Chapter 80: I Choose Myself Mirabel didn’t move. Not her fingers, not her shoulders, not even the rise of her chest. The scalpel stayed where it was, hovering just above the console, its blue glow steady like a held breath. The screens around us still pulsed with the names of the subjects, their counters ticking down in uneven rhythms, some fast, some slow, some already frozen on zero. I didn’t look at them. I looked at her. At the way her eyes stayed fixed on the black screen where Subject 007 had vanished. Like she was waiting for me to break first. I didn’t. I said it again. Louder this time. “Subject 001.” She didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Didn’t even tilt her head. But something shifted in the room. Not the walls, not the lights, not the air. The machine. It hesitated. The hum beneath my feet stuttered, just for a second, like a skipped heartbeat. The console in front of me flickered, the letters rearranging themselves into a single line of text. SELF-TARGET REQUIRES ARCHITECT CONFIRMATION. I didn’t think. I didn’t weigh it. I didn’t calculate the fallout or the cost or the consequence. I slammed my palm down on the panel. Hard. My fingers spread wide, pressing into the cold surface like I was trying to fuse myself into the system. The machine recognized me. Not as a subject. Not as a prisoner. Not as a man begging for mercy. As the one who built it. The one who wrote the rules. The one who decided who lives and who dies. The console lit up under my hand. A single prompt flashed, red and urgent. CONFIRM TERMINATION OF SUBJECT 001? I didn’t hesitate. I pressed my thumb against the sensor. The machine beeped once. Soft. Final. Like a door clicking shut. The screen above my head—the one that had followed me through every room, every memory, every lie—flashed white. Then red. Then black. Then white again. Numbers appeared. Big. Bold. Unmistakable. TERMINATION INITIATED — 10 SECONDS.