The apartment was filled with a glasslike light. There was no sound, only the steady rhythm of Clara's breathing and Adrian's uneven one.
He sat at the kitchen table, head in his hands. In front of him lay yellowed papers, a few clippings, and a small metallic drive he'd found hidden behind a wall panel.
Etched on its side were two words that froze his blood:
PROJECT MNEMOS.
Clara woke up a little later, drawn by the faint glow of the monitor.
"Couldn't sleep?" she murmured, her voice rough with drowsiness.
He didn't answer. His eyes stayed on the screen, as if it contained a version of himself he wasn't ready to face.
"What is it?"
"I think it's mine," he said quietly. "Or… it was."
He gestured for her to come closer. He plugged in the drive. The screen flickered, static cutting through a grainy video.
The image stabilized just enough to show a man sitting at a desk.
Rinaldi.
"Subject A shows resistance to cognitive separation.
If integration with Subject B fails, the power will be destroyed along with him."
Clara froze.
"Subject A… that's you."
"And you're B," Adrian whispered back.
The recording continued. Rinaldi spoke to someone off camera, his tone measured, clinical, cold.
"The final objective remains unchanged: to transfer the advanced cognitive activity from Subject A to Subject B.
The power must survive, even if the original carrier does not."
The video cut off.
Silence fell: heavy, absolute.
Clara took a step back. "He wanted to… put you inside me."
"No." Adrian's voice cracked. "He wanted to take it out of me."
He looked down at his hands, afraid of what they might become.
"That's what they were trying to fix, my mind. It was… too unstable. I could see too much."
"Too much what?"
"Everything," he said softly. "Thoughts. Memories. Possibilities. Sometimes all it took was a touch to know who someone had been and who they were going to be."
Clara stared at him.
"And Rinaldi wanted to transfer that to me?"
"He didn't want it lost," Adrian said bitterly. "And you were perfect: empathic, stable, strong enough to contain what I couldn't anymore."
He hesitated. "But something went wrong."
Clara pressed a hand to her temple. "My dreams… the flashes… they were your memories."
"No," he whispered. "They're yours now."
A glass on the table trembled. Clara didn't notice.
Adrian did.
"Clara, listen. The transfer never stopped. It's still happening."
"What?"
"I can feel it. Every time I look at you, something in me fades. And something in you starts becoming… like me."
She shook her head.
"I don't want your power, Adrian. I want you."
He looked at her, pain carved deep into his features.
"If this keeps going, you might stop being you."
The lights flickered. A low hum spread through the room. Clara stumbled, clutching her ears.
"Do you hear that?"
"Turn everything off," he ordered, stepping forward.
But the computer turned on by itself, lines of code running too fast to read.
At the bottom, glowing white text appeared:
TRANSFER PROTOCOL // INITIATED.
Adrian yanked the plug from the wall but the light stayed on. Then a face filled the screen.
Not a recording.
Rinaldi.
"Don't resist, Clara. He's the one holding you back. Let it finish, and you'll become perfect."
Clara screamed, clutching her head. Her pupils widened, her breath broke.
Adrian rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders.
"Clara! Look at me! Don't listen to him!"
But Rinaldi's voice filled the room and maybe her mind.
"It's already begun."
The window glass cracked in a spiderweb pattern that reached the ceiling.
Objects rattled on the table, vibrating as if pulled by invisible strings.
Adrian shouted her name, trying to hold her steady, but Clara's eyes were different now, seeing more than she should.
"Adrian… I can feel it," she whispered. "Inside me."
They stared at each other. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then the power cut out, plunging everything into black.
Only the small drive still glowed faintly.
On its tiny display, a single word pulsed in rhythm with her breathing:
TRANSFER: 49%.