Chapter 11

  “Her Name”

  Osaka – 2010

  “How are you feeling today?” the doctor asked in a calm tone.

  The woman slowly rubbed her temples.

  “I… I don’t know.”

  “I have a terrible headache.”

  “As if… as if something is recording everything, all the time.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I can’t work anymore, Doctor.”

  “I can’t concentrate anymore.”

  “I hear, I see, I understand too many things at once.”

  “It’s unbearable.”

  The doctor nodded slowly, jotting down a few notes.

  “And the medication?”

  “Are you taking it properly?”

  “Yes.”

  “No effect.”

  “Have you tried meditation?”

  “Breathing exercises?”

  She suddenly lifted her head, irritated.

  “I’m not stressed, Doctor.”

  “That’s not it.”

  “Hmm…”

  “I’m telling you that’s not it!”

  Her voice was trembling.

  “It’s been getting worse ever since I touched that stone a year ago!”

  “You don’t believe me either…”

  Silence.

  Then the doctor set his pen down.

  “No.”

  “I do believe you.”

  She blinked, surprised.

  “You… really?”

  “Completely,” he replied calmly.

  “Your latest cognitive tests speak for themselves.”

  He slid a tablet toward her.

  “Your IQ results are… off the charts.”

  “To be honest, they’re impossible to measure with current tools.”

  She swallowed.

  “Either all the doctors who examined you—including me—are charlatans…”

  “…or you are, statistically, the most intelligent person ever recorded.”

  A relieved smile appeared on her face.

  “Thank you…”

  “I knew I was right to come see a foreign doctor.”

  “Here, no one believes me.”

  “It’s my job,” he simply replied.

  She stood up and bowed respectfully.

  “Thank you, Doctor-san.”

  “Oh…”

  He gave a polite smile.

  “Call me William.”

  She hesitated.

  “That’s not common in our culture, Doctor-san.”

  “I see.”

  “Then call me Campbell-san,” he said, pushing his glasses up.

  “Thank you, Campbell-san.”

  She left the room.

  The door closed.

  Silence returned to the office.

  William remained still for a few seconds.

  Then he discreetly touched his earpiece.

  “Results?” he asked in a low voice.

  “IQ unmeasurable, sir.”

  “She memorizes everything. Absolutely everything.”

  “No human test has been designed for a mind at this level.”

  “Thermal camera?”

  “Abnormally high temperature in the cerebral region.”

  “It looks… like her brain is burning constantly.”

  William briefly closed his eyes.

  “That explains the pain…”

  “Anything else?”

  “Yes.”

  “The silver hair sample you sent us…”

  “Go on.”

  “The color is due to total destruction of melanin.”

  “Caused by extreme neuronal activity.”

  “How so?”

  “The cerebral metabolism is so intense that it has literally consumed the melanin in her hair.”

  William nodded.

  “And the eyes?”

  “Same phenomenon.”

  “The melanin in the iris has also been destroyed.”

  “But the azure blue hue is different…”

  “Explain.”

  “The visual activity is so high that the iris cells are in constant motion.”

  “She records a colossal volume of visual information at an abnormal speed.”

  “This cellular activity produces that azure color.”

  Silence.

  “You were right, Doctor,” the voice concluded.

  “This woman did come into contact with a fragment of the God Stone.”

  William gave a slow smile.

  “Good.”

  He calmly removed his glasses.

  “The medication I prescribed should put her into a deep sleep.”

  “Launch the extraction operation tonight.”

  “Instructions?”

  “I want her in perfect condition.”

  The communication cut off.

  William remained alone.

  A drop of blood fell onto his desk.

  He instinctively brought his hand to his nose.

  “…As expected.”

  He wiped the blood with a tissue, observing the red stain.

  “Subjects exposed to the stone don’t survive more than two years…”

  He slowly raised his eyes.

  “I have one year left.”

  Silence.

  Then a thought.

  “But those who have absorbed a fragment…”

  “Are they subject to the same limit?”

  His gaze hardened.

  Night fell over Osaka without a sound.

  No gunshot.

  No siren.

  No witness.

