Hundreds of people wearing robes sat cross-legged before the gigantic rock.
The green field formed a natural circle around it. At the center, the stone rose like an ancient monument, marked with grooves and inscriptions that seemed to vibrate beneath the daylight.
The runes glowed, creating what looked like an energy field around the massive stone. Nothing—neither there nor in the city—could compete with its grandeur. Around that field, the light spread outward until it diffused into the environment, though a certain aura continued to hover in the air throughout Elysium.
Thomas was the only one standing. He positioned himself near the rock, almost like a priest before an altar.
Morgan sat among the others. Though he mirrored their posture, his clothes set him apart. He looked displaced—an alien body infiltrating a collective organism.
Thomas raised his voice, soft and controlled.
— Close your eyes…
One by one, the members obeyed.
Morgan hesitated for half a second.
Then he closed his eyes.
— …take a deep breath…
Morgan slowly filled his lungs.
The air was different. It caused a faint tickling sensation inside him, making him smile. Then it brought a slight burning feeling to his lungs, as if it were too pure. It was as though he were using them fully for the first time. As if he had just been born.
— …trust in nature…
Morgan exhaled.
Thomas’s voice seemed to diminish, as if drifting away or sinking into something deeper.
— …it will give you what you need.
Morgan continued following the instructions.
His breathing became rhythmic.
Controlled.
Thomas repeated the guidance, lower and lower each time.
— Breathe deeply…
The sound of his voice thinned until it nearly vanished.
Morgan opened his eyes.
His gaze fixed on the rock.
Something was different.
The air around the stone seemed to ripple slightly, like heat rising from asphalt. A subtle distortion, but unmistakable.
Morgan blinked hard. He didn’t know whether it was truly happening or if his mind was playing tricks on him.
The people around him began to disappear.
Not abruptly.
But as if they were dissolving into the light.
One by one.
The field became empty.
Only he and the rock remained.
The stone began to glow.
At first, it was a discreet light, almost internal.
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Then it grew brighter.
The inscriptions seemed to ignite beneath the surface.
The glow intensified.
Intensified.
Until Morgan could see nothing but light.
— …trust in nature… — Thomas’s voice echoed, now distant, almost as if it came from inside Morgan’s own head.
The light pulsed.
And then, before the rock, a silhouette began to form.
Small.
Familiar.
A boy.
— …it will give you what you need.
Morgan stared at the silhouette with a faint smile. The smile of someone whose hopes had just been confirmed. He expected to see Mick again.
The silhouette sharpened.
Morgan’s heart raced.
The boy ran toward him and embraced him. Morgan held him tightly in return. The areas where Mick touched him tingled faintly. Morgan kissed the top of his head. His lips tingled more intensely.
— I missed you so much, — Morgan said, his eyes already filled with tears.
— I’ll always be here, Dad.
Morgan walked with firm steps through the interior of the Technocratia temple. The echo of his shoes reverberated through the vast, geometric space.
The certainty in his stride showed he was absolutely convinced of what he was doing: the technocrats had murdered the poor girl.
He stopped before the wall where he knew a hidden door existed.
He knocked.
Nothing happened.
— Isaac! — he shouted. — Open the door!
A calm voice came from behind him.
— Detective Jones. To what do I owe the surprise?
Morgan turned.
Isaac approached with his usual serenity.
Unhurried.
Untense.
Isaac discreetly touched one of the luminous bands on the wall. The door opened.
They entered.
The minimalist room felt even colder in the daylight.
Morgan didn’t wait for an invitation.
— It was you! — he said bluntly. — I know it was you!
Isaac did not change his expression.
He sat down.
Connected a cable to his own arm.
A beam of light ran through his body.
For a fraction of a second, Morgan noticed an expression of pleasure on Isaac’s face. He truly loved being one with the machine.
— You are letting your emotions speak, — Isaac said. — I do not believe you have proof of our involvement in the girl’s murder. For we are not involved.
Morgan said nothing.
Isaac smiled.
— Zero evidence. Emotional accusation. — He tilted his head slightly. — A dangerous position for a detective.
He gestured.
— Please, sit. Let logic speak in my favor. I am certain it will change your mind.
Morgan hesitated.
Then sat.
— Let us discuss the evidence of your accusation.
Silence.
— Please. Begin.
Morgan took a deep breath.
— The rods… You used the rods to create a field around the girl and—
Isaac raised his arm.
A projection appeared above the table.
It was a sales page.
A rod identical to the one at the crime scene being sold for ten dollars.
— One thousand four hundred and twenty-seven sales in the last month, — Isaac said. — I wonder if all of them are your suspects.
Morgan clenched his teeth.
— There are other factors. The circle in binary code. The heart replaced by a computer.
Isaac tilted his head.
— The beauty of code is that it can be deciphered, — he said. — What did the code say, Morgan?
— Techmora.
For the first time, Isaac lost his composure.
— Do not insult my faith, — he said more firmly. — How would Techmora be connected to a murder?
— A sacrifice to the machine! — Morgan shot back. — Caro erratica est!
Isaac rose slowly.
— Fool, — he said. — Do you understand how such unfounded accusations compromise you?
Morgan realized—too late—the gravity of his posture.
Isaac began unbuttoning his shirt.
— Caro erratica est, — he repeated. — The flesh is erratic… weak… forced to use every resource, even the most despicable, to survive.
Button after button.
— Lies… conspiracies… intrigues… necessary subterfuge for the flesh to live.
The shirt fell.
Isaac’s torso was entirely mechanical.
Metal plates replaced skin. Components pulsed beneath a translucent surface. No visible human organs.
The sight unsettled Morgan. He no longer knew whether he was speaking to a person or a machine. The strangeness made him feel as though he were interacting with another species—non-human.
— Machina exacta est, — Isaac continued. — The machine is exact. The machine does not lie.
He opened his arms slightly.
— That is why we sacrifice our own flesh. Our own. And no one else’s.
Morgan remained motionless.
— The machine does not require blood sacrifices, — Isaac said. — We are the ones who must sacrifice. Be reborn better.
Morgan had no response. He hated the way his face flushed with shame when he noticed the expression of victory in Isaac’s eyes.
Silence stretched.
Isaac was benevolent enough to leave him alone with his thoughts. Morgan hated that too. Isaac wasn’t trying to force him into anything—this kind of certainty often signals innocence.
Then Isaac’s voice changed.
It was no longer external.
It echoed inside Morgan’s mind.
— But what about Elysium?
Morgan blinked.
— All that structure. Political power… — the voice continued. — It is unlikely that people would invest so much without return.
The words reverberated.
— Have you ever asked yourself how those vagabonds sustain themselves?
Morgan felt his breathing quicken.
— I do not doubt you feel good there.
— But feelings are merely signals sent to the brain. They are not facts.
The room felt smaller.
— Technique will open your eyes to the truth. Never emotions.
— Emotions will only cloud your judgment.
One final sentence echoed with surgical clarity:
— Please, Detective Jones… do not let that happen.
In that moment, despite Isaac’s appearance, Morgan knew he was speaking to a human being.
