Chapter 76: You Gave Me This Power I stared at the screen. The words burned into my vision. AWAITING OVERRIDE FROM SUBJECT ZERO. My breath caught. Not because I didn’t understand. Because I did. Too well. Mirabel wasn’t just watching. She wasn’t just waiting. She was the key. The override. The only one who could unlock what I’d just locked. I turned to her. Slowly. My throat dry. My chest tight. My fingers numb. She was already looking at me. Not with anger. Not with pity. Not with triumph. With expectation. Like she’d been waiting for this exact second. Like she’d planned it. Like she’d let me think I had a choice so I’d walk right into this. She stepped toward the console. One step. Then another. Her scalpel glowed brighter with each step. Blue. Steady. Alive. She stopped beside me. Close enough that I could feel the heat from her skin. Close enough that I could smell the sterile scent of her clothes. Close enough that I could hear her breath. She didn’t look at the screen. She looked at me. Her lips parted. Her voice was quiet. Soft. Certain. “Now you need me.” I didn’t answer. I didn’t move. I just stood there, my arm still tingling from where she’d gripped it, my other hand hovering over the console like it belonged there, like it had always belonged there. The screens around us were frozen. Faces caught mid-scream. Mid-whisper. Mid-reach. Numbers stuck. 233. 189. 112. 97. 76. 55. 38. 19. 7. 3. 1. 0. All of them. All waiting. All paused. All because of me. I built this. Not just the rooms. Not just the counters. Not just the questions or the photographs or the syringes or the corridors. I built the pause. I built the silence. I built the moment where everything stops and waits for the architect to speak. And now I had. Mirabel didn’t wait for me to say anything. She didn’t ask for permission. She didn’t look at me again. She turned to the console, placed her palm flat against the biometric panel, and leaned in. The machine beeped once. A soft, accepting sound. Then a red light scanned her eye. Her left eye. The one that had watched me sign the forms. The one that had watched me walk away. The one that had watched me forget. The system unfroze. Every screen flickered. Every counter resumed. Every breath began to tick again. Not slowly. Not gently. Fast. Too fast. The numbers dropped like stones. 232. 188. 111. 96. 75. 54. 37. 18. 6. 2. 0. I lunged for the console. My fingers slammed against the keys. I mashed CANCEL. I mashed OVERRIDE. I mashed every damn key I could reach. Nothing responded. The machine ignored me. It didn’t even blink. It just kept counting. Kept dropping. Kept erasing. Mirabel didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t look at me. She just stood there, one hand still on the console, the other holding the scalpel, its blue light pulsing like a heartbeat. “You gave me this power,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “when you deleted me.” I turned to her. My hands shaking. My chest heaving. My vision blurring. “No,” I said. “No, Mirabel. Stop it. Please. Stop it.” She didn’t answer. She didn’t look at me. She just watched the screens. Subject 007: Male, 42. Counter at 230. Question 14: “What did you tell her before you left?” — mouth still open, eyes still wide, but now the counter was moving. 229. 228. 227. Subject 019: Female, 31. Counter at 186. Photograph of a child clutched to her chest, tears halfway down her cheeks. 185. 184. 183. Subject 033: Male, 56. Counter at 109. Rust blade pressed into his forearm, blood pooling but not spreading. 108. 107. 106. Subject 041: Female, 28. Counter at 94. Lips parted, whispering a name that would never leave her throat now. 93. 92. 91. Subject 055: Male, 39. Counter at 73. Hand outstretched toward a door that would never open. 72. 71. 70. Subject 068: Female, 45. Counter at 52. Syringe labeled “FORGIVE” hovering over her wrist, trembling but unmoving. 51. 50. 49. Subject 089: Male, 33. Counter at 35. Strapped to a table, scalpel descending but never touching skin. 34. 33. 32. Subject 102: Female, 29. Counter at 16. Mouth open in a scream that made no sound. 15. 14. 13. Subject 117: Male, 51. Counter at 4. Finger hovering over a red button labeled “LAST BREATH.” 3. 2. 1. Subject 124: Female, 36. Counter at 0. Eyes closed. Chest still. Not breathing. Not dying. Just… paused. Then the screen flickered. The counter reset. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. 0. Subject 131: Male, 44. Counter at 0. Lips barely moving. “I’m sorry” never finished. The screen went black. Subject 138: Female, 27. Counter at 0. Screen black. No face. No room. Just void. I screamed. I screamed her name. “MIRABEL!” Too late. The screen flashed. TERMINATED. I fell to my knees. The console kept humming. The counters kept dropping. Mirabel didn’t move. She didn’t look at me. She just stood there. Scalpel in hand. Blue light pulsing. Waiting.