A NEW BEGINNING

Excerpt from the talk show "A Glimpse Behind the Curtain"

“Did you see them?

Those who survived Sindar Lad say they weren’t human. They say they were machines. They didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate.

They killed.

It was self-defense, the Beacon claims.

But what if this is just the beginning of something bigger?

These so-called ‘modificants’ are creations of technologies understood by only a chosen few. Can we trust them to protect us, when we don’t even know what they are?

What if tomorrow they don’t protect us—but become weapons used against us?

The line between human and machine is blurring.

But the real question is: what happens once we cross it?”

Ela, the Beacon, Upper Prim

The doors of the council chamber opened in silence. Ela entered with her head held high and her steps steady. A performance—for the twelve council members whose eyes fixed on her. She sensed the blend of expressions, reading into them everything from curiosity to disapproval, and in some, unmistakable excitement.

It had been a very long time since a representative of the Beacon had set foot on Prim’s Council floor. And today, that representative was her.

Tonot, her indispensable shadow, followed close behind. The metallic sheen of his mechanical body briefly lit the room before it sank back into the muted glow of the holograms and symbols radiating from the center of the oval meeting table.

This was an arena, and Ela was here to win.

She headed toward the head of the table, where Councilor Brooks was already waiting for her. He was the only one in the room she recognized, although…

She realized that two seats down sat another face that drew her attention. Without that damn hat, she had almost failed to recognize him—if not for the same twisted smirk that would likely haunt her memory forever.

Valis Noret.

She now remembered seeing a brief infovision report about him taking office after his father’s death, but she hadn’t given it much thought. Council members came and went—it was a natural cycle. Until one of them turned out to be someone who had once tried to hurt her.

Her breath caught for a moment, but then she straightened again with quiet confidence. She had no reason to be afraid today.

“Mediator?” he addressed her curtly, noticing her intense gaze.

His thin lips curled into a smile, but she could find no clue in it—no sign of recognition, at least not the kind she felt.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard his words again, as if whispered right then:

“You’ll like it, Red.”

A shiver of disgust ran through her body, threatening to knock her off balance. But then she felt Tonot’s light touch through the meco. Though the werren couldn’t read her thoughts through the device, the emotions she radiated were enough for him to understand.

It helped.

It grounded her in the moment again, just in time to take the seat offered by Councilor Brooks. Tonot sat beside her, his mechanical presence radiating cold authority. Ela took a deep breath. This was no time for nerves.

This was the moment she had spent the past several days preparing for with the Beacon.

“Mediator,” Brooks spoke in his typically neutral tone. “The Council yields the floor. You may present your proposal.”

Ela straightened in her seat and slowly let her gaze travel across the twelve members of the Council. Faces of all kinds—some leaning forward, others relaxed back in their chairs; some reserved, others indifferent, curious or already evaluating.

Each one represented a crucial vote. And she knew she couldn’t afford to overlook a single one.

“Thank you, all of you, for being here today,” she began warmly, her voice ringing clear and firm in the silent room. “I don’t believe it’s necessary to go into lengthy explanations as to why we’ve gathered. The Modificant Project has managed to introduce itself—through an unexpectedly sharp deployment. Still, I’d like to remind you that it was thanks to this project that Prim managed not only to hold its strategic position in the South, but to turn what seemed like failure into a decisive, crushing defeat of the specialized Letrasian forces in the battle of Sindar Lad.”

She paused for a moment—perhaps to give the councilors time to absorb her words, to reflect on everything the Beacon had already achieved through its modificants. But then she continued, without hesitation: 

“But we are here today above all because the Beacon is well aware that creating and launching a project is only half the work. What matters now is securing support—both here, at the Council level, and among the people of Prim.

Allow me, then, to present the first of several pieces intended for the public infovision campaign, designed to help the public see our modificants as a chance for a better future for us all.”

She reached toward the holographic projector in the center of the table. With a light touch, the air above it lit up in a cascade of glowing projections.

First appeared the logo of the Institute, the body that oversaw everything the Beacon had so far offered to the common people. Then came footage of laboratories, training grounds, and the battlefield at Sindar Lad.

