muscles and uncontrollable screams, appears before me as a vision that reminds me of my duty, and those phrases he usually repeats in training resonate in my ear:

"What if you're caught by the enemy?!" he shouts.

"We die!" we soldiers respond in unison.

"Death before betrayal!"

"Death before betrayal!" we repeat, with such force that the echo continues to be heard seconds later.

Gannicus, noticing my preoccupation, starts walking towards the exit. I continue to observe a lost spot on the wall, being the only one who is turning her back on the rest of those present.

"I suppose everything is clear now," he concludes.

"I need to see my brother," I say, quickly turning around to face him. He remains neutral, as always. "Please," I add finally, swallowing my pride.

The room falls silent for a few seconds until he finally nods.

"When I deem it appropriate," he responds. "For now, Lugh will help you with your wounds."

He then turns around, the two humanoid creatures who brought me open the door and follow him out. Alai and Ariana give me a look of hatred and a wicked smile, respectively, before leaving the place. It takes me a moment to process the leader's last words until I see Lugh grab a small briefcase from the floor and approach me quickly. Instinctively, I step back almost as quickly until I hit the desk. He furrows his brow and looks at me as if I were a pathetic, helpless, and weak animal. But then his gaze focuses on the briefcase, which he places on the desk.

I could say that among all of them, this humanoid is the most terrifying, after Gannicus. His relative calmness only indicates a higher presence of danger. Facing a war robot, who could kill me with just one blow, provokes more fear as he doesn't lose his temper like Ariana did. It's like being face to face with a mountain bear, where the animal shows you its teeth threateningly and is in an attacking position just a few steps away, but his assault never comes. Instead, it stares at you fixedly, and you have no escape. Any wrong move, any attempt to flee, would trigger its killer instinct, and you would be dead in the blink of an eye. That's how I feel when this dissident is in front of me, and I can almost feel my heart in my throat.

He wears an old black leather trench coat, military pants of the same color, worn boots, and half-fingered gloves. When he's near, his hair appears slightly lighter than from a distance; it no longer looks black, but rather a dark chocolate color. His strong features are highlighted by the color of his eyes, mercury gray. If this humanoid were to appear in the middle of the night, those two orbs could stand out in the darkness and be the only visible thing, like the animals that lurk along the border of the Capital District in the early hours of the morning.

An impressively visible detail, but one that I didn't notice before, perhaps due to adrenaline, pain, and the emotion of the moment, is that he has a beard surrounding his mouth, which extends along the edge of his jaw. However, it is not an absurdly abundant and disorderly beard like that of the elders of the Capital District Senate, but rather a little, defined, and orderly one, like that of a young man his "age".

My gaze goes to the briefcase, and before I can even analyze the objects inside, Lugh grabs my right hand forcefully, without any care, squeezing it tightly. Sharp pain spreads through my arm, and a scream escapes my mouth. I also shudder at the touch of his fingers; it's the first time I've touched the skin of a humanoid, and I couldn't explain the sensation; not even the temperature is like anything I've felt before. But I can't analyze it for long because in a matter of seconds, he drops my hand roughly onto the desk, and I have to bite the inside of my cheeks to dissipate the pain.

"You broke a couple of phalanges," he says.

"That seemed obvious," I emphasize. Although I don't know that word, I suppose he's referring to my fingers. "And you could be more careful."

He raises an eyebrow as he takes something from the briefcase.

"I don't want to have to touch a human for too long," he explains, pausing for a second to look me in the eyes, "they disgust me."

Before I can respond, he takes my hand again. My fingers have remained slightly bent towards my palm all this time, as trying to straighten them is unbearable. However, he straightens them without warning and another stifled scream escapes my throat. My eyes have welled up, and I have to squeeze them tightly to dissipate the pain somehow. I don't even see what he's doing, but I can feel him placing something hard under my fingers to keep them straight, and after a while, he wraps my whole hand in some kind of plaster.

The minutes drag on tortuously, becoming almost endless. I try not to break down in front of him; everyone here sees me as a cockroach that they can crush. Therefore, I have to show myself as strong as possible, even if it's just to console myself. Then, when I finally open my eyes, I can see him pulling out a syringe and filling it only a little with a transparent liquid from a small glass vial. This undoubtedly makes me suspicious.

"Take off your jacket," he orders, "this one goes in your arm."

"No."

"Take it off," he repeats.

