Chapter 3
543words
The shadowless lamp cast cold light, making every stainless steel vessel gleam with chilling radiance.
I'd worked continuously for seventy-two hours. Caffeine and stimulants drained my last reserves of energy, every nerve screaming in near-breaking agony.
On the lab bench, rows of labeled pheromone inhibitor samples stood like soldiers awaiting inspection.
Data streams scrolled frantically across the screen.
"Matching degree interference factor analysis… failed."
I picked up my pen and wrote in the experimental log with mechanical precision: Test subject A, Silodai, tolerance to Enigma bloodline increased by 12%. Conclusion: Failure. Still unable to completely resist the physiological coercion of high-matching pheromones.
So-called rationality, when faced with uncontrollable physiological reactions, is nothing but a cruel joke.
Expressionless, I unwrapped a disposable needle and inserted it precisely into my vein, drawing a tube of bright red blood and loading it into the centrifuge.
The machine hummed, separating the traces in my blood that didn't belong to me—his lingering remnants.
BANG!
The laboratory's heavy alloy door shuddered under a violent impact, making the entire test tube rack tremble.
In the corner of the monitoring screen appeared the face I'd spent three days and nights trying to carve from my mind.
Etheris stood outside the door, frightening dark circles beneath his eyes. Those golden irises that once shimmered with light were now dim, unable to capture even a trace of brightness. His entire being had withered like sun-scorched grass, left with nothing but decay and despair.
"Silodai…"
His voice squeezed through the door crack, so hoarse I barely recognized it.
"Please don't leave me. I've cleaned myself thoroughly, I swear. I'm not dirty…"
Suppressed whimpers filtered through the door, each one chiseling into my heart like a blunt knife.
My eyes stung as I stared at his disheveled golden hair, bloodshot eyes, and wrists rubbed raw and bloody from obsessive scrubbing.
I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them, my fingers were already pressing the internal communicator.
My voice came out glacial.
"Security, remove the Alpha from my door. Immediately."
I shut down all equipment, grabbed the page of failed data, and tore it in half. Then again. And again, until it became a pile of impossible fragments, which I flung into the waste chute.
Night had swallowed everything beyond the window.
I walked to the enormous floor-to-ceiling window and pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
Nordic Research Institute.
A thought sparked in the darkness of my mind.
Go there. Sever all of this completely.
Facing my hollow reflection in the glass, I whispered my vow.
To develop an "information hormone blocker"—a genuine inhibitor that could resist physiological attraction.
Three years later, after launching my product at the Nordic Research Institute, I boarded a flight home.
Outside the cabin window, an endless sea of clouds reflected cold white light under the stratospheric sun.
I closed my eyes, my brain automatically filtering out the engine noise.
Four hours later, the plane began its descent, the orderly grid of the city below gradually sharpening into focus.
Before unfastening my seatbelt, I pulled a suppressor from my silver metal case and checked it.
Perfect.
This was four years of hard work—the cornerstone for rebuilding my life.