Her voice remained steady and composed, though she could feel the eyes of the council burning into her.

“As you can see, modificants are not just a product of technological progress. They are our answer to the threats that Prim and its people face.

The rescue operation at Sindar Lad proved that they can be the decisive weight on the scales—the difference between losing key locations and securing them. Thanks to them, we maintained stability on the southern front and protected the lives of our best military strategists.”

“Sindar Lad was undeniably a major success,” Councilor Brooks said after a brief pause. “But we cannot ignore the fact that the public sees it differently. The leaked footage from the battle didn’t inspire trust—it provoked fear. How do you plan to change that perception?”

“That is precisely why this campaign is essential. We have the tools to present the modificants in a positive light—as protectors, not threats. The infovision you just saw is only the first step.”

“Protectors?” Valis scoffed in disgust. “I’d say they’re nothing but murderous machines. We’ve all seen the footage. That wasn’t defense—it was a massacre. And now you want us to convince the people to trust these… things?”

“Every weapon, Councilor Noret, has its purpose,” Ela countered his words. “The modificants were deployed in Sindar Lad because the situation was critical. And critical situations require the strongest possible response.

But we mustn’t forget that modificants are, first and foremost, still people. Under that armor are men and women who voluntarily chose to undergo a demanding procedure and the training that followed. Not machines—but fathers, mothers, sons, and daughters. In light of that, your words are deeply disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful? If we’re speaking of respect, some of us here could tell a story or two about that. Isn’t that right, Mediator?” Valis snapped back, locking eyes with her.

Ela faltered for a moment, then took a deep breath and forced herself to stay calm. Only the tight grip of her hands on the tabletop betrayed how much his words had hit her—more than she wanted to admit. She knew perfectly well why he had said it, and the lack of basic decency disturbed her.

Dragging old grievances into something as crucial as this meeting was more than inappropriate.

“Enough, Valis,” Brooks interjected, to her surprise. “We all know that without the modificants, Sindar Lad would have fallen—and would now be under Letras control. The Mediator is absolutely right on that point, and it’s in our interest to ensure the public understands it the same way. Even if I’m well aware that the Beacon has been pulling the wool over our eyes.”

He looked pointedly at Ela:

“It’s hard to convince the public of your good intentions when you’ve been feeding us stories about saving cripples and hopeless patients. And just because the modificants are currently functioning doesn’t mean they’re flawless. Just as your communication hasn’t been flawless.”

“The Beacon has shown you everything that needed to be shown,” came an unexpected interruption—from Tonot himself. His lifeless eyes fixed directly on the councilor. Ela noticed several members’ eyes widen, while others froze mid-motion.

She knew that the sheer presence of his being affected them the same way it affected her. But she also sensed that his unyielding tone was pushing the Council closer to a split—into two irreconcilable camps.

“We never hid the fact that there are secrets not yet ready to be revealed. And had we presented the project earlier, we would’ve lost the element of surprise—something that proved crucial in Sindar Lad.”

“Or the attack on headquarters might never have happened,” another councilor cut in—an older man, Harl Zem. Ela didn’t know much about him, only that he had been on the Council for over sixty years.

It was hard to judge whether that time in office played in their favor—or the opposite.

“Perhaps if the Beacon had communicated reasonably and in a timely manner with the Council—if you had laid out your plans—we could have avoided these losses.

Instead, we were given an unpleasant surprise only once the crisis was inevitable. You can’t expect gratitude under those conditions. In Sindar Lad, we lost over a hundred and fifty soldiers, and around fifty civilians.

Those are staggering numbers. Naturally, we must ask whether those losses could have been prevented with more direct communication.”

“Communication with the Council?” Ela leaned forward, palms braced against the table. “With all due respect, Councilor Zem, if I recall correctly, the Prim Council hasn’t had a unified stance on southern security for the past three years. Were we supposed to wait for you to reach a consensus? How many more people would’ve died in the meantime?”

“That’s absurd,” the elderly councilor shook his head. “The Council never even had the opportunity to approve anything, because you informed us about the project far too late. You expect us to make decisions blindly? That kind of approach isn’t just arrogant—it’s dangerous.”

