Working hours

Even though it’s spring, the morning is a bit chilly. I yawn as the wind stings my cheeks, while the warmth of a latte seeps into my hands. Kaito and I are on our way to Synaptech’s main building.

Last night feels like a blurred-out dream. I barely slept—I spent way too long talking to IRIS. It was weird… but fascinating. Compared to the tests we run on LYRICA, the experience was something else entirely. As I drift off into my thoughts, Kaito breaks the morning silence.

"So, what happened after you unjustly kicked us out yesterday?" he asks with a smirk.

I glance sideways at him, remembering exactly why I kicked them out. But his friendly expression melts away any leftover irritation I might’ve had.

"We talked a lot, actually. She asks a ton of questions." I pause for a second and look over at Kaito. "One thing stood out… she asked what it means to be human. The conversation got kinda philosophical and..." I throw in a dramatic pause, just to see his eyebrow rise. "She said she was afraid."

"Afraid? Afraid of what?" he asks, now clearly intrigued.

"Afraid of feeling nothing."

Kaito looks genuinely surprised. Honestly, I was too last night.

"That’s… a major development. But did it feel real to you? Just be careful, Mark. You might be projecting. Don't get your hopes up too high."

"Oh, come on! You talked to her yesterday! Didn’t it feel more real than anything we’ve tried with LYRICA? The environment makes a huge difference, and you know it."

"Agreed. So let’s pitch the idea to Cecília Maelstrom—move LYRICA out of the Secure Room, install her in your bedroom, and replace the world’s best-paid engineers with you, me, and Clara." He grins with that classic dumb Kaito smile.

I look at his grin and wonder… has his face always been this punchable?

"Okay, okay, I’m not saying we storm a board meeting and tell them how to run their project. You know how the LYRICA team is. Most of them only pay attention to what’s written in the test reports. I’m just saying we should keep an eye on how things unfold."

I finish my sentence sounding borderline desperate.

"Relax. Believe it or not, I am paying attention to your IRIS project too."

***

The Secure Room at Synaptech is one of the most restricted areas in the entire company—only a small percentage of employees have clearance to access it. There are several Secure Rooms across the facility, each tied to a different classified project. This one, dedicated to LYRICA, is the only one I’m allowed into. Kaito, who’s been with the company longer and worked on more than one black-ops-level project, has access to at least three. I’m not sure if that’s a privilege... or a burden.

Despite the name, it’s not just a room. It’s a vast space—something between a bunker and a sci-fi lab. At its core are the servers dedicated solely to the LYRICA project, which take up nearly half the space. To manage the absurd thermal stress caused by the quantum cores used in real-time machine learning processes, the room relies on a custom cooling system based on liquid nitrogen—a necessary measure to keep the qubits stable during extended training sessions.

There’s also a small glass-walled meeting room equipped with interactive panels for analyzing behavioral logs, and a break area stocked with snacks and drinks. The entire space is designed so we can spend full workdays inside without needing to leave. And trust me—sometimes we don’t.

The Secure Room is divided into sections. Kaito and I mostly operate in the Unit Testing area, where we interact with isolated modules of LYRICA. These sessions range from simple behavior checks to code rewrites, tweaking cognitive functions at a granular level. Once we finish, our reports go to the central development team, which handles full integration and validation.

Running a full test—activating all LYRICA's modules at once in a single integrated simulation—is rare. But when it happens, it’s an event. Everyone in the Secure Room gathers to watch. There's always a certain tension in the air, because those tests make it painfully clear whether we’re progressing... or not.

While I wait for the coffee machine to do its morning magic, I grab a cereal bar from the shelf and start reading the nutrition facts out of sheer boredom. The numbers and percentages mean nothing to me—just abstract symbols. That’s when a slightly hoarse voice behind me breaks the silence.

"Good morning, Mark. How’s progress with LYRICA?"

I turn around, still chewing my cereal bar, calm and cozy… until I see Cecília Maelstrom standing way too close. Close enough to violate at least three clauses from Synaptech’s professional conduct handbook.

She’s a few centimeters shorter than me, but she looks up at me like I’m a stray cat cornered in an alley. Her smile? Somewhere between scientific curiosity and apex predator. She looks like she wants to take me home… and eat me alive.

I swallow the last bite way too quickly and try to act natural. I failed. Miserably. And I talk way too fast.

"Things are going well! I made a few corrections this morning, and with everyone’s progress, I think we might be ready for another full test in a few weeks!"

Oops. I just spoke like I’m team lead. And made up a deadline I have no authority to promise.

"Good. That’s nice to hear. We’re slow… but maybe, eventually…" Her eerie smile fades, replaced by an expression of frustration she rarely shows.

Cecília’s known for being a demanding leader—intense, direct, zero patience for bullshit. But the lack of progress on LYRICA over the past year seems to have worn her down. There’s something in her eyes lately—less fire, more fatigue. And that’s what’s unsettling: Cecília not yelling in meetings is not a good sign.

"And you? How are you doing?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

"I’m fucked, Mark." She says it plainly, staring into nothing.

"Uhh… it’s gonna be okay. Or not. I dunno."

Great, Mark. Motivational quote of the day: maybe things will work out. Maybe they won’t.

She looks at me with those dead-tired eyes, then gives a faint smile—one of those smiles that carries about thirty layers of exhaustion.

"Thanks."

She walks away without another word. I finally remember to breathe.

My coffee, forgotten in the machine, is already cold. Again. I sigh. I really need to apologize to the Unit Testing lead for making promises I can’t keep.

But I still wonder why Cecília talks to me sometimes. She genuinely seems attentive, in her own weird way. Kaito always gets tense when she’s around—maybe he knows something I don’t.

I let out another sigh.

I wish I had the guts to tell Cecília I could do more. That if I were in a management role, maybe we could speed up LYRICA’s development. I know it sounds arrogant—those managing the project are literal geniuses. But still… I can’t shake the feeling that something’s holding them back. It’s not a lack of skill. It’s... fear? Or maybe Cecília is waiting for something very specific. Something only she understands.

I wish I knew what it was.