When I enter the Assignment Chamber, the scene is much as it was yesterday, the central platform surrounded by elevated podiums where representatives from different alien factions wait. The obsidian-skinned facilitator stands at a console, while Handler Kress checks names off a holographic list near the entrance.
"Subject 7249," Kress acknowledges as I enter. "Right on schedule. The sponsors have maintained their offers from yesterday."
I approach the central platform but don’t immediately step onto it. "I'd like to request additional time for consideration," I state, keeping my voice steady despite the weight of all eyes turning toward me.
The obsidian facilitator tilts its head at an unnatural angle. "Unprecedented. One extension has already been granted."
"The decision affects my entire future here," I press. "I'm still evaluating the long-term implications of each option."
A murmur passes through the alien representatives. The crystalline being from the Consortium pulses with blue-white light. "Subject 7249 demonstrates continued analytical processing. This quality aligns with our developmental philosophy."
The scaled representative from Tesseract seems less impressed. "Further delay suggests indecision or potential instability."
The Luminar representative, partially composed of visible light, remains silent, observing the exchange with what might be curiosity.
The obsidian facilitator consults its console. "Request denied. Selection must be made during this session. Facility processing schedules cannot accommodate further delays."
I nod, having expected this response but feeling it was worth the attempt. As I step onto the central platform, holographic displays again surround me, showing my combat metrics, power analysis, and projected development curves.
"Subject 7249," the facilitator announces. "Telekinetic abilities with exceptional control parameters. Combat efficiency rating: 92.7%. Strategic application rating: 89.3%. Developmental potential: High."
It turns to address me directly. "Three sponsorship offers remain valid: The Crystalline Consortium offers primary sponsorship with unrestricted development protocols. The Tesseract Directive offers primary sponsorship including direct mentorship from elite champions. The Luminar Conclave proposes shared sponsorship with the Crystalline Consortium, facilitating co-development with asset Nova-7116."
The chamber falls silent as all attention focuses on me. The moment of decision has arrived, with no further delays possible.
"State your selection," the obsidian facilitator prompts.
I open my mouth but hesitate. I spent so much time weighing my options, trying to find a sponsor that would give me the most freedom. But both now and the last time I stood here, something deep in my gut warned me against accepting. A nagging instinct that this path, no matter how appealing on the surface, would lead to something I couldn’t undo.
Logically, sponsorship is the smartest choice. Comfort, protection, unlimited access to training, and the chance to develop alongside Nova. A life free of struggle, tailored to my exceptional abilities. But at what cost? I'd be trading freedom for security, submitting to the control of the aliens like some prized asset. A pet they could mold however they saw fit.
Is that really what I want?
Before I can fully process the decision, the words are already leaving my mouth. "I would like to refuse sponsorship for now and develop independently."
The chamber falls completely silent at my words. The obsidian facilitator freezes momentarily, as if processing an unexpected input. The alien representatives on their elevated podiums shift with various reactions, some leaning forward with interest, others pulling back in apparent surprise.
"Clarify," the facilitator finally responds. "Subject 7249 refuses all sponsorship offers?"
"That's correct," I confirm, standing straight on the central platform. "I choose to develop independently at this time."
Handler Kress steps forward, his professional demeanor slipping. "Subject 7249, perhaps you don't understand the implications of this decision. Sponsorship provides essential resources for optimal development."
"I understand the implications," I state firmly. "I prefer to develop without external direction for now."
The representatives begin communicating among themselves, some using verbal language while others exchange pulses of light or other energy forms. The crystalline being from the Consortium glows more intensely.
"The Crystalline Consortium acknowledges Subject 7249's decision with interest," it announces. "Independence demonstrates self-determination, a quality we value. Our offer remains open should reconsideration occur."
The Tesseract representative makes a dismissive gesture. "The Tesseract Directive withdraws future consideration. Resources are better allocated to subjects who recognize opportunity."
Most surprising is the Luminar representative's reaction, a pulse of light that seems almost amused. "The Luminar Conclave respects independent paths. Subject 7249 will be monitored for potential future compatibility."
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The obsidian facilitator makes notations on its console. "Decision registered. Subject 7249 classified as Independent Development Asset." It turns its unsettling gaze toward me. "Protocol requires informing you of consequential adjustments: Accommodation reassignment to Block D. Training access limited to Facilities 7 and 9 during designated periods. Nutrition allocation reduced by 22%. Security protection rating downgraded to minimum viable asset preservation."
Handler Kress looks genuinely confused by my choice. "Subject 7249, reconsideration is possible within a 24-hour window without penalty."
"My decision stands," I respond.
The holographic displays around me shift, my status indicators changing from "Pending Assignment" to "Independent Asset." Various metrics adjust downward, reflecting my new position in the facility hierarchy.