On the other side of the table, a younger councilor rose, her expression serious.

“There’s no point arguing about what was, what happened, or whether the approach was correct,” she said firmly. “Both sides have their truth, and today’s discussion is about setting the rules going forward. The question is this: What now? Do we accept the offered modificants and stand behind them—or do we reject them?”

“Reject them?” Ela scoffed, pressing her palms harder into the table, as if grounding her argument in the very surface. “Forgive me, but we are talking about a project that saved Sindar Lad and tens of thousands of lives. Do you really want to stand before your people and justify why you turned down the overwhelming advantage the Beacon offers you?”

“I understand, Mediator, that this is personal for you,” the councilor replied with a gentle, almost patronizing smile, “but you must see the issue through the eyes of the Council. We are responsible for the lives of all our people—those living in Prim and across the greater Reach. If the modificants were to pose a risk to them, then for the sake of their safety, we would have to refuse them.”

“What about a compromise?” Brooks suggested, glancing around at the faces around the table. “Modificants are a weapon—wrapped in a neat package and padded with propaganda, yes—but a weapon nonetheless. And we all know we need weapons most urgently in the South. I propose we limit their use to active combat zones. Outside of those areas, their deployment would not be authorized.”

“And what about oversight?” asked Vardon Lan, another of the councilors. His tone was calm, but his eyes kept darting nervously toward Tonot.

“If we’re to approve the use of modificants, we need assurances that this project won’t spiral out of control. Who guarantees they’ll stay in the South and won’t be deployed elsewhere?”

“Control is ensured,” Tonot said in a voice of icy calm.

His mechanical form shifted slightly—just enough to make several councilors visibly tense again.

“Modificants do not act outside the operational commands of the Beacon. If the Council requires further guarantees, we are open to discussion. But do not forget—you entrusted us with ensuring security. Not with sharing control.”

Ela noticed subtle reactions among the councilors—some shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while others nodded thoughtfully. Harl Zem crossed his arms and looked away, as the younger councilor on the opposite side of the table spoke up again.

“To me, that seems like a reasonable proposal,” she nodded. “But I believe we should consider establishing an oversight committee—to ensure modificants are deployed according to agreed-upon rules. It would help reassure the public and keep the Council involved.”

“A committee?” Ela couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Please understand that modificants are units under the command of the Beacon. Their effectiveness lies in their ability to act swiftly and precisely, following orders evaluated by the werren Circle. I’m sure you’ll agree that their decision-making capacity and speed are on a completely different scale than this Council.

Any delay or external interference in their deployment could have fatal consequences. And as for oversight—such a mechanism already exists. Inside the Beacon.”

“Under your watch,” Valis said with a quiet smirk. “And you expect us to believe that’s enough to make the public feel safe?”

Ela met his gaze directly.

“Councilor Noret, if anything threatens the safety of the people, it’s inaction and indecision. Modificants are not the threat—they are the answer to the challenges we already face. I understand your concerns, but their deployment has always been, and will continue to be, precisely targeted.

And if you still have doubts, I’d be happy to personally give you a tour of the Beacon’s operations center.”

Something flickered in Valis’s eyes. Her offer had been public and polite—he couldn’t refuse without appearing weak. He simply nodded and lowered his gaze to the table.

“Let’s return to the proposal,” Brooks said authoritatively, cutting through the brief silence that had fallen over the room.

“The oversight committee can be discussed later, should the Council desire it. But for now, we must decide whether to approve or reject the project under the condition of limited deployment.”

He looked around at the other councilors.

“We all agree the current situation in the South demands action. Therefore, I propose we vote. Who is in favor of approving the project under the condition that its deployment is restricted to active combat zones?”

***

Ela stood by the glass wall of the control room, from which she could easily oversee two training arenas at once. In one of them, an active simulation was underway, allowing her to watch a unit of fresh recruits grapple with their first virtual obstacles.

She should have felt satisfied. Today’s vote had gone in their favor—and although she had hoped for full support, even nine votes to three was a tremendous success. Yet a bitter aftertaste lingered.