"No!"

I stare at him defiantly. He sighs impatiently.

"Fine," he says, putting the syringe back in the case. "If you want to keep feeling pain, be my guest."

He takes a cloth and wets it with alcohol. The smell makes me nauseous, but that seems minor when he gets even closer and starts wiping the blood off my face to find the wounds. He first does it on my cheek and forehead, and then on my lip. This pain, however, is much more bearable than that of my hand.

"How do you know what you're doing? I doubt you have to use these things on yourselves," I inquire.

"Once I read a book on first aid," he replies. "I was able to learn a little more about the incredible weakness of the human body."

I furrow my brow at that strange word, which I have heard mentioned twice today. Despite the immense curiosity I feel inside, I remain silent, not wanting him to try to humiliate me again. He notices the silence and lets out a small mocking laugh.

"It's no surprise you don't know what a book is."

"I don't know why you say that," I deny, trying to change the subject.

He finishes with my wounds and throws the blood-soaked cloth into a small bin in the corner of the office. He quickly closes the case, taking it back into his hands.

"Do you know what a work of art is?" he asks, raising his eyebrows again.

I shake my head, wanting to end this conversation once and for all.

"Do you know what music is?"

"The anthem of the Great Nation."

He remains silent for a moment before bursting into a loud laugh. I avoid looking into his eyes, as always, and let out a resigned sigh.

"That's why I say I'm not surprised," he emphasizes.

The topic of books and all the other things he claims I don't know about seems interesting, but now I'm only worried about one thing. When he makes a move to leave, I take a few steps toward him and try to put on my friendliest face. I don't know how long we'll be here, but acting disdainful and arrogant won't bring me any benefits. While I wait to hear the plan they prepare, I must act cautiously and at least not anger them. It seems that as long as I do what they say, everything will remain relatively calm. When I'm face to face with him, he stops, and judging by his expression, I could swear he'd love to push me aside to continue on his way. I clear my throat before speaking, trying to hold his gaze on his strange, hypnotic, and eerie eyes.

"You know where my brother is," I ask, more as an assertion than a question. He seems to be part of Gannicus' trusted group and surely knows all the important information.

"Yes. He's okay."

Once again, he makes a move to leave. It's clear that being in my presence is causing him impatience. I get in his way once again.

"But how do you know?"

"Because I do."

My look of distrust makes him lose his patience. He rolls his eyes.

"We've told you that we are beings of our word, you'll see him when Gannicus orders it. For now, I can assure you he's alright, I myself healed his wounds and counteracted the lethal injection. Can I go now?"

"Are you going to leave me alone?" I ask, puzzled. "I'm supposed to be one of your hostages, and you're just going to leave me here?"

"You've learned your lesson," he points out, observing my casted hand. "We're not worried about you escaping, it's obvious that it would be impossible for you."

He lightly and slowly pushes me to the side and exits through the elegant hallway we passed a few minutes ago. I follow behind him, but he walks so fast that I struggle to keep up. When he sees me walking beside him, a sigh of frustration escapes his lips. This time he's truly annoyed and abruptly stops. Now that his expression has hardened, I feel like I've crossed a line, and I can't deny that it's scary.

"I just want to know where the others are," I say softly.

"They're probably in the dining room, one of them had to get food for you guys. And, Reed," he warns, lifting his index finger, "I'm not your map, so you can get there on your own."

With that said, he turns around and swiftly leaves. His dark figure disappears into the warmth of the hallway. Then I realize that the only reason he didn't seem reluctant when Ariana was beating me up is because he actually enjoyed watching it, just like the hundreds of humanoids who were present at that time. The dissidents, in the end, hate us as much as we hate them. Sergen was always right; Torclon was always right; Egan, Moc, the army, the news...

They want us extinct. But I have faith, deep inside me, that we will extinguish them first.

I clench the fist of my left hand and take a deep breath. In front of me lies a fog that conceals dangers, doubts, and fears, and I feel like I have to cross it under the icy cold of the approaching winter. The only thing I'm certain of is that I'll ruin their plan, and when I do, my only objective will be to collaborate in the destruction of the humanoids. The image of the daily, morning, and nightly news of the Great Nation appears in my mind, dictating the first words we hear upon waking up, and the last ones we hear before going to bed, which I start to repeat as I walk aimlessly behind the distant figure of Lugh:

"Our creation rose up against its creators."