Morgan smiled.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on the grass.
The sky above seemed bluer than before. A gentle breeze brushed across the field, bending the blades softly.
He blinked a few times, as if returning from somewhere far away.
He remained lying there, staring at the sky. There was nothing left in his mind—only the clouds drifting slowly. He felt light.
Around him, Elysium’s members began to rise. Some embraced in silence. Others laughed quietly, serene expressions on their faces.
Morgan sat up.
He observed the structure of the community: the cabins arranged in a circle, the open field, the rock at the center.
Everything seemed… harmonious.
He stood.
Silvia approached him, smiling.
— So? — she asked. — What did you think?
Morgan held the smile. It wasn’t forced.
— It was… a different experience.
Silvia stepped a little closer and hugged him, shyly.
Morgan hesitated for a moment.
Then returned the embrace.
The warmth of Silvia’s body seemed to complete the sense of well-being he was feeling. Everything seemed perfect.
— I was really happy you joined us, — she said.
The embrace ended slowly. They both looked away, slightly flushed.
— I wish you’d stay here with us.
Morgan glanced toward the field.
The discomfort was subtle—but present.
Silvia noticed.
She forced a small smile.
— It’s okay, Morgan, — she said. — I know that feeling well.
Her voice seemed to deepen, as if coming from somewhere inside.
— When I first arrived, I was wounded. It felt like I was just running from the real world, pretending my problems didn’t exist. My father’s suicide… the drugs…
Silvia spoke about the past with a strange detachment, as if everything before Elysium were just a bad dream.
— Living connected twenty-four hours a day… — she continued. — I was trapped. Coming to Elysium isn’t escape. It’s liberation.
They walked a few steps side by side.
— But we’re only free when we can leave the past behind, — she said. — Please, forget the past and stay here, Morgan.
Morgan took a deep breath.
— There’s too much happening… — he replied. — I can’t do that right now.
Silvia nodded slowly.
Then she placed something in his hand.
— I want you to have this.
Morgan looked at her.
Silvia held his gaze firmly.
— For a long time, this was all I had, — she said. — But when I realized it was also all I needed… I started receiving bigger and better things.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She closed his fingers around the object.
— Don’t give me an answer now. Think about it.
Silvia stepped back.
Then walked away.
Morgan opened his hand.
A black leather bracelet rested in his palm.
He ran his finger slowly across it. Like his experience inside Elysium so far, the texture and softness of the leather were comforting.
A frightening kind of comfort.
He remained there, standing still.
The wind kept blowing.
Far from there, on the outskirts of the city, the street was buried under piled trash. Torn bags scattered refuse across the sidewalk. Small groups gathered at corners—gangs, addicts, human shadows that seemed forgotten by the rest of the city.
Leachate mixed with clogged sewage. Cars sped past, splashing the fetid liquid across the road. An alarm or siren always seemed to be sounding somewhere.
A weak light flickered in a third-floor window of an old building that looked ready to collapse. Cracked fa?ade, shattered windows, exposed concrete like bones laid bare.
Inside was no better.
A thin mattress thrown on the floor, clothes scattered without order, cables and circuit boards piled like technological scrap in every corner.
At the center of the chaos, an improvised desk supported a supercomputer assembled piece by piece. Fans spun at high speed, emitting a constant hum.
In front of the screen, a hacker worked in concentration. His thin face illuminated only by the monitor’s blue glow.
A soft sound echoed.
A pop-up appeared on the screen.
The hacker moved the mouse to the notification and clicked.
The message opened.
FROM: UNKNOWN
TARGET: MORGAN JONES
OBJECTIVE: DATA EXTRACTION
The hacker read silently. The screen reflected in his eyes.
Nothing in his expression suggested it was anything more than an ordinary job.
In the center of the city, a key turned in a lock.
The keychain swayed before the door opened. Mick’s photo was still there, worn along the edges.
Morgan entered his apartment.
The apartment was silent, cold, too minimalist to feel comfortable.
He walked to the couch and sat down.
For a few seconds, he simply remained still.
Then he raised his hands before his eyes.
The implants beneath his skin reflected the city light filtering through the window.
— Maybe it’s time to take these things out, — he murmured.
Saying it aloud stirred a mixture of emotions. He had never liked having those implants, but they were a basic requirement for police work.
He sighed.
In one hand, he held the keychain.
In the other, the black bracelet.
He stared at the bracelet for too long.
— You’re getting too involved, Morgan.
He closed his eyes and remembered seeing Mick at Elysium. The memory was so vivid he could feel the warmth of that embrace. But when he opened his eyes, it was Silvia’s image that filled his mind.
The city remained alive outside.
He stayed motionless.
Far away, the forest was almost completely dark.
Moonlight barely pierced the tangled branches. The damp ground absorbed sound, turning each step into something muffled.
Between the trees, two silhouettes struggled forward, dragging an inert body.
The sound of the body scraping along the earth blended with the rustling leaves.
— What the hell is he thinking? — one silhouette muttered. — He’s sick…
— Relax. It’s Techmora, — the other replied, letting out a short, sarcastic laugh.
They reached the clearing.
The stone stood there, immobile, monumental—exactly where the first body had been found.
The air felt colder at that spot.
— This isn’t funny, — said the first silhouette. — The police are already investigating. Another body could complicate things.
One of the men pulled a small device from his pocket.
Pressed a button.
The device emitted a low hum.
Light began projecting onto the ground.
Luminous lines traced a circle.
Zeros and ones appeared as if burned into the grass.
Two interlocking squares formed the eight-pointed star.
— That’s not our problem, — said the other. — We just do what he tells us.
— And you think he’d hesitate to throw us to the wolves to save himself?
One of the men grabbed a branch and began carving over the projected lines, reinforcing the design in the soil.
The other drove the rods into the tips of the star, pressing them hard into the earth.
The ritual was assembled like a meticulous stage performance.
They grabbed the body again.
Lifted it onto the top of the stone.
A young dead woman.
Arms outstretched.
The position identical to the first murder.
The scene looked like an exact copy.
— Done, — said the first silhouette.
A brief silence followed.
— Let’s go.
The two disappeared into the trees.
The forest returned to silence.
