The director went completely rigid at the sound. “Again? He’s still holding that specific anchor?”
The tech glanced up at the neural mapping screen, where a small cluster of nodes in the temporal sector was flashing a violent brick-red. “Yes, sir. The core memory hasn’t dissolved under the wipe.”
A heavy, tense silence settled over the small concrete room, broken only by the cycling of the air filtration system.
“Run the diagnostic cycle again,” the director said.
“We’ve already cycled the program twice since the morning shift, sir.”
“Run it again.”
The researcher wiped his palms on his lab coat and clicked the primary execution key. A few agonizing seconds passed while a blue progress bar tracked across the interface. Then the screen turned grey.
The tech shook his head, looking down at his desk. “Nothing.”
The director’s expression hardened, his jaw working under his skin. “Define nothing.”
“It’s not what the regional office is looking for,” the researcher said, his voice small. “The core data isn’t responding to the extraction logic.”
The director turned back to face the pod, his fingers gripping the metal edge of the framework. “Then where exactly is it?”
“We haven’t located the specific memory sector yet.”
“You explicitly stated you had the terminal coordinates before we initiated the simulation.”
“We thought the emotional peak would force it to surface,” the researcher said, finally looking up from his display. “We’ve checked every single cognitive system we can safely access without causing total cerebral rot.”
The director’s voice dropped into a dangerous, low whisper. “Check them again. Re-map the temporal block.”
“We need more time to calibrate the lines, sir. The brain isn’t an engine.”
“You don’t have the luxury of time,” the director said, his eyes narrowing.
Nobody answered him. A sharp, continuous electronic tone began to vibrate from the internal speaker of the biopod.
The researcher stared at the rising wave lines on his monitor, his face losing its color. “Director.”
“What is it now?”
“His total neural activity is breaching the safety margin. The simulation is collapsing from the inside.”
“Give me a hard number. How long until full awakening?”
The tech stared blankly at the flickering data strings. “I can’t give you a number, sir. The logic is breaking down.”
The director’s face tightened into a rigid mask. “Keep him down. Use the emergency chemical line if you have to.”
“We are actively trying, sir.”
“Try harder.”
The third technician hurried over from the auxiliary terminal near the wall, his handheld tablet flashing a warning red. “Sir, the primary containment field is dropping out.”
The director turned his torso toward him. “Give me a percentage.”
“Thirty percent down.”
“Thirty?”
“And the integrity value is still falling by two percent every ten seconds,” the tech added, his knuckles pale against the tablet casing.
For the very first time since the morning cycle began, the director looked genuinely, physically afraid. His eyes darted away from the pod toward the heavy, reinforced steel doors at the end of the laboratory corridor. Then his gaze snapped back to the body’s face.
“Clear the room. Get everyone out to the secondary sector if the field drop touches ten percent.”
The researcher stared up at him from his console. “And what about you, sir?”
“Just execute the protocol,” the director snapped.
He stepped within inches of the plexiglass pod. His eyes remained tightly closed behind the clear visor, but his lips moved one final time, the syllable flat and absolute.
“Shweta...”
The director’s jaw set into a hard line. “Find the Seed.”
“We don’t know where the core code is located inside his architecture, sir,” the tech whispered, his hands trembling over the keyboard.
“Then find it before he opens his eyes.”
The researcher looked at the shifting, unstable readings on the main console. “If the dampeners fail, we may be forced to extract the anomaly manually through the physical tap.”
The director didn’t respond immediately. He looked down at the unconscious twenty-two-year-old figure floating in the pale fluid.
“And if his brain doesn’t survive the structural trauma of a manual tap?” the researcher asked, the room going dead quiet.
Nobody spoke a single word to contradict the reality of the question. The director stared through the glass for three silent seconds.
“Do it anyway,” he said coldly.
The heavy machines around the berth continued to hum with a rising, violent pitch. The monitor directly beside Goutam’s head began beeping at a frantic, accelerating pace, the chimes overlapping until they formed a single, unbroken note of panic.
The researcher stared at a sudden, massive spike on the display, his hands freezing entirely.
“Director...”
“What?”
“We’ve got a localized hit.”
The director spun around on his heels, his coat swinging. “Where is the coordinate?”
The researcher looked at the final data string, the red light reflecting off his pale cheeks. “It’s not in the memory files, sir. It’s inside his active consciousness. The Seed is awake.”
The director turned his head slowly, staring through the glass at Goutam’s shifting eyelids.
“Then cut the line and get it out.”
The thick hydraulic restraints snapped tight against the synthetic casing of the berth, the metal teeth locking around the body’s wrists and ankles with a dull, heavy clack.
Instantly, the flesh jerked violently against the steel.
A ragged, tearing scream ripped through the concrete laboratory. It didn’t sound human anymore; the vocal cords strained so hard against the high current that the pitch became a dry, rattling hiss that vibrated the glass ports.
The three researchers around the console barely broke their stance. Their fingers remained steady over the input keys.
“Hold the terminal lock,” the director commanded, his eyes fixed entirely on the rising grid lines.
“I’m trying, sir,” the tech muttered, his boots skidding across the linoleum as the pod shattered. “The neural feedback is rattling the frame.”
“Increase the current to the spinal tap.”
The heavy transformer machine beside the biopod climbed another physical level, its hum rising into a high, piercing whine that made the teeth ache.
The body convulsed aggressively under the white light. Every single muscle group tightened at once, locking the spine into a rigid, unnatural arch. The pain wasn’t originating from a single fracture or an isolated nerve; it was absolute, systematic, and everywhere. The central nervous pathways were firing entirely without order, sending raw, electrical signals through the limbs faster than the gray matter could process the trauma. Every single tissue layer seemed to be screaming simultaneously.
The back of the skull struck the inside of the plexiglass visor. Thud. Again. Thud.