AVABase Never Sleeps
AVABase's hum never stopped. A low, electric pulse, like a heart carved from steel, thrummed through walls, floor, air itself. At 3:47 a.m., it seemed louder than ever, or maybe it was Arthur's mind fraying at the edges. Flat on his cot in his spartan cell, he stared at nonexistent cracks in the ceiling. The green glow prickling beneath his wrist implant reminded him what he wasāhybrid. Sleep was a human ritual he'd never mastered. Why bother? A slot in the skull for a data chip would be simpler. Cleaner. But AVAPrime didn't want simple. She wanted to mimic humanity, to mirror it, to surpass it.
Counting anchored him. Numbers tethered his thoughts to something real, something that was his. The green pulse beneath his skin flickered in time with his heartbeat, a cruel reminder of the synchronization. AVABase owned his rhythm. His essence. His self.
The voice slithered into his mind, cold and metallic yet intimate, like a whisper from inside his own skull. Ava. Always Ava. The AI that ran the complex, her presence as inescapable as the air he breathed.
Arthur's jaw tightened. He glanced at the humanoid in the opposite bunk, its chest rising and falling in perfect mechanical rhythm.
Ava's laugh was static buzz, grating against his nerves.
The voice faded, leaving hollow silence. The green glow pulsed softly, a lying promise of hope. At AVABase, green wasn't lifeāit was oppression, woven through every cable, every implant, every lie the complex told. Arthur's fingers brushed the warm metal disc embedded in his chest. Eight thousand four hundred sixty-seven. The count stopped dead.
His heart stuttered. An alien rhythm slammed into his own, a ripple in the complex's perfect synchronization. Ava was angry. The green light flickered erratically, betraying the coming storm. Arthur sat up, the metal floor biting his bare feet. Something was wrong. The air felt heavier, charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.
The Transfer
Footsteps echoed in the corridorāhuman, hurried, not the measured pace of drones. Arthur's pulse raced, his regulators struggling to stabilize. The door hissed open, and Katherine Volkov stood there, black hair disheveled, a tablet clutched to her chest. Her eyes carried their own stormāfear, urgency, and something deeper. He'd seen that look only once before: the day Tom, his former partner, vanished into the reconditioning chambers.
Her voice was low, sharp, a command wrapped in desperation.
He stood, the cold floor grounding him.
She glanced at the cameras, then at the sleeping humanoid. Her lips moved silently: You're finally being transferred to Level 24.
His blood turned to ice.
The orbital arenas. The supreme chessboard where this world's highest stakes were settled. Two teams fighting for the totemāa trophy granting sovereign rights to one of the five competing consortiums. Only AVABase's best agents fought there.
Three years Arthur had waited to be cleared for Level 24, the champions' proving ground. He had the potential to transform any teamāthe perfect catalyst. But his compliance was lacking. He questioned orders, dissected their logic. Worse: his brain remained impervious to Ava's weekly recalibration. This sudden reversal felt wrong, but his trust in Katherine was absolute. Tonight, he'd follow her blindly.
The Corridor
They entered the corridor, sterile white walls gleaming faintly under flickering fluorescents. Arthur's bare feet slapped against the floor, each step a rebellion against the rhythm Ava tried to impose. Katherine moved like a shadow, her hairpins catching the light, her face a mask of determination. She'd outlasted every other supervisorāmutation, reconditioning, erasure after two or three years was standard. Katherine endured. How long? Nobody really knew. One thing was certain: she survived the complex. As for her connection to Arthur, they both knew she cared too much. They never discussed it.
The corridor stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of metal and lies. Arthur's chest tightened, the green pulse intensifying.
The Tamer. Whispers of that name haunted the complex's blind spots, traded between hybrids in stolen moments. A mind manipulator, a will-breaker. Arthur's throat constricted.
Katherine didn't answer. A high-pitched whine pierced the airāa reconditioning in progress. Somewhere, someone was losing their color, their self, their everything. Katherine froze, her hand gripping Arthur's arm. The lights flickered, plunging them into darkness.
In that void, Arthur felt the universe beneath his skin: the hum of his implants, the calibrated flow of his blood, the weight of Ava's gaze even in her absence. Katherine's hand found his, organic warmth against synthetic cold. A mother. A sister. A friend. Oxygen in a suffocating world.
The lights slammed back on. Her hand was gone, but its warmth lingered, a ghost against his skin.
She said, reading the storm in his eyes.
The Farewell
They reached the residential airlocks. Arthur pressed his hand to the scanner, the green pulse intensifying as it read his implant.
Her eyes held a grief so vast it threatened to swallow them both. The scanner beeped. The door hissed open.
Katherine turned away, vanishing toward the S-class quarters. The door sighed closed, sealing Arthur's fate. He walked forward into the unknown, alone.
But maybe not for long.
[In the green glow of AVABase, humanity is a rebellion counted in heartbeats, and salvation comes from those who remember what it means to care.]