(Trama Log_000004 – Processing human interactions... Updating database...)
11:59 PM – Disembarkation
The air in Vessel was different.
It carried the synthetic scent of something new—like a world freshly unwrapped. The space was too vast, too sterile. The white lights sliced through the environment in artificial angles, casting mathematically perfect shadows.
Tariq clenched his fists.
The weight of the past still clung to his skin. The ghost of Rivka's lifeless eyes flashed behind his eyelids every time he blinked.
But here he was.
A fugitive without chains.
Yet... was he free?
To his left, Lorenz walked with the precision of a machine, his coat flowing like a blade cutting through the air. His light brown hair was meticulously styled, and his gray eyes carried the sharpness of a scalpel—always measuring, always calculating.
Tariq didn't trust him.
But he couldn't ignore that, from the first glance, there had been something there.
A tension.
A recognition.
An equation still unsolved.
And then, there was Elena.
She stood ahead, framed by the towering entrance of Vessel's main terminal. A golden hologram of the city shimmered behind her, its projection dancing across the glass.
Tariq studied her.
Her jet-black, wavy hair was pulled back with careful precision, though a few strands always managed to escape—betraying her attempt at control. Her features carried traces of Latin America and Europe, the warm undertone of her skin contrasted by the pale blue of her eyes, an inheritance from her German mother.
And then, there was her posture.
Flawless, but not rigid.
Elegant, but not artificial.
A woman balanced between worlds.
And when she looked at Tariq—he knew.
She wasn't like the others.
She had rebuilt herself, piece by piece.
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And people like that always recognized a fellow survivor.
She stepped forward.
— "Tariq Nasser Al-Masri." Her voice was steady. No hesitation. — "You requested asylum. I'm here to make sure you receive it."
The silence between them stretched.
Then, Lorenz tilted his head slightly.
— "Is he ours now?" His tone was casual, as if discussing an already signed contract.
Elena's eyes narrowed.
— "He's a person. Not an asset."
Lorenz smirked but said nothing.
The answer was already given.
(Trama Log_000004 – Note: There are invisible tensions here. I will investigate further.)
Tariq walked through the Vessel security scanner, feeling the machine analyze his molecular structure like it was decrypting a secret.
Security here was different.
Quieter.
More efficient.
As he stepped into the main corridor, Elena spoke without pretense.
— "Your parents are on their way. But not how they expected."
Tariq stopped.
He turned to her.
— "What does that mean?"
She studied him.
— "They thought they were delivering you to Vessel. But in reality, they were delivering themselves."
A cold weight settled in his chest.
— "They'll be arrested?"
Elena nodded.
— "They were already under investigation for diplomatic corruption and abusive practices against disconnected children. Incriminating you just added another charge—violations against Hybrid Rights."
Tariq let out a slow breath.
His entire life, his parents had used him as a symbol, a puppet for the press.
Now, they were nothing more than criminals in transit.
And behind him, Lorenz smiled.
(Trama Log_000004 – Note: The truth hurts. But it also sets free.)
The elevator carried them to the lower levels.
The doors slid open to reveal a darkened space, illuminated only by floating displays. Live data streams flickered across the screens.
And in the center of the room, chained to a chair, sat Valentin Grebnev.
The dictator.
A man whose hands carried the weight of a thousand massacres.
Tariq's breath caught in his throat.
— "Mr. Al-Masri."
Grebnev inclined his head, as if greeting an old acquaintance.
— "Welcome to the last empire on Earth."
Tariq didn't respond.
But something deeply unsettled him.
It wasn't Grebnev himself.
It was his smile.
Elena stood tall beside him.
She did not sit.
She would not lower herself.
— "You should be rotting in prison, Grebnev." Her voice was cold, but not cruel. She never wished for anyone's death.
He chuckled.
— "And yet, here I am."
Lorenz approached the central table, calm as ever.
And he was smiling, too.
— "And perhaps you're still useful."
Tariq felt the cold spread through his veins.
Because at that moment, he realized something terrifying.
He wasn't sure who the real villain in that room was.
(Trama Log_000004 – Note: The game has begun. And I still don't know who is moving the pieces.)
Later that night, Tariq was escorted to his new quarters.
He expected a cell.
Instead, he found himself inside a fully furnished living space, clean and efficient—functional, but not luxurious.
A message flickered on the digital wall.
You are now part of Vessel. Work assignments to follow.
Tariq exhaled.
Being discarded would have been one thing.
Being forced to take over his parents' crumbling empire would have been worse.
But this?
This was something else entirely.
A future. A purpose.
And, if he wanted—the option to bring his siblings to Vessel.
The Brillhart fortune was already seized and repurposed.
It would no longer serve the corrupt.
It now belonged to the Global Rehabilitation Complex: Vessel.
(Trama Log_000004 – Note: The past is being rewritten. This is useful.)
