The lake receded faster than expected.
A state that had been temporarily borrowed was returned the moment it finished.One second, the surface still scattered fragments of reflected light.The next, the entire lake collapsed into a stretch of damp ground, as if someone had pressed a restore key. Not even ripples had time to remain.
When Jeff stepped forward, the ground did not sink.
The mud was nothing like freshly drained sludge.It felt pre-compacted, leaving only a thin layer of moisture on his soles.His footprints were shallow, like pencil marks brushed lightly across paper.A breeze passed, and their edges blurred.
He glanced down.
The weight was still there, but the ground seemed to know in advance how to bear it.
He wasn't applying force.He wasn't even thinking about it.
His body had already completed the adjustment.
As he left the lake area, his pace became slightly faster than usual.Not running. Just a rhythm gently pushed forward.
Breathing steady.Heart rate normal.Yet his vision sharpened with unnatural clarity.
Walking through the streets, he looked no different from the other commuters.Posture, arm swing, stride length—all within ordinary ranges.
Only on closer inspection did the discrepancy appear.
He never needed to dodge oncoming pedestrians.Every pass-by left a precisely calculated gap.Shoulders brushed past without disturbing even the edge of his clothes.
The traffic light was still red, yet his toes had already tilted forward.Like a pendulum that always knows when to swing.A habit embedded in the node itself—his body receiving the signal before it arrived.
The sound of approaching cars had not yet reached him,but an invisible set of coordinates had already settled into his awareness.
The sense of wrongness lodged itself deep in his consciousness, sharp and undeniable.His body, however, accepted everything without protest.
—
Ayla stopped at the outer boundary of the lake.
She didn't take another step.
The air felt thick, abrasive.An indistinct resistance clogged every attempt to move forward.
She reached out.When her hand was still two meters from the water, fine goosebumps rose along her fingers.
It felt like touching a sheet of taut, transparent film.
The arrangement of air itself was off.Even breathing felt slightly misaligned, heavy in the lungs.
She knew exactly what it meant.
The write-in was complete.And she had been left outside.
The process had never reserved a place for her.
She stood there for a moment, then slowly withdrew her hand.The prickling sensation faded, like touching the edge of a door already sealed shut.
This wasn't the first time she had stood at a boundary.But this time, she finally understood what she had missed.
The person who once stood on the same line as herhad already been pushed into the next phase of the process.
—
At the same time, ARC Operations' tracking screens lit up.
Jeff's position stabilized again.
The red marker on the map didn't flicker.It sat there like a pin hammered into place.
The movement path formed a perfectly smooth line.Even the curvature of each turn fell neatly within acceptable parameters.
"Target is moving," the field operator reported.
Marcus didn't take his eyes off the screen."Speed."
"Eighteen percent above baseline. Heart rate, step frequency, posture—all within normal range."
No one in Research spoke.
It was precisely this flawless normality that chilled them.Like a precision machine that had finished running its preset program and entered autonomous operation.
—
Alden spotted Jeff from across the intersection.
He stood on the crosswalk, his shadow stretched slightly longer than those around him.Not a matter of height—its edges were sharper, cleaner, without the usual blur.As if cut cleanly by a blade.
The closer Alden got, the clearer the difference became.
This wasn't the rigidity of military training.It was the result left behind after every unnecessary motion had been removed.
No need to adjust balance.No need to correct footing.Every step landed on the most efficient point.
Jeff lifted his head. Their eyes met.
No surprise.
"You're moving too fast," Alden said.
Jeff stopped.
"It's not that I'm fast," he replied."Everything else is slow."
Alden didn't answer right away.
In that instant, he realized—this wasn't escape.
This was an automatically unfolding state.
—
News footage cut across every major channel.
Rome.The Colosseum surrounded by newly erected barricades.
In aerial shots, the shadows cast by the stone steps were misaligned.Certain edges lagged half a beat behind their physical contours.
Someone spoke on the steps.The echo returned just a fraction too late.As if the sound itself had been gently tugged back.
Tourists outside the perimeter held up their phones.On screen, everything looked normal.
Only those standing there could feel it.A faint vibration in the air, impossible to grasp.Like a distant low-frequency resonance.
This time, the news couldn't suppress it.
—
Night fell.
Jeff stood on a bridge.
When his phone vibrated in his palm, he didn't look down.It wasn't a call—just a brief pulse, perfectly aligned with the rhythm inside him.
The sea of lights ahead showed no double images.Every point of light was as clear as a marked coordinate.
An execution unit that had already received its command,waiting for the next input.
The activated processhad begun to demand a response.