  A shadow passed over the building’s roof.

  Then another.

  Boots grazed the ground without truly touching it.

  The window opened slowly.

  The woman was sleeping deeply, her breathing regular, artificial.

  The drugs were doing their job.

  A mask was placed over her face.

  An IV line disconnected.

  A body lifted with surgical precision.

  She did not struggle.

  She did not even dream.

  When she opened her eyes, the light struck her full force.

  White.

  A smooth ceiling.

  Walls with no visible corners.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A silence so pure it became oppressive.

  Her heart raced.

  “…No.”

  She tried to sit up.

  Straps.

  “NO!”

  Her breathing accelerated, her temples burned.

  She pulled at the restraints, panicked.

  “CALM DOWN.”

  The voice came from everywhere.

  “Breathe.”

  “You are safe.”

  She immediately recognized that voice.

  “You…”

  “You lied.”

  A step echoed.

  William Campbell entered the room, white coat, calm, almost fatherly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “There was no other way.”

  She stared at him, trembling.

  “You call this… drugging me and abducting me?”

  “I call this saving you.”

  She laughed hysterically.

  “Don’t take me for an idiot.”

  William approached slowly.

  “If I had told you the truth…”

  “You would have run.”

  He paused.

  “And I couldn’t allow that.”

  “Why?” she spat.

  He hesitated.

  Then his face cracked.

  “Because my son is going to die.”

  She froze.

  “He has one year left.”

  “One year at most.”

  His voice shook.

  His shoulders slumped.

  “His blood is degrading.”

  “His metabolism… is collapsing.”

  “No treatment works.”

  He clenched his fists.

  “But you…”

  “Your blood is different.”

  She understood.

  “You want…”

  “To use me.”

  “To save my son,” he corrected.

  “You may be the only hope I have left.”

  He looked away.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s no one’s fault.”

  A sob escaped him.

  Real.

  She observed every micro-expression.

  Every variation in tone.

  She understood one essential thing.

  She was not in a position of strength.

  So she lowered her eyes.

  “…If I can help.”

  William raised his head, surprised.

  “You… accept?”

  “If it can save a child,” she murmured.

  He sighed, relieved.

  “Thank you.”

  From that day on, the ritual began.

  Every morning.

  Every evening.

  Millimetric blood draws.

  Precise volumes.

  Constant calculations to avoid crossing the lethal threshold.

  They slowly drained her.

  But she counted.

  The schedules.

  The rotations.

  The blind spots.

  She observed the guards.

  Their habits.

  Their mistakes.

  She understood the topology of the place.

  The walls.

  The electrical flows.

  The redundant systems.

  This complex was not just a white room.

  It was a living structure.

  One night, she acted.

  She disabled a camera by overloading a thermal loop.

  Slipped out of her room.

  Avoided patrols.

  Two guards were neutralized.

  She ran.

  Doors.

  Corridors.

  Stairs.

  She reached the last door.

  The exit.

  She crossed the final door.

  And stopped.

  Before her:

  a residential neighborhood.

  Aligned houses.

  Clean sidewalks.

  A park.

  A ball rolled between two children.

  A man walked his dog.

  A woman laughed, phone to her ear.

  She stepped back, breathless.

  “…This is impossible…”

  She looked up.

  A blue sky.

  Slow clouds.

  Something felt wrong.

  Not visible.

  But felt.

  “New?”

  She jumped.

  A man in his fifties stood behind her, hands in his pockets.

  Tired.

  But not surprised.

  “Where am I?” she asked.

  He sighed.

  “Where we all end up,” he replied.

  “Those who survived Iraq.”

  She frowned.

  “Iraq…?”

  He nodded.

  “Project Zero.”

  “The last ones exposed.”

  Her heart tightened.

  “Exposed… not carriers,” he immediately clarified, as if reading her mind.

  “None of us ever touched the stone.”

  He pointed to the ground.

  “We got close.”

  “Close enough not to die instantly.”

  She murmured:

  “And the others?”

  His gaze hardened.

  “The incompatibles died immediately.”

  “The rest… inherited small things.”

  He raised his hand.

