003 — Between Breaths
Surgery Chamber
The lights flickered overhead as Micquel's stretcher was wheeled into the operating chamber. The air was cold, metallic, sterile—like a tomb carved from steel. A transparent dome lowered slowly from the ceiling, sealing her in with the surgical unit. She lay unconscious, her breathing shallow, each rise of her chest a reminder that time was running out.
Conrad stood behind the glass, hands gloved and suit sealed. Tyzion hovered behind him, tense, jaw clenched tight enough to crack bone.
"She's stable," muttered Lira, the assistant medic, scanning the vitals. "Barely. Heart rate is inconsistent. The infection from the toxin is spreading faster than predicted."
"We don't have time to hesitate," Conrad said, voice hard with focus. "Prep the A-HX synthetic unit. Power up the stabilizer. Begin neural preservation."
Mechanical arms lowered, precision tools whirring to life. One held a needle-thin scanner, tracing lines across Micquel's chest; another applied the dermal anesthetic. The final arm hovered over her heart, pulsing red on the display.
"She's going to make it," Conrad murmured, more to himself than anyone. "She has to."
Tyzion pressed a hand to the glass, watching as her chest rose one last time under her real heart.
The surgical AI spoke: "Biological heart failure imminent. Initiating extraction."
Tyzion turned his face away, but not before Conrad caught the flicker of tears in his eyes.
---
Post-Surgery Chamber
The surgical room had gone quiet. The lights dimmed to a calm, pulsing blue as the artificial heart synced with Micquel's vitals. A faint rhythmic hum filled the air—steady, strong. Her body was alive. Stabilized.
Conrad stepped away from the observation glass, pulling off his gloves with a shaky breath.
"She made it," Lira whispered. "The heart's fully integrated. No signs of rejection."
But Tyzion wasn't smiling. He stared at Micquel, still unmoving on the surgical table. Monitors displayed her brain activity—present, but erratic. Unconscious. Not waking.
"She's in a coma," he said.
"Temporary," Conrad replied, though even he didn't sound convinced. "Her brain needs time to adjust to the trauma, to the interface sync. She's alive, Ty. That's what matters."
Tyzion didn't respond. He just stood there, hands balled into fists, as the truth weighed down on both of them.
---
Two Days Later
Conrad sat alone at the edge of the hideout's upper level, staring at the encrypted message that had just flashed on his private terminal. The sender's code was unmistakable—the High Personnel of the Game System. He'd been waiting for this.
CONRAD. MULTIPLE BREACHES DETECTED.
Unauthorized usage of Black Team designation.
Unauthorized intervention inside active game zone.
Violation of Observer Role Protocol.
Illegal transfer of protected shelter to an active participant.
Consequences will follow.
He closed his eyes, jaw tight. He knew this would come. The moment he brought Micquel into the hideout… the moment he performed the surgery… he had crossed the line.
Observers weren't meant to touch the game.
Observers weren't meant to save players.
Observers weren't meant to care.
But Conrad had cared. And he would do it all over again.
If giving Micquel a safe place to recover meant breaking the rules, then so be it.
If calling in the name of the Black Team—long dissolved—meant shielding her from the system's hunters, he'd accept that lie.
If sacrificing himself meant she'd wake up with a fighting chance… he was ready.
Tyzion found him there hours later, staring at the blank screen.
"They're coming for you," he said quietly.
Conrad nodded. "Let them. I just need her to wake up first."
---
Six Months Later
Hideout
Her neural activity spiked for a moment last night. Then nothing. Like a ghost trying to surface.
The hum of machines had become a part of the silence. Every beep from the monitor, every slow rise and fall of Micquel's chest, had turned into a lullaby of waiting.
Six months.
And still—no sign of waking.
Tyzion sat beside her, elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced tightly together. His eyes had dulled, his sleepless nights showing in the hollow of his cheeks and the roughness of his voice. Micquel looked the same—untouched by time, as if simply asleep in a world refusing to let her go.
Then came the night Conrad called him into the upper floor of the hideout. No alarms. No announcements. Just a quiet request.
---
That Night
Tyzion found Conrad standing near the exit corridor, staring at the reinforced blast door that separated them from the rest of the game's corrupted world. He looked different—tired, heavier, like a man already halfway gone.
"She's still not waking up," Tyzion said, folding his arms.
"I know," Conrad answered without turning around. "But I believe she will."
Tyzion frowned. "You believe? That's not like you."
Conrad chuckled softly, the sound tinged with resignation. "No. I guess it's not."
Silence stretched between them before Conrad finally spoke again.
"I need to ask something of you."
Tyzion turned fully toward him. "What?"
"If… I don't come back," Conrad said carefully, "stay with her. Protect her. Until she wakes up."
Tyzion blinked, confused. "What are you talking about? You're not going anywhere. The system's hunting you, Conrad. You leave, you die."
"I'm not running away," Conrad said quietly. "I'm giving her time. I've already made arrangements. She's hidden from the game's scans. But the more I stay, the more I endanger you both."
"Wait—Conrad, what are you planning?"
Conrad stepped forward, placing a hand on Tyzion's shoulder.
"You were always the one she trusted most. I know you'll keep her safe."
Tyzion's brows furrowed. "Stop talking like this. We can figure something out. There has to be a way—"
"Sometimes, the way forward is sacrifice," Conrad said with a sad smile. "And my part in this story ends here."
---
The Next Morning
Tyzion woke on the metal cot in the corner of the hideout, the same place he'd passed out for months, waiting. At first, nothing felt different. The sound of the machines. The sterile chill in the air. Micquel still unmoving in her stasis bed.
But then he noticed it.
The security console was offline.
Conrad's comm-device was gone.
And the back corridor—where Conrad had stood the night before—was sealed.
Completely.
Tyzion ran through the hideout, searching every level, every shadow. Nothing.
Tyzion pressed his palm to the sealed blast door, like he could will it open. But deep down, he knew. This wasn't a delay. This was goodbye
Conrad was gone.
No note. No trace. No sign of struggle. Just absence.
And then it hit him—he really meant it.
Conrad had said goodbye.
And now, only two remained in the hollow heart of the hideout:
Tyzion... and Micquel.
---