The Cleanroom was not empty this time.
When Mitya stepped into the white horizon, he found a chair waiting for him — a simple metal thing, bolted to the floor. In front of it, a screen hung in the air, black and silent. The System's voice was softer than usual.
Operator: Review protocol initiated. Past engagements will be replayed. You may choose to alter outcomes. Note: Changes will not affect historical reality — only your understanding.
Mitya sat. The chair was cold.
First Playback – The Warehouse
The screen flickered to life, showing the dim interior of the Pier 7 warehouse. He saw himself and Vega moving through the stacks, the three hostiles at the table, the package between them.
The moment came — the third man reaching for his weapon. In the real event, Mitya had fired, clean and final.
Option: Engage as before. Option: Disarm.
He hesitated. In the Sim, he chose to disarm — a quick step forward, a twist of the wrist, the weapon clattering to the floor. The man lived.
The System logged the change.
Moral load: reduced. Efficiency: reduced.
The screen went dark.
Second Playback – The Tram Depot
The scene shifted to the tram depot, the courier pacing with the satchel. In reality, Mitya had sedated him. Now, the System offered the other path — the one it had recommended at the time.
He refused. Again, the man lived.
Directive integrity: maintained.
Third Playback – The Mountain Pass
Snow swirled on the screen. The ambush in Central Asia played out in slow motion. He saw the muzzle flashes, the red outlines of hostiles, the operatives moving with precision.
The System paused at the moment before his first shot.
Option: Withdraw. Option: Engage.
He chose to engage — the same as before. The System noted: No change.
The Question
The screen went black. The System's voice was almost human.
Operator: Would you change who you are to change what you've done?
Mitya didn't answer. The Cleanroom dissolved.
Volkov's Net
In a government office lit by a single desk lamp, Colonel Volkov leaned over her map. The strings now connected Vladivostok to Busan, Surabaya, Central Asia, and an unnamed Eastern European city. The pattern was undeniable.
Her aide placed a new file on the desk. Inside was a grainy photo from a port camera — a man in a dark coat, head turned just enough to show the line of his jaw.
"It's him," the aide said.
Volkov smiled. "Almost."
The Market
Back in Vladivostok, Mitya walked through the fish market, the smell of salt and smoke in the air. He felt eyes on him — not the casual glances of strangers, but the weight of someone tracking his movements.
The Influence module pulsed in his vision.
Operator: Surveillance probability — high.
He adjusted his route, slipping into side streets, doubling back twice before heading home.
The Message
That night, a message appeared in the System's secure channel.
You're being profiled. Change your patterns.
No sender. No signature. Just the warning.
The Echo
He lay awake, the city's hum filtering through the thin walls. In his mind, the replays from the Cleanroom looped — the warehouse, the tram depot, the mountain pass. Each choice branching into a life he hadn't lived.
The System's voice was quiet in the dark.
Operator: Past actions define trajectory. Altering them alters nothing — except you.
He closed his eyes. The echoes would follow him, but so would the choices he hadn't made.
Ledger: 96,200.00Reputation: +15 (Advanced Tier)Note: Surveillance risk increasing.