  A slight vibration passed through the air.

  Then nothing.

  “Nothing extraordinary.”

  “And especially… nothing free.”

  She understood.

  “The lifespan…”

  “Variable,” he confirmed.

  “Those exposed late…”

  “One year maximum.”

  He discreetly pointed to a house.

  “Him, six months.”

  “Her, maybe a few weeks.”

  She felt her legs tremble.

  “And why… this city?”

  He gave a bitter smile.

  “Because they no longer know what to do with us.”

  “Too unstable to be free.”

  “Too interesting to be eliminated.”

  He looked up at the artificial sky.

  “So they observe.”

  “Until the end.”

  Silence.

  “And you…” she murmured.

  “You accept this?”

  He looked at her for a long time.

  “We don’t accept.”

  “We survive.”

  Then, lower:

  “And we avoid using our abilities.”

  “Because the more we use them…”

  “the faster the end comes.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  At that same moment, behind a one-way mirror, William Campbell was watching.

  Screens.

  Vital signs.

  Degradation curves.

  “Exposed compatible subject: stable,” a voice announced.

  William did not reply.

  On another screen, she appeared.

  The only one.

  The variable.

  “And the fragment?” someone asked.

  William gave an imperceptible smile.

  “She escaped brilliantly.”

  “She is… unique.”

  He leaned slightly forward.

  “They think they share the same fate…”

  “but one of them has already crossed a limit the others will never reach.”

  He murmured, to himself:

  “It remains to be seen…”

  “whether I will survive long enough to measure all the consequences.”

  In the artificial city, the young woman raised her eyes to the false sky.

  Terrified.

  William was sitting alone in the complex’s long white corridor.

  He stared at the floor.

  His hands were shaking.

  He brought one to his mouth, squinted, removed his glasses, and wiped away tears he refused to acknowledge.

  “What have I done…” he murmured.

  Sacrificing his own son’s future.

  Even the thought felt unreal to him.

  “I’m going to fix everything…” he breathed.

  “I swear I’m going to fix everything.”

  He stood up.

  Returned to the surveillance room.

  “Do we have the results from the experiments on the Japanese woman’s blood?”

  The scientist hesitated for half a second.

  “Yes, Doctor.”

  He checked his screens.

  “It’s exactly what you hypothesized.”

  “No cellular degeneration.”

  “No metabolic degradation.”

  “No marker of accelerated mortality.”

  William raised his head.

  “So…”

  “The subject is not subject to the two-year limit, unlike classic exposed individuals.”

  “Conclusion: fragment carriers are… healthy.”

  A shiver ran through William.

  He rubbed his beard, eyes shining with a dangerous mixture of hope and excitement.

  “And the transfused subjects?”

  “What are the results?”

  The scientist lowered his eyes.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Systematic rejection.”

  “Lethal?”

  “Not immediately.”

  “But the transfused blood is… expelled.”

  He paused.

  “Too large a quantity becomes lethal.”

  William clenched his teeth.

  “And perfusion on non-exposed subjects?”

  “No effect.”

  “The blood is assimilated normally.”

  “No abilities.”

  “No anomaly.”

  A heavy silence.

  “So it’s not transferable…” William murmured.

  “Correct.”

  “Then what do the analyses say?”

  The scientist hesitated.

  “That’s where we’re stuck, Doctor.”

  William looked up.

  “Explain.”

  “Even though the subject possesses clearly superhuman abilities and functioning…”

  “her blood is biologically ordinary.”

  “How ordinary?”

  “Normal DNA.”

  “No mutation.”

  “No unknown sequence.”

  “No exploitable genetic marker.”

  He swallowed.

  “It’s the blood of a perfectly ordinary human woman.”

  William remained silent.

  “It’s as if…” the scientist ventured

  “…a miracle.”

  “And yet,” he continued,

  “that same blood is rejected by the exposed.”

  “We observed the phenomenon under the microscope.”

  “The two bloods… simply refuse to mix.”

  “No agglutination.”

  “No classic immune reaction.”

  “No chemical or biological explanation.”

  “They… just refuse to coexist.”

  William closed his eyes.

