Just as the base settled into uneasy slumber, my chance arrived. I pressed a sliver of soap against my tongue, feigning nausea; seconds later, a dry heave shuddered through me. Pale and trembling, I stumbled from my quarters toward Security HQ. There, Miss Katrina—towering sentinel of iron will—sat behind her desk, reviewing patrol logs.
I wore weakness like a cloak. My voice was hollow, my eyes glassy.
"Miss Katrina… I'm… I'm gravely ill," I managed, each word a ragged exhalation. "My stomach… I can't— I need the outdoor keys. Please… I must reach the infirmary."
She rose, alarm flashing in her eyes. "You know the protocols, Cameraman. It's nearly midnight. The storms out there have awakened every predator from the Forbidden Zone. You step outside without an escort—"
I let my hand fall to the table, fingertips grazing her security badge. "I don't have time for escorts," I whispered. "My vision is blurring. If I collapse in the corridor… if they find me—" I coughed, pressing a palm to my forehead. "I'll die before I reach the infirmary. Please."
Her posture stiffened. A part of her wanted to refuse—but another part recognized the urgency in my faltering voice. She paused, conflict softening her gaze.
"Kamanuzzaman…" she said, leaning in so close I could see the tight line of her jaw. "If anything happens—"
I caught her hand mid-reach. My eyes cleared, steel flashing. "Miss Katrina, I won't lie to you. If I'm fevered, I can't help us. But if I'm well… I'm the only one who can finish what we've started."
"Truth hides in the moment no one dares dispute."
Her breath hitched. Logic warred with duty. Finally, she drew a set of heavy keys from her pocket and laid them before me.
"Go. And be visible. Use the comms if trouble finds you."
I bowed once, deeply. "Thank you. I'll return—"
My smirk was gone before I turned away.
With the keys in my hand, I stepped into the dark. The base door closed behind me with a hiss, and suddenly, it was just me and the wild.
The path to the infirmary was supposed to be secure. But out here, "secure" was just a word. I could already hear the growls in the distance. Sounds no human should ever hear. But I didn't pause. I didn't flinch.
I walked like there was no tomorrow. Because, in truth, for people like me, there never was one.
I reached the infirmary in under three minutes. My face was pale from the act—but part of the dizziness was real. Maybe I pushed myself too hard. Maybe my body was telling me to stop. But my soul… it had already crossed the line.
This whole trip was a decoy. I wasn't here because I was sick. I was here to escape. To go outside the base. To walk into hell with my eyes open.
The wall near the research wing had been damaged in the explosion. It was patched, but poorly. Earlier today, I memorized the spot. Now, with a bit of pressure, I cracked it just enough to squeeze through.
On the other side was the wild.
It wasn't a jungle. It wasn't a battlefield. It was something worse.
It was familiar.
Dead animals rotted in the open. Creatures tore each other apart for food, for territory, for no reason at all. Trees grew twisted, thirsty for blood. Acid rain scorched the ground like it wanted to erase everything.
Yet somehow… it reminded me of society.
The way the strong feed on the weak. The way people rise, fall, and disappear without leaving a mark. The world changes names, borders, technology—but not rules. The same pain repeats. The same stories echo. Over and over.
"The wild has teeth. But so does the world."
And it hit me—maybe for the first time—I wasn't just here for answers. I wasn't here just to fight cancer, or survive, or win a war.
I was here because I wanted something no one else dared to want.
I wanted to break the pattern.
To stop life from looping like some cruel joke.
To stop fate from recycling the same suffering again and again.
Maria died like others before her. Like millions who'll come after if nothing changes. Not because of one mistake—but because the system is built to forget.
I won't forget. And I won't let the world forget either.
"I don't want to win the game. I want to rewrite the rules."
Long before I was born, the world cracked open. Not in silence, but in symphony.
They called it the Collapse of Symmetry.
A war not fought over land or oil—but over reality itself.
When the first mind-machine interfaces matured, ideologies splintered. On one side: the Preservationists, who believed humanity must evolve slowly, carefully—bound to its biology. On the other: the Fractalists, who demanded full transcendence into data, into code, into something post-human.
The war began with viruses—not digital ones, but memetic constructs that rewrote belief itself. Cults bloomed like plagues. Cities digitized their governments. Nations were swallowed by logic engines.
Then came the biological escalation.
Gene-bombing. Nano-fog. Thought-altering parasites.
One man rose among the chaos—Yusuf Orellan, philosopher-general of the Last Dawn Republic.
He gave a speech that echoed through the ruins:
"We are the only species that builds its cage from within. We do not die from war—we die from pattern. If we repeat ourselves again, the next war won't end life. It will end meaning."
He tried to unify both factions. Tried to create a bridge—a synthesis of flesh and code.
But like all who dream too loudly, he was betrayed. His allies turned on him. His mind was fractured by a neuro-virus he couldn't resist. His last broadcast looped endlessly in the ruins:
"If you can still feel your thoughts—carry the weight forward. Be the anomaly. Be the asymmetry."
Most forgot him. History turned him into myth. But I didn't.
Because I see the same loop he tried to break.
That's when I knew what I really wanted.
Not peace.
Not justice.
Not revenge.
I want to change reality itself.
Not with magic. Not with dreams.
With action. With chaos. With cracks in the loop.
I want to do something so real, so loud, so different—that the universe stutters.
That it can't repeat.
That it has no choice but to evolve.
I don't want to be a hero. I don't care about being remembered.
"I don't need to live forever. I just want to live once—and make it matter."
As I reached the field where Maria died, the rain grew heavier. My coat stuck to my skin. The earth was soaked with old blood and forgotten names.
But I stood there. Still. Breathing.
And I whispered to the dark sky above:
"Let them loop. Let them repeat. I will be the mistake they never plan for. I will be the asymmetry."