She wasn’t surprised that Valis and two others had voted against it. What gnawed at her was the feeling that much of what had been said shouldn’t have needed saying at all. Valis’s provocations especially left her with the sour recognition that some people cared only for their own perspective. He was exactly the kind of politician who would rather sabotage something that worked than admit it might function better without his ideas.

Ela narrowed her eyes as she spotted one of the recruits fail an obstacle and hit the ground hard. She half-raised her hands, instinctively wanting to intervene, but forced herself to straighten and continue watching silently. The technician at the control panel across the room immediately redirected the simulation to give the rest of the team a chance to adapt to the changed conditions.

“Try to feel it a little less,” she ordered herself inwardly, but she could still feel the tension clenching her shoulders.

Her gaze drifted to the faces in the second arena. She knew each of them by name. She knew their stories. She’d seen their beginnings.

None of them had arrived here by an easy road. Every one of them had paid a price—sometimes far too steep.

She recalled the first of them she had met, shortly after awakening, when he was still utterly helpless. He had been fragile, drained by the grueling process that had pushed each of them to the very edge of death—only to be reborn stronger, altered.

The look in his eyes had left a mark on her—one that time would never fully erase.

Still, she believed. She believed that each of them had the strength to walk that path and become what the world needed.

The modificants were the result of their own will, their immense courage, and their willingness to undergo an irreversible change. That was why they weren’t just weapons, as Valis had so brazenly suggested.

They were, above all, people—people who had chosen to sacrifice a part of themselves to protect others. They were hope.

When she spoke about them in the Council today, she had meant every word. To her, they had become something more than a project.

They were a promise of the future— and at the same time, a burden she had to carry.

She became aware that she’d clasped her hands tightly behind her back. She straightened, took a deep breath, and let her gaze drift to the second arena, where a group of modificants had just returned from a mission.

Their faces were tired, but their eyes burned with a strange energy. They laughed, teased one another—looked as though they’d just come from a standard training session, not live combat.

She knew full well they shouldn’t have been in the field yet—the Council had only approved their deployment today. But if there was one thing she had learned, it was that the Circle didn’t care much for the Council.

They played their own game—pretended to respect the Council’s words, then did whatever they wanted anyway.

Since the attack on Sindar Lad, the modificants had been running missions almost daily. She had no idea where they were being sent—orders usually came from parts of the Beacon beyond Tonot’s domain. But so far, judging by how they looked, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

Her eyes drifted toward a tall modificant who stood out from the rest. Young. Confident. With the natural aura of a leader.

His voice echoed across the room, each sentence followed by bursts of laughter. His metallic arm—replacing one he had lost to injury—flashed in the arena lights as he swung it around as if it had always been a part of him.

Borin was exceptional.

Not just in his approach, but in the way he drew others to him. Most of the unit listened to him with clear respect.

But Ela also found him unsettling. His ability to lead a team was undeniable— but she sensed that he took every mission too personally. As a challenge to conquer, not a risk to be weighed carefully.

Still—or perhaps because of that—Tonot saw him as the star of the entire project. And Ela wasn’t about to argue with that.

Yet, her gaze ultimately came to rest on Miren. As always.

She stood a little apart, distant, a vacant look in her eyes. While the others seemed relaxed, her gaze remained tense— and kept returning, again and again, to Borin.

What happened, Miren? Why aren’t you like the others?

Ela frowned. She wanted to believe that the black-haired girl had finally found what she’d been searching for.

But something in her posture said it wouldn’t be that simple.

Maybe they needed to talk again— but every time Ela tried, Miren retreated even further into herself.

“Ela,” Tonot said unexpectedly, snapping her out of her thoughts.

She hadn’t even noticed he was there.

“You’re not here to analyze every face. Focus on the whole. What do you see?”

She cast a glance over her shoulder.

“A unit that seems well-coordinated, although… they all seem too relaxed. Except for Miren. She still stands apart.”

Tonot was silent for a moment, then stepped up beside her.

“Her results have been borderline for some time now.”

Ela swallowed dryly. The words were neutral, but the meaning behind them was chilling. No one in the Beacon talked about those who didn’t make it. And Ela had no idea what became of them. She only knew that whatever it was, she wouldn’t wish it on Miren.

