Edward was obsessed. While the rest of the family argued about food, sleep, or Uncle Moke's stockpile, he couldn't stop thinking about them. The smiling ones.
He spent his nights hunched over the glow of his laptop, hands trembling from caffeine and lack of sleep. Social media was useless — fear distorted everything. People lied, exaggerated, or spread panic. Edward knew the truth wouldn't be found in rumor. It would be buried where no one was supposed to look: government systems.
He whispered to himself, half-mad with determination:
"The only way is to break in."
For fifteen days, he worked without rest, building an app like a scalpel—malicious code designed to cut open networks across the world. He pushed packets into servers, crawling through firewalls. Every second was a gamble. Governments hid these cases on purpose, he was sure of it. Fear was a disease, and the officials would rather bury it than let it spread.
Edward's body began to fail—his hands shook constantly, his skin grew pale, his eyes raw from refusing to close. But at last, his system lit up, a map of the globe, lines of code feeding him threads of the hidden truth.
Then, a number flashed on the screen: +3364.
His breath caught. He traced the signal, fingers flying across the keys. The screen pulsed. A government seal appeared. Letters stamped themselves across the monitor like a brand:
CIA – Case #33
Violation of set conditions
Edward leaned closer. His heart raced, sweat dripping down his temples. The report unfolded before him.
Case 33: Subject has shown signs of advanced adaptation. Unlike prior substitutes, Case 33 has achieved camouflage within human populations. Capabilities include:
– Interruption of permanent smile.
– Ability to blink, every 53 seconds on average.
– Normal breathing patterns simulated.
– Approximation of human age and fatigue responses.
Edward froze. Fifty-three seconds. That was close enough to human rhythm. Close enough to pass.
He sat back in his chair, his mind spiraling. If they could blink… if they could choose when not to smile… then how many had already slipped through? How many of the people he thought he could trust were already gone?
The screen flickered once, then again. A final message appeared in blood-red letters:
Warning: Unauthorized Access Detected.
Trace in progress.
Edward slammed the laptop shut, heart hammering, but the sound of his own breath was drowned out by the echo of a question he couldn't silence:
What if one of them is already here?