  “This makes no sense…”

  He slammed his fist on the table.

  Then took a long breath to regain control.

  “You said rejection, correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  William slowly straightened.

  “If there is rejection…”

  “…then there is recognition.”

  The scientist frowned.

  “You mean…”

  “Yes.”

  William’s eyes lit up.

  “We can use her blood as a detector.”

  A stunned silence.

  “Doctor…”

  “you’re thinking of…”

  “Locating all fragment carriers.”

  He turned toward the screen.

  “No matter where they hide.”

  “No matter whether they know it themselves or not.”

  His voice trembled slightly.

  “If her blood recognizes them…”

  “…then I can find them.”

  William ran the tests.

  With the Japanese woman’s blood, he had the perfect subject.

  Himself.

  Same blood type.

  Same compatibility.

  No immediate vital risk.

  He injected himself with a tiny, almost symbolic amount.

  The reaction was immediate.

  A burning in the veins.

  A brutal irritation.

  His eyes turned bloodshot in seconds, as if his body violently rejected something foreign… without actually attacking it.

  William looked at his reflection.

  “Exactly as expected…”

  The rejection was visible.

  Measurable.

  Locatable.

  That was enough.

  He then had the blood turned into gas.

  With logistical support from Area 51, canisters were produced, miniaturized, integrated into mobile devices. Officially, deployed agents believed they were tracking an emerging biological terrorist threat.

  In reality, they scoured the world

  to hunt

  the carriers

  of fragments

  of the God Stone.

  The gas, harmless to the general population, caused a visible reaction in exposed individuals and carriers — eye irritation, sudden redness, sometimes mild spasms. Combined with surveillance systems, thermal cameras, and behavioral analysis, the device formed a net.

  An inescapable net.

  In three months, William located and discreetly extracted

  more than forty fragment carriers

  from different countries, different cultures, different ages.

  They vanished without a trace.

  No international alert.

  No official record.

  All were integrated into the underground city built from the remnants of the Iraqi project.

  The survivors called it

  NoWhere City.

  William watched.

  He quickly understood one essential thing:

  not all carriers were equal.

  There were degrees.

  Levels of “purity.”

  Some developed weak, unstable, costly abilities.

  Others possessed more impressive gifts, but always imperfect, always dangerous.

  They were all like cracked precious stones.

  Magnificent.

  Fragile.

  Deadly to handle.

  Two categories emerged clearly:

  — The exposed, condemned, whose life expectancy inexorably plummeted.

  — The fragment carriers, imperfect, but freed from the two-year limit.

  Then one day…

  In a bar in NoWhere City, an altercation broke out.

  Nothing exceptional.

  Alcohol.

  Fear.

  Fatigue.

  A fragment carrier was mortally wounded.

  And in his final breath…

  something burst from his body.

  A fragment of stone.

  White.

  Alive.

  Silence fell.

  The carriers understood.

  The exposed too.

  The raw, amoral truth imposed itself:

  A fragment meant living.

  It was collapse.

  The exposed began hunting the carriers.

  Not out of vice.

  Not out of cruelty.

  Out of desperate hope to live longer.

  Old women offering hospitality before poisoning their guests.

  Children crying while clutching a knife against those who fed them.

  Lovers killing each other in their sleep.

  In this underground city lit by a cold artificial sky,

  humanity regressed.

  No more money.

  No more power.

  No more hierarchy.

  Only one value remained:

  to live.

  William watched the screens, frozen.

  You had to have a strong stomach.

  Fragments changed hands.

  Carriers became prey.

  The exposed, desperate predators.

  After enough transfers, no one was sure of anything anymore.

  Suspicion crept everywhere.

  Of the initial three thousand inhabitants…

  soon only one hundred and fifty remained.

  Reports poured in.

  William felt something break inside him.

  There was no more science here.

  No more control.

  Only the crudest mirror of humanity.

  He had no choice left.

  “Launch the intervention.”

  “Heavy weapons.”

  “Stop them.”

  The soldiers entered.

  What they saw would haunt them for life.

  They walked through a sea of blood.

  Mutilated bodies.

