Alex

Decisions

I opened my eyes to find Dr. Meyers seated at the foot of my bed, his face taut with sorrow. He looked like he wanted to speak but hesitated, letting out a long breath before beginning.

"Alex, I'm glad you're awake. There's something important we need to discuss," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"What is it, Doc? What's wrong?"

"There's no easy way to say this," he paused, clearly struggling to find the right words. "What I'm about to propose is risky, but it might be our last option."

I frowned. "What are you thinking?"

"A complete reboot."

The words hit me, but I wasn't quite sure what they meant. "That... doesn't sound good."

"It's not," he admitted, eyes filled with a kind of resignation. "Which is why I wanted to talk to you first. The decision has to be yours, Alex. I'm suggesting a complete wipe—your mind, memories, everything, reset to the original programming. A fresh start."

I stared at him, trying to process. "You want to erase my brain even though you can't find anything wrong? That seems a bit extreme, don't you think?" I said, my voice rising with indignation.

"It is extreme," he said quietly. "But nothing we've tried has worked, and—"

"No," I cut him off. "Not unless you can prove that it'll change anything. I'm willing to live with the flaws and work through them."

Dr. Meyers sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck. "I don't think that's the best decision, but I'll respect it."

"Good. Now, can we get back to training? I'm ready to go."

His reluctance was clear, but he nodded. "I guess we should."

The walk to the training center was steeped in silence. The tension between us was palpable.

"Where should we start?" I asked, eager to push forward, excitement threading through my voice.

"Let's pick up from where we left off, if you're ready," he replied flatly.

"I'm ready. Load it up," I said, stepping into the center of the room.

The familiar cityscape materialized around me. I found myself once again on the rooftop, overlooking the streets below. The rifle felt familiar in my hands. I brought the scope to my eye, calculating the distance and factoring in the wind-speed with a kind of instinct. I crouched, steadied my aim, and fired. The bullet found its target, dead center. I quickly aimed and fired again, the second shot a perfect bullseye. One after another, each target fell in rapid succession.

"Very good," Dr. Meyers said, his voice still neutral but with a hint of approval. "Now let's try it with a moving target, in a crowded environment."

Soon, the city was bustling beneath me, filled with people.

"Your target is this man," an image flashed in front of me—an older man in his forties, dressed in a black suit, exiting a bakery. He wore sunglasses and a fedora, an aluminum attaché case in one hand, and a cup of coffee in the other.

I took a deep breath and lined up the shot. BANG! The bullet cut through the air and hit its mark just above his ear. The man crumpled, and chaos erupted below, people scattering in every direction. But I remained focused, unshaken.

"Nicely done," Dr. Meyers said, his mood lifting slightly as we continued the training.

For the next few hours, I completed task after task without any errors. With each success, I could see the relief on Dr. Meyers' face.

"Still think I need that reboot?" I teased.

He chuckled softly. "No. I'm glad we didn't do it."

His eyes lingered on me a moment longer than usual before he stood up, crossing the room to take my hand in his. He leaned in, his lips brushing my cheek with a gentle kiss. The warmth lingered, sending a strange tingle through me as he pulled back. I opened my eyes, but he was already turning away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"For what?" I asked, placing my hand on his shoulder, hoping he'd turn back. But he didn't.

"For suggesting it." Without looking at me, Dr. Meyers picked up his tablet and left the room.

Back in my quarters, alone, I replayed the moment in my head, the feel of his kiss still fresh on my skin. I didn't know what to make of it, but the more I thought about it, the more I found myself wanting... more.

"Good evening, Alex," a cold voice suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts.

I spun around, startled to find a man in my room. He was seated in a wheelchair, his posture rigid, his face weathered.

"Who are you?" I demanded. "And why are you in my room?"

"You mean my room," he snarled. "I own this entire facility and everything in it—including you."

He coughed, the sound of years of smoking grating in his throat, before regaining composure. "I'm the reason for your existence. I wanted to check on your progress personally. I don't trust Dr. Meyers' judgment entirely. I needed to see you for myself."

His gaze swept over me, cold and predatory. I felt exposed, vulnerable.

"Beautiful," he whispered with a strange, unnerving intensity. "Absolutely stunning."

Without warning, he flung something at me. Instinct kicked in, and I caught the knife just inches from my face. I stared at it for a moment before hurling it back, lodging it in the doorframe beside his head. The old man didn't flinch.

"Your reflexes are slow but improvable," he mused, smirking. "I assume you missed on purpose."

I swallowed my anger, nodding stiffly.

"Good," he said, his tone smug. "I'll be joining you in training tomorrow. Unlike Daniel, I won't be going easy on you. Rest up, dear. Tomorrow is your evaluation."