"Processing complete," the facilitator announces. "Subject 7249 will be escorted to reassigned quarters. Next candidate approach the platform."
A different handler than Kress, this one wearing a simpler uniform, steps forward to guide me from the chamber. As I exit, I notice Marcus waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. A slight smile crosses his face as he sees me.
"Welcome to independence," he says quietly as I pass. "I'll find you when you're settled. First day's always the hardest."
The handler leads me away from the privileged sectors of the facility, toward the more utilitarian areas where those without sponsor protection reside. My path forward is now set, I’ve chosen freedom over security, independence over control.
Whatever comes next, I'll face it on my own terms.
My handler leads me through a series of increasingly utilitarian corridors, away from the polished sections of the facility I've grown accustomed to. The lighting becomes more functional than ambient, the air circulation more audible, and the walls show visible maintenance panels rather than seamless surfaces.
"Block D, Section 17," the handler announces dispassionately as we enter a residential area that clearly houses lower-priority assets. "Independent quarters are assigned based on ability classification and security assessment."
The corridor stretches before me, lined with doors spaced much closer together than in my previous block. Enhanced humans move through the space with purpose, most avoiding eye contact. Their attire lacks the quality of the sponsored fighters, simpler fabrics, minimal customization, purely functional.
"Room D-1742," the handler states, stopping at a door near the end of the corridor. Unlike the biometric scanners of my previous quarters, this door has a simple access panel. "Your palm print has been registered. Personal code will be transmitted to your tablet."
The door slides open to reveal my new living space, considerably smaller than before. A narrow bed occupies one wall, a compact sanitation unit behind a partial divider, and a small desk with a single chair complete the furnishings. The lighting is adequate but harsh, and the environmental controls appear limited to basic temperature adjustment.
"Nutrition will be available in Communal Distribution Center 4, accessible during designated periods," the handler continues mechanically. "Your tablet will update with relevant schedules and access permissions."
As if on cue, my tablet chimes with a notification. The interface has changed, many options now grayed out or removed entirely. My new schedule appears:
Daily Schedule - Independent Asset 7249
0600-0700: Nutrition Access (CDC-4)
0800-0900: Training Access (Facility 9)
1000-1400: General Facility Labor Assignment
1500-1600: Training Access (Facility 7)
1700-1800: Nutrition Access (CDC-4)
1900-0500: Rest Period/Quarter Confinement
The handler gives the room a cursory glance. "Standard independent accommodations. Maintenance requests can be submitted via your tablet but are fulfilled based on priority classification." With that, they turn to leave.
"One moment," I say. "What's the 'General Facility Labor Assignment'?"
"Independent assets contribute to facility maintenance and operation," the handler explains without emotion. "Labor type is assigned based on physical capabilities and security clearance. Your specific duties will be transmitted by 0600 tomorrow."
After the handler departs, I take a closer look at my new quarters. Despite the downgrade in comfort, there are certain advantages, I notice fewer monitoring devices than in my previous room, and the construction appears older, with potential blind spots in surveillance coverage.
Testing my telekinetic awareness, I discover the walls are thinner, allowing me to sense more of the surrounding area. I detect other residents nearby, some resting, others moving about their quarters, all with the distinct energy signatures of enhanced humans.
My tablet chimes again, displaying a message: "Independent Asset Orientation: Optional information session available in Common Area 4 at 1900 hours."
As I set down my few possessions, there's a soft knock at my door. When I open it, I find no one immediately visible, but a small object sits on the floor, a compact data chip with an unusual metallic sheen. It's clearly not standard facility technology.
I pick up the chip and examine it carefully, turning it over in my hands. There are no visible markings or indicators of its origin or purpose. Looking up and down the corridor to ensure no one is watching, I step back inside and let the door slide shut.
Considering my options, I weigh the risks. My tablet likely has a port that could read it, but I have no way of knowing if connecting unknown technology might trigger security alerts. Extending my telekinetic awareness, I probe the chip at a molecular level. Its internal structure is complex, but I detect no explosive components or harmful mechanisms. It appears to be purely a data storage device, albeit of highly advanced design.
Curiosity wins out over caution. I locate a data port on my tablet and insert the chip. The screen flickers momentarily, then stabilizes. Instead of displaying content immediately, a small icon appears in the corner of the interface, a stylized infinity symbol that I’ve never seen before.
When I tap the icon, the tablet’s standard interface vanishes, replaced by a minimalist display with a single line of text:
"Welcome to Independence. Touch screen to accept secure connection."
This is clearly an unauthorized system, possibly created by Independents to communicate outside facility monitoring. Connecting could provide valuable information, but it might also alert security if detected.
I hesitate, weighing the potential benefits against the risks. My new status as an independent asset already places me in a precarious position. Is it worth taking another risk so soon?