“Go to them,” Tonot instructed. “Watch them. Talk to them. And above all, observe. They’re under immense pressure, and their smiles may just be a defense mechanism.

It’s your responsibility to make sure they stay human—and don’t become the killing machines they were cynically called at today’s Council meeting.”

So even he’s troubled by it, Ela thought, then nodded. She was grateful that Tonot cared about the humanity of the modificants. As far as she could tell, he might be the only one in the Beacon who did.

Her gaze drifted once more to the recruits still wrestling with their first obstacles. In their faces, she saw determination that filled her with pride— but also a heavy sense of responsibility.

The Council would never see that. Even if they stood here beside her now, they wouldn’t understand how far these people had come to get here. Valis’s accusations echoed in her mind again. His words hadn’t come from ignorance—they had been calculated. He wanted to undermine everything the Beacon had built.

Whether it was out of personal spite or political maneuvering, the result was the same: to spit on them in order to devalue their worth.

She sighed.

If only he had the courage to say it to their faces. She’d invited him to the Beacon— but she doubted he’d accept. That bastard didn’t have that kind of spine.

Ela made her way slowly toward the living quarters, sensing how her presence shifted the mood around her. She knew they associated her primarily with Tonot. She was his extension—a bridge between them and their creators. Maybe that was why they attributed her a bigger role than she actually held. But she’d be lying to herself if she claimed it bothered her.

On the contrary—if the Council had shown even a fraction of the respect she received from these men and women, negotiations would have been a lot easier.

Maybe that was why—so it wouldn’t go to her head—Ela always made sure to smile at everyone she met. She had no reason to place herself above them. Quite the opposite.

To her, they were heroes— and it should be she who showed them respect.

But this time, she was looking for Miren. Even though Tonot had stressed that she should treat the group as a whole, Ela knew Miren didn’t quite belong to it. She stood apart. And Miren still meant something more to her than the others. Ela couldn’t, and didn’t want to, detach herself from the past they shared.

She found her in the locker room, packing up her gear. Her presence seemed to catch Miren off guard.

“I was looking for you,” Ela said instead of a greeting, eyeing the girl with concern.

She couldn’t miss how Miren’s mechanical eyes widened slightly in reaction, and her lips stretched into a polite smile— a clear, futile attempt to mask her unease.

“And now you’ve found me,” Miren replied quickly, stepping instinctively between Ela and the armor she had just taken off.

Ela couldn’t help noticing the dark stains on the surface of the suit—dried blood, judging by the color.

“Can we talk?” Ela gestured toward a quieter corner of the locker room, a place where they could be sure no one would hear them.

Miren hesitated, then nodded reluctantly and followed her in silence.

“Are you alright?” Ela asked softly once they were alone.

Miren hesitated before answering, her voice tight and her eyes flitting nervously around the room.

“Yeah… why do you ask?”

“You seem… off. I’ve noticed for a while now that you’re not yourself. So—what’s going on?”

The girl lowered her eyes and shook her head.

“Nothing. I’m just tired. Sometimes it’s… a lot. But we made it through. Like always.”

“Where did they send you?”

Ela usually followed the rule of never asking what the modificants did out there. But this time, she broke it.

“Where were you? What was your mission?”

Miren blinked in confusion and rubbed her temples before answering, her voice barely above a whisper:

“I don’t know, Ela. I don’t know anything. I don’t remember.”

Ela stared at her in stunned silence. Miren didn’t seem like she was lying. She meant what she said.

“It’s the mobzar… it completely disconnects your head. It’s like… like I’m not even me,” she whispered.

“I know I was there, but it felt like someone else was holding the weapon, and I was just watching.”

Mobzar. Ela knew exactly what she meant. The drug was built into the armor’s dispenser system—designed as a stimulant to aid in controlling the advanced suit and to synchronize the unit. She knew it was being used. What she hadn’t known—until now—was that it could have side effects.

And if Miren was telling the truth, they weren’t minor.

Or perhaps it wasn’t an accident.

Perhaps the mobzar was meant to keep the fragile human mind out of the way— at times when it might otherwise become an obstacle.

“Killing machines.”

