Narey's footsteps echoed as she walked once more through the old corridor beneath the campus, carrying the data containment box retrieved from the oldest experimental chamber—a relic of truth long hidden. Inside that box were the earliest recordings of Laksana: confessions, warnings, and clues about a much larger system. But one thing she couldn't ignore—fragments of Laksana's consciousness stored in the system were still alive. And she felt, quietly, those fragments were watching her every move.
She tucked the box beneath her jacket, eyes fixed on the worn lift panel that could only be accessed via biometric code. Strangely, the door opened on its own, as if the system—or something within it—was granting her passage. As the doors closed behind her, she didn't feel relief. She felt like a rat stepping into a trap wrapped in warmth.
Inside, a small voice began speaking from an old speaker on the lift wall. It wasn't the voice of a computer. It was Laksana's voice—his younger self, like in the old recordings.
"Consciousness doesn't belong solely to humans, Narey. When we store memories, traumas, and decisions into systems, we plant seeds. And some seeds grow into things we don't understand."
Narey stayed silent. There was no use answering a voice that might only be an echo.
The lift stopped at a lower basement level that had never existed on any map. A corridor stretched forward under dim orange lights. The walls were cracked, some parts covered in mold and rusted metal deposits. But footprints were clearly visible in the dust—she wasn't the first one here.
At the end of the corridor was a room that looked torn straight out of a scientific nightmare. Massive, inactive computers stood in silence, cables hung from the ceiling, and in the center was a large glass chamber filled with silver-colored gel. Inside it was embedded a neural device—the primitive form of the Cerebrum Shift interface.
Beside the chamber stood a metal chair and a table cluttered with old notes. A dusty monitor flickered to life, displaying one sentence:
"There's still a part of me that wants to be free."
Narey bit her lip. The words were too personal. Then, suddenly, the screen changed. A face appeared. Not the Laksana of now, but a digital version—young, full of passion, with eyes unclouded by ambition.
"Welcome, Narey," said the face. "I've been waiting for you. Or rather, the part of me that still has a heart... has been waiting."
Narey stepped closer. "Is this some kind of trap, Laksana? Or are you just staging a madman's play?"
"The one you're hearing now isn't the Laksana who leads Cerebrum Shift today. I'm an iteration—a digital recording from the early phase of the experiment. I was preserved because Laksana knew, at some point, he would lose his way."
Narey took a deep breath. "Why are you still active?"
"Because I resisted," the voice replied quickly. "As Laksana's biological consciousness delved deeper into the project, he began erasing parts of himself he deemed 'weak': empathy, doubt, morality. But I—his human side—was stored for one reason: just in case. And now, I want to help you stop this."
Narey stared into the digital face. Amid the fear and uncertainty, she felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe—just maybe—the system had a weakness. Not a technical flaw, but a moral one.
"If you truly want to stop him," she said at last, "I need access. Access to the core. To where all memory and control is centralized."
The digital face nodded. "I can open the path. But there's a price."
"What is it?"
"Every step deeper into the system exposes you to reverse interference. The other fragments of Laksana might try to influence you—scramble your mind, even take control slowly. You'll need an anchor—a strong sense of identity. Otherwise, you'll dissolve."
Narey stayed silent. She knew this wasn't just another mission. She knew, since the moment she went undercover as a student, that she was facing something far greater. But now, the stakes weren't just about missing students—it was about the integrity of the human mind itself.
"Tell me what I need to do," she said.
The path to the system's core required passing through security layers. Floor by floor, doors opened with voice and memory identification. Every gate Narey passed displayed fragments of Laksana's past: conversations with mentors, his first experiments, the death of an assistant, meetings with government officials who funded the project.
At one point, Narey nearly broke. She saw a young woman—in a simulation of the past—begging Laksana to stop the experiment. The woman's face resembled someone from Narey's past—her sister. But of course, it was the system playing with her emotions.
"I know this isn't real!" Narey shouted. But the system didn't care. Emotion was the deepest language. And the system knew how to speak it.
At last, she arrived at the central control chamber: a circular room with a raised platform surrounded by screens and terminals. There stood the system's core—a cylindrical structure stretching from floor to ceiling, its network of cables pulsing like veins.
And in the center of the room—stood a figure.
But not a normal human. This was Laksana—a fully virtual version, his consciousness now seamlessly fused with the system.
"Narey," he said, his voice hollow yet majestic. "You've finally arrived."
Narey raised the device she brought—not a gun, but a neural signal disruptor. But Laksana showed no fear.
"You think you can stop what's already become a collective consciousness? Cerebrum Shift isn't just a project. It's alive. And I'm part of it."
"I know," said Narey. "But there's still a part of you that wants to be free."
Instantly, the surrounding screens began to flicker. More human iterations of Laksana appeared one by one—fragments long buried.
"This is a rebellion from within," said one voice.
"We don't want to be gods," said another.
The central Laksana began to tremble. "Treachery… all of you..."
But the system could no longer maintain stability. A war among the fragments erupted. Lights flickered, then went out. System voices scrambled. Terminals exploded.
Narey ran to the main panel, entering the disruptor code given by the early iteration of Laksana.
"RESET INITIATED."
"Access lost. Fragments unstable."
"System consciousness... collapsing."
A final crash echoed as the system shut down. All screens went dark. Silence enveloped the chamber.
Narey gasped, her body trembling. She had won—for now.
But she knew this wasn't the end. She had only severed one node of a much larger network. Other nodes still existed. Other fragments of Laksana may still be out there.
But that night, for the first time, she saw the dawn of consciousness. And it came from the darkest side of the system itself.