Within the Eye

Chapter 4

I walked slowly toward the machine, my legs heavy. I could feel Praxys's eyes on me, even if he didn't turn around. The monitors beside him beeped softly, tracking every small change in my vital signs—my heart rate, my breathing. They were probably skyrocketing right now, spiking with every step I took closer to the machine.

I wasn't strong enough to fight him. I wasn't strong enough to escape. This was inevitable. And yet the weight of it pressed on me, suffocating, drowning me in the fear of losing myself once again.

Praxys's fingers hovered over the control panel. I knew he could see my distress, see the fear flooding my system. I didn't bother to hide it. What was the point? He knew. He had to know.

But his face remained expressionless as he finally spoke, his voice low and strained. "You should get in."

I turned to him, my throat tight, but I couldn't find the words. Was this all he had to say? He had been the one to drag me back to Society, the one who placed the cuffs on my wrists, and now, he was the one about to push the button that would strip me of everything I was.

"Praxys." My voice wavered, barely a whisper.

"Ax," I pleaded.

His eyes flicked to mine, just for a second. In that moment, I saw it—the guilt he was trying so hard to bury, the flicker of regret that he would never admit to. But then, it was gone, replaced by the cold mask of duty.

"Casting is necessary, Pandora," he said quietly.

I swallowed, my fists clenching at my sides. There was no fighting this. No way out. The fear, the desperation... it clawed at me, but I held my ground. I could feel the trembling in my hands, but I refused to let it overtake me. If I was going to go through this again, I would do it standing. I would walk into that machine myself because they wouldn't take that from me.

So, I took the final step toward the pod, the metal cold beneath my fingers as I touched the side of it. It felt like I was sealing my own fate. I glanced back at Praxys one last time, searching for any sign of hesitation, any indication that he would stop this. That he would stop this.

But he didn't.

"Goodbye, Pan," I whispered, more to myself than to him.

I stepped inside the pod.

The door closed with a hiss behind me, and the lights inside flickered on. The familiar scent of sterilized air filled my lungs as I sat down on the cold seat. My heart was racing, pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. The machine hummed to life around me, and I could hear Praxys typing something into the control panel. Each keystroke felt like a hammer to my chest.

The walls of the pod were reflective, and for a moment, I caught sight of myself—my face pale, eyes wide, breathing ragged. I didn't recognise the person staring back at me. The Casting took away flaws in the physical form. Gone were the acne scarring over my nose and forehead, the pale white scars I earned from knife-throwing target practice with the rebels, and the irregular spattering of freckles over my skin as evidence that I was once alive and changeable.

The Casting was permanent. Irreversible. What would it make me be now if it had erased my flaws? Smoothed my skin, sculpted my muscles, the details about me now manicured to perfection.

Praxys's voice came through the intercom, emotionless and clinical. "I'm going to begin the Casting."

I pressed my back against the cold seat, squeezing my eyes shut. "Just get it over with," I muttered.

The machine whirred, and I could feel the prickling sensation of the process starting—the algorithms calculating, evaluating every part of me to determine how I could best serve Society. I wanted to scream, to claw my way out of the pod, but I forced myself to stay still. If I moved, I would only prolong it.

The pain began like a dull ache, creeping through my limbs, as if the machine was stripping away everything about me until I was a blank canvas. It grew worse with every second, the pressure building in my skull, my chest tightening until I couldn't breathe.

Praxys watched the screen in front of him as my vital signs spiked, the monitor blaring with my distress. But he didn't flinch. He had done this too many times to himself to pretend this wasn't part of the process. He had lived this pain, survived it, and buried it under layers of duty.

But I wasn't him.

Through the fog of pain, I heard the hum of the machine shift, and suddenly, everything became sharper—my mind, my senses, and my thoughts all aligned with one terrifying realization: this was only the beginning.

Praxys stared at the readings as the Casting continued, and for the first time in a long time, something broke through his mask. His hands trembled slightly over the controls, a flicker of something dark crossing his face.

He knew what this was. He knew this Casting wasn't about making me better. It was about erasing me.