Valis’s words echoed in her mind, and for the first time, she had to admit— maybe that bastard wasn’t entirely wrong. If mobzar created soldiers without memories, what were they, if not weapons housed in human shells?

“I’ll talk to the doctor. Maybe the formula needs adjusting, if it’s making you feel this way,” Ela said.

Miren reached out, as if trying to stop her.

“Don’t make it into a thing. I’m just tired. I’ll rest, and it’ll be fine again.”

Ela took a deep breath and looked directly into her mechanical eyes.

It had taken time to grow used to that strange gaze, to accept it as part of who Miren had become. Now, she saw exhaustion there— but also fear.

Miren didn’t want attention. She knew her results weren’t perfect, but she was fighting for her place here— and she was willing to fight until the very end.

So Ela just nodded.

“Alright. But if it doesn’t get better, you’ll tell me. Okay?”

Miren nodded, then turned and walked toward the showers, ready to wash off the grime of her latest mission. Ela stood there for a while, deep in thought, her mind full of questions.

The Beacon remained a place full of surprises. Some of them made sense.Others, like this one, left her uneasy. This time, it was the latter.

The effect of mobzar—the synthetic drug used by the modificants— was not what she’d been led to believe.

Did Tonot know?

Maybe.

“There’s no point talking to her.”

It was clear Borin had overheard them, and apparently decided to share his opinion. She turned to find him standing there, wearing that all-too-familiar expression— part amused, part provocative, and far too confident.

“She’s trying to hold it together, but you know how it goes. Some handle it better than others.”

Ela frowned at him.

“Not everyone is as adaptable as you,” she replied dryly, but didn’t look away.

Borin smiled, tilting his head slightly.

“Adaptability is the key to survival, Mediator. And also to success.”

His eyes dipped slightly before locking onto hers again.

“And success, well… that’s something we all want, isn’t it? Even me. But I get it—you’re way out of our league. No reason to waste your time on someone like me. You’re the Mediator, we’re just modificants—pumped full of lab junk. Still… when was the last time someone told you you look good?”

Ela crossed her arms, instinctively establishing a clear boundary.

“I think I’ll survive without your compliments.”

He laughed.

“Just stating the obvious. Shame it goes unappreciated. I’ve noticed—Beacon doesn’t really play these games, does it?”

Ela felt the corners of her mouth twitch slightly. She used to enjoy this kind of verbal sparring, but she wasn’t foolish enough to forget who she was dealing with.

Borin was clever, aggressive— but most of all, dangerously ambitious.

His interest was anything but sincere.

“Borin, if you came here just to play games with me, you picked the wrong day.”

“Understood,” he shrugged, stepping closer.

“But you might be able to help me. You’d know better than I would. It’s about a friend. I found him half-dead in Sindar Lad. They said he’d be sent here, but it’s been a while, and I’ve got no clue where he ended up.”

Ela was surprised by his concern—and, she had to admit, pleasantly so. Until now, Borin had never struck her as someone who genuinely cared about others. More like a pack leader who wouldn’t stoop to something as human as friendship. But maybe she’d been wrong.

“Are you sure they sent him here?”

Borin smirked.

“I asked around. They said he was in such bad shape he wouldn’t have a chance anywhere else. But I told them—Reng’s been through worse. With a little help, he’d pull through.”

Ela’s heart pounded so hard she momentarily forgot to breathe. She forced herself to stay composed, took a deep breath, and tried to keep her expression neutral.

“So his name is Reng? If I’m going to find him, I need to be sure.”

Borin smiled again, this time without sarcasm.

“Yeah, that’s him. We were together for a while, before everything went to hell. I ended up here, he got shipped south. Honestly? I thought he might’ve died already. But, surprise—when we pulled him out of the rubble, he was still breathing.”

Ela struggled to maintain her calm and not betray anything.

“I don’t know of anyone by that name here, but I’ll ask around.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Borin said, then smiled again.

With a touch of mischief, he added:

“You sure you won’t at least grab a drink with me?”

Ela gave him a cold smile.

“Like you said, Borin—Beacon doesn’t play those games.”

Before he could reply, she turned and walked away.

Her mind was consumed by a single thought:

Reng is alive.

And I have to find him.