3. Sandy Sully
How many days had passed since Miss Sully finally saw her opportunity shining before her? Five weeks of crossed reports, sleepless nights reviewing blurry security footage from Transhumanic, interviews with traumatized employees who stammered about smoke and screams. But now, at last, it was here: she was one step away from confronting one of those beings who had sold their humanity to silicon demons, to that false promise of digital eternity that reeked of burnt plastic and boundless pride.
She wasn't a fanatic—she knew that well. Every night, returning to her low-ceilinged apartment where the rain tapped against the windows like anxious fingers, she reminded herself she wasn't like the most extreme Purists. She didn't celebrate the destruction of that lab or the bodies dragged from the rubble. But neither could she ignore the relief she'd felt watching the flames devour Transhumanic's servers on her office screens. A necessary evil. People needed to understand that flesh couldn't be replaced by circuits, that promises of immortality were as fragile as a phone screen shattering against the floor—a burst of cracks, and then, only darkness.
Her job was simple, according to the government: prove that Transhumanic was a fraud. Show how they were betraying humanity by selling false hope. But for Sandy Sully, it was personal.
The first time she saw Cooper Tower in person, a chill ran down her spine. He was a twenty-five-year-old with a know-it-all smirk, tousled hair like he'd just come from a party, and bright eyes that dared the camera to challenge him. But the image from the internal registry was different: the same face, yes, but with deep shadows under his eyes, sallow skin, lips pressed tight. As if someone had been sucking the life out of him in two-second intervals. Something had happened to him in those months between the attack and his rehiring. Something that didn't add up.
He wasn't the only one who'd returned, of course. The others came back with bowed heads, speaking in murmurs, jumping at the sound of a fan whirring. Cooper, though, walked Transhumanic's halls as if he still believed in all of it.
That morning, as she watched him, Sandy noticed how he moved—with feline grace, as if the floor belonged to him. His suit hung too loose, but his steps were firm. That confidence burned her. She wanted to rip it away, to watch him crumble when she proved his precious technology was nothing but a mirage.
---
Cooper Tower's office was colder than Sandy had imagined. The AC hummed annoyingly, like a giant mosquito, and the scent of industrial cleaner stung her nose. Everything was white: the walls, the floor, even the lone desk in the center, where a computer gleamed under fluorescent light. Too sterile. Like an operating room.
Abe Conrad, her mentor, adjusted his tie and scanned the room with skeptical eyes. "This is it?" his raised eyebrows seemed to say. She didn't blame him. After all the uproar, they'd expected cables, screens, something that screamed "Here's where we manufacture immortals!" But no. Just a black box, the size of a briefcase, in the corner. The databases.
"Thank you for coming," Cooper said, his voice too calm for someone under investigation. With a gesture, he touched the wall, and two white seats emerged from it, like giant ice cubes. Magnetic tech? Nanobots? Sandy couldn't help it—she wanted to tear the mechanism apart to see how it worked.
"Let's begin," Abe murmured, taking a seat. But Sandy remained standing, her eyes locked on Cooper. He met her gaze, and for a second, she thought she saw something—a shadow crossing his pupils. Fear. Guilt. Or was it just the light's reflection?
"Let me be direct," she cut in before Abe could continue with his procedural questions. "You came back. Knowing what happened. Knowing the Purists might try again. Why?"
Cooper leaned back in his chair, and for the first time, his mask of confidence cracked. A slow blink. A finger tapping the armrest.
"Do you think I'm insane?" he asked, but this time, there was no mockery in his voice. Only something fractured.
"You must've lost your morality long ago if you don't value your own life," Sully said, fists clenched under the table, the lacquered wood's rough grain reminding her of the church pews from her childhood. "Maybe you think if you stay here, they'll save your brain in those machines and grant you immortality."
The air smelled metallic, as if Tower's office were the inside of a giant machine. Cooper didn't flinch. He tilted his head, letting the fluorescent light sharpen the hollows under his sharp cheekbones.
"A fair hypothesis, Miss Sully," he replied, with the calm of someone speaking from an abyss. "Many wish to escape suffering. But that's not why I'm here. You must've read my file."
"A systems engineer. A data analyst," she shot back, spitting each title like an insult.
Tower's fingers, which had been drumming absently on the desk, stilled. His eyes, once dull, flashed with a glint that reminded Sully of overloaded server screens.
"This all fascinated me from the start," he admitted, his voice trembling like a live wire. "When I calculated that it would take two thousand five hundred terabytes to store a consciousness, I was right. But this isn't just immortality. It's the first step toward reaching places even your god couldn't imagine."
The fervor in his words made Sully's stomach twist. It was like listening to a prophet speak of the end of the world.
"I don't follow your logic, Mr. Tower," she snapped, heat rising up her neck. "You should've tried working for NASA."
Beside her, Abe Conrad let out a low chuckle and adjusted his watch—a tell Sandy knew too well. It was his way of biding time before delivering checkmate.
"You think the Purists are keeping you from reaching the stars," the veteran said, studying Tower like an experiment about to fail. "No need to deny it. We just heard it."
Tower dragged a finger across the desk's flawless surface, leaving an invisible trail.
"You've seen the news. If the Purists knew where we were, they'd have already reduced this place to rubble. They hate what they don't understand."
Sully couldn't hold back. She shot to her feet, her chair screeching against the steel floor.
"And what do you understand, Mr. Tower?" she shouted, her voice echoing off the white walls. "That we can plunder another planet like we did this one? Look around! The forests are ash, and the air burns our lungs! And you talk of interstellar travel?"
Tower watched her with a patience that only infuriated her more.
"The sun," he said slowly, "is an inexhaustible source of energy. But the Purists would rather worship it than use it."
"Blasphemy!" The word came out like a knife. The sun was sacred—the last pure light in a corrupted world—and Tower reduced it to a cosmic battery.
Cooper didn't smile. He only tilted his head, like a scientist observing unexpected behavior.
"I see."
And in that moment, Sully understood: He knows I'm a Purist.
Abe tapped the desk lightly, breaking the charged silence.
"We've strayed from the point," he interjected, though his eyes never left Tower. "Let's discuss your work. You process the data. Do you believe this can succeed?"
Tower reclined in his chair, and Sully noticed for the first time how gaunt he looked beneath that perfect suit. Like a man who'd lived on coffee and algorithms for weeks.
"Any result is a success if you measure the right parameters," he replied, something dark in his voice, like the hum of a server on the verge of collapse. "You have records, Detective, but no conclusions. When we're done, we'll process every byte. And then… it'll all be a success."
Abe stood, ignoring Tower's outstretched hand.
"Understood, Mr. Tower," he said, straightening his coat with a sharp motion. "Just another believer that Transhumanic will save humanity. We'll be seeing you soon."
Sully was already at the door, jaw clenched until it ached. She didn't look back. She couldn't. If she did, she might see in Tower's eyes the same fanaticism she condemned in her own.
Outside, in the deserted hallway that reeked of disinfectant, she whispered to Abe:
"Arrest warrant. For crimes against humanity."