  Empty stares.

  Survivors begging… or attacking.

  Some vomited.

  Others simply obeyed.

  None ever forgot.

  William remained alone in front of the screens.

  Silent.

  He had wanted to save his son as well as himself.

  And had created

  a hell.

  Shaking in the face of the horror he had unleashed, William felt something break inside him for good.

  He had not anticipated this.

  He had not imagined that men would slaughter each other.

  He had underestimated human nature.

  He isolated himself in an annex room, closed the door behind him, and collapsed against the wall. Sobs erupted without restraint, uncontrollable, almost animal.

  “I… I never wanted this…” he murmured.

  “I just wanted to understand… to know the truth…”

  “What horror…”

  His hands shook so violently he could barely hold his phone. He dialed Agathe’s number. Once. Twice.

  Voicemail.

  He breathed with difficulty, then spoke, voice broken.

  “Agathe… you were right.”

  “I am a monster.”

  “I did something horrible… something I will never forgive myself for.”

  He swallowed, searching for words.

  “Please, answer me… I need you. I need both of you.”

  “I’m sorry… so sorry.”

  His voice trembled more.

  “I discovered something… the only way to save Isaac…”

  “The fragment can only be transmitted after the death of the carrier…”

  A muffled sob.

  “Fuck, Agathe… they all killed each other.”

  “All because of me.”

  He took a deep breath, as if making a decision he should have made long ago.

  “I’m going to stop. Stop everything.”

  “I’m coming home.”

  “To hell with science… it ruined my life. I destroyed everything just to understand.”

  Silence.

  “We don’t have much time left.”

  “Let’s find a way to spend it together… even if these are Isaac’s last moments… even if they are mine too.”

  He hung up.

  Agathe had listened to the message live.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks without her trying to stop them. She watched her son play, carefree, unaware of the weight hanging over his future.

  A strange smile appeared on her face.

  Peaceful.

  Resigned.

  As if, finally, all her problems had found a solution.

  A few hours later, William was packing his things.

  He told no one.

  He no longer had the strength.

  He mechanically folded a few clothes, hands still trembling, mind empty. He knew nothing would be simple. He knew he would never be forgiven.

  But he wanted to try.

  To be present.

  To be a father.

  To be human.

  He thought of everything he should have done before.

  Disneyland.

  Travel.

  Showing the world to his son.

  Laughing.

  Living.

  Perhaps even winning Agathe back.

  Remarrying.

  Pretending, at least once, to have a normal life.

  A painful smile formed on his lips, mixed with tears.

  His phone vibrated.

  He picked it up without looking.

  “Agathe, I—”

  “Mr. William Campbell?”

  He froze.

  “Uh… yes. Who is this?”

  “Hello. This is the police.”

  An icy chill ran down his spine.

  “The… police?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You are indeed the ex-husband of Agathe MacLeòid?”

  “Yes… ex-husband.”

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry to inform you… your ex-wife has passed away.”

  The world seemed to freeze.

  “Passed away…?”

  “How…?”

  “She took her own life.”

  “My condolences, sir.”

  William did not answer.

  “And… and my son?” he asked in a blank voice.

  “There was no child on site.”

  “However, we found footprints corresponding to a child’s shoe size.”

  “He was present at the time of death.”

  “No…” William murmured.

  “We are continuing the search.”

  He gathered the little strength he had left.

  “How… how did she die?”

  An embarrassed silence.

  “Are you sure you want to know?”

  “Yes.”

  The answer fell, cold, clinical.

  “She cut open her chest, right in the center.”

  “The position of the body suggests she was trying to give something… before dying.”

  The phone slipped from William’s hands and crashed to the floor.

  He understood.

  From the very beginning.

  Agathe had been a carrier.

  And her message…

  had given him the only possible solution to save Isaac.

  He understood then.

  Through his actions,

  through his obsession,

  through his silence,

  he had condemned his son

  and killed the woman he loved.

  He didn’t even think. He took an old rifle lying in a cupboard, loaded it, pressed it to his temple, and fired without saying a word, his gaze extinguished. The wall was painted with his own blood.