Excerpt:

Chapter 11: Ten Minutes, Too Many Lives to Save

Part One

00:00 — Evacuation Begins

“Report. Evacuation status,” I said the moment the truce began.

“Evacuation in progress: low,” the technician replied without hesitation. “We have only managed to digitize 0.0021% of the living population. Most of them fall below Rank 5. For them, the compression process requires exactly one full millisecond to be safe.”

“And how much time has passed?”

“Zero point twenty-five seconds. Barely.”

I closed my eyes for just a moment. The technician was intensely focused, trying to escape the present situation. Just like most of those in the room.

“Final estimate of required time.”

“Approximately one hundred and fifteen thousand seconds, Director.”

“Unacceptable.”

We were in the command chamber. Around us, thousands of screens displayed everything happening across the city after the dome’s collapse. Each operator managed hundreds of feeds and reported what mattered.

Right now, we were observing the digitization hall.

Thousands of personnel moved without rest, bringing civilians in to be processed.

The capsules hummed like uncontrolled beehives, but the numbers were not rising fast enough. The evacuation was stalling. Every civilian below Rank 5 required delicate handling for digitization.

A complex process:

First, the subject was placed inside an atomic-level scanning capsule. The state of every particle and bond was recorded, redundant information removed. Second, the consciousness was placed within the subject’s conceptual core, together with the previous data. Third, everything was stored as if it were a computer file.

It sounded simple. In practice, it was monstrous: planning, precision, absurd amounts of energy and time.

And all of it with what little we had left.

I had never bothered preparing proper evacuation plans. I had never needed them.

Too slow. And Dinamo only gave us ten minutes.

“We’ve lost twenty-seven mid-rank subjects,” another operator added. “Capsules overheated due to disuse and overexertion. Should we reduce the strain? That would increase total time by up to thirty percent. We could also preheat the system, but that would delay us further.”

A new alert appeared.

Riots.

Multiple screens filled with images of unrest.

“New report: mass disturbances in three sectors. Ranks 6, 7, and even some Rank 8s are demanding priority. Looting has begun. Situation is level six.”

Seriously? As if Dinamo weren’t enough.

It was clear I would have to make hard decisions. I never liked that part.

Deciding the fate of thousands was exhausting. Dehumanizing. It made me feel like a god pretending to be human with broken pieces.

Ironic, wasn’t it?

I was about to speak. I didn’t need to.

Caetano was already moving to take my place.

“Reduce digitization time by two hundredfold,” he ordered calmly. “I don’t care how—even if people die. Ignore safety protocols for low ranks. Let whoever survives survive. Use spatial alteration, expand the capsules. Pack them by the hundreds, by the thousands if necessary. As long as they don’t collapse, squeeze them to the limit.”

His gaze was merciless. Like his orders.

“Skip step one. Start at step two. Prioritize consciousness and conceptual core. Everything else is expendable.”

Several operators stared at him in horror. And who could blame them?

“Are you suggesting—”

“I didn’t suggest anything. I’m ordering it.”

I turned toward him. I didn’t stop him. If he was willing to be the devil, I had to play the saint.

“The children,” I said.

Caetano nodded.

“As safe as possible. But don’t stop the flow.”

It was a game. One I hated playing. He gave the dirty orders. I stayed clean. To everyone else, I didn’t sacrifice civilians. I merely allowed it to happen.

I closed my eyes again. Another regret to carry for the rest of my life.

“I’m sorry,” I sent telepathically.

“Don’t worry, my lady. That’s what I’m here for.”

“And mid-ranks?” someone asked.

Caetano didn’t slow down.

“Same. Maximum acceleration. If they can’t handle it, they weren’t worth the effort.”

“And the ones causing riots?” another voice, trembling.

“Let them deal with themselves. If they interfere with evacuation, kill them. I don’t care about their rank. Anyone who interferes is better off dead.”

“That includes Rank 8s?” an operator asked, shocked.

“It includes everyone.”

Silence.

Orders were executed.

I said nothing.

There was no time for guilt. Not while the clock kept running.

00:01 — 0.0084% evacuated 00:02 — 0.85%… and rising 00:04 — 2.53% | External deployment: phase one

Two lines crossed the vacuum of space.

One sliced through it gently, barely interacting. The other tore through it like a meteor, indifferent to the damage it caused.

Baek In-wook and Dimitri Volkov.

Two of my best men in this dome.

Baek led the way.

He wore a traditional black uniform adapted to his martial style. The gold-trimmed hem of his jacket waved softly in spatial distortion, while his jingum—a simple, unadorned sword—rested naturally at his waist.

His long dark hair, tied low, floated calmly even in the void.

Serene. Silent. Precise.

Dimitri followed not far behind. Slower, but vastly more powerful.

Nearly two meters tall, broad and muscular, with an unkempt beard. Black leather jacket. Worn brown trousers. Each step carried such weight that space itself shattered around him—an effect of his ability.

Both carried spatial storage units designed for data banks.

Under normal conditions, they were the fastest in the city. Baek even more so, as he was now proving.

That was why they were chosen.

Time was everything.

“Two seconds to activation point,” Dimitri reported, voice flat and professional.

“Eight seconds to my destination,” Baek added calmly.

I acknowledged silently. Neither needed more.

Their role was clear: ensure the digitized civilians reached the escape point.

00:05 — 3.37% | Digitization status

The numbers were discouraging.

And yet—better than expected.

I can’t believe so many are still alive, I thought. I didn’t say it aloud. It sounded cruel.

Most civilians were in terrible physical condition: deformities, sedentary lifestyles, neural damage, crippling self-esteem issues.

Projections suggested forty percent mortality.

But they endured. Clinging to life—even in fragments.

Mostly thanks to the barbaric method we’re using.

We were forcing hundreds—thousands—into capsules, tearing out consciousness and conceptual cores, discarding physical bodies.

It was astonishing losses hadn’t exceeded three percent.

Though this will leave them horribly scarred.

There was no faster way. Or perhaps there was—but not with our resources.

“Capsules one through fifty cleared. We can digitize minors.”

I had never been so grateful for low birth rates.

“Failures detected. Three out of every hundred capsules lost to unpredictable factors. At this pace, failure rate will rise…

…"

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