Interlude: Amira – "The Price of Perfection"
SCENE 1: THE ASCENT PROGRAM
Amira stood barefoot on the cold titanium floor of Dominion's medical wing, a sterile chamber that smelled of antiseptic, ozone… and old blood beneath the polish.
Needles hovered around her like vipers, suspended by mechanized arms. Her skin bristled with memory—each puncture had taught her obedience, rewired her pain into silence.
She didn't flinch anymore.
"Perfection is not natural," whispered Dr. Myles, observing through a frosted glass screen.
"It must be engineered."
Amira didn't speak. She had learned silence was currency here—noise got you tagged for reprocessing.
So she obeyed.
As the fluid entered her veins, her bones felt like they were burning from the inside out. Her vision fractured, voices crawled into her mind like parasites with silver tongues.
She felt her empathy begin to rot.
And still—she stood tall.
SCENE 2: THE GLASS ROOM
Every night, they locked her in The Glass
Room—a mirror cube with no corners. No shadows. Just endless reflections of herself.
But the reflections weren't quite right.
Some were older. Some younger. Some… bleeding. Some smiling too wide.
They spoke in riddles:
"You are the daughter of silence."
"Your body is theirs. Your mind is your only weapon."
"Break or become."
She curled into a ball and whispered the numbers they'd given her:
"Subject 13-X. Amira. Age 17. Cognitive Level: High Risk. Compliant: 74%."
A reflection tilted its head.
"That's not your name anymore."
"You're their blade now."
SCENE 3: THE TEST
A hallway. White. Endless.
Amira was handed a weapon—compact, silver, sharp enough to feel like betrayal.
A door opened.
Inside: two people chained to opposite walls. One was a stranger. The other… was her brother.
"Kill one. Walk free," said a cold voice overhead.
Her hands trembled.
"They're lying," her brother gasped. "It's all a trick, Amira!"
"Choose," said the voice.
The blade felt alive, humming with heat and decision.
She screamed—and dropped the weapon.
The lights dimmed. Gas hissed.
When she awoke, both were gone. The room was clean. As if nothing had ever happened.
SCENE 4: AMIRA THE TOOL
Weeks passed. She lost track of time.
Now, she moved through Dominion's halls with purpose—observed, not punished. They gave her directives. She executed them.
She learned how to manipulate, to detect weakness, to smile without feeling.
But sometimes, at night, she still scratched behind her ears—where the microchip pulsed faintly under her skin—and she cried without knowing why.
SCENE 5: THE FINAL WHISPER
One night, she stood before the Chancellor.
He towered in front of a floor-to-ceiling screen that projected the faces of rebel survivors. Her former allies. Her friends.
"You will return to them," he said. "Infiltrate. Divide. Destroy."
She nodded slowly.
But deep inside, something rebelled. A flicker. A fracture in the programming.
A whisper, almost forgotten:
"You're still human."
She blinked.
Smiled.
And said:
"I'll do what you ask."
But in her clenched fist, a shard of broken mirror hid behind the sleeve of her uniform.
🎬 END OF INTERLUDE