Silence fell over the hall. Several of those present exchanged glances. Neina raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “Garrat, what’s wrong? Why did you refuse the president’s offer so abruptly?” she asked quietly.

  The president laced his fingers together.

  “If this is about your safety or money, there’s no need to worry. We will provide both.”

  “No, that’s not it,” Garrat replied calmly. “Your speech was excellent. Inspiring. I’m sure any other outsider in my place would agree to this venture. Especially when the entire sector is hunting him. But…”

  “But what?”

  “But it doesn’t move me. I don’t want to be a symbol. I don’t want to be someone’s banner. I just want to live my life in peace. I understand that after yesterday that’s almost impossible… but still.”

  The president leaned forward slightly.

  “Of course it’s impossible. You’ll be captured and locked in prison for the rest of your days.”

  “I’ll try anyway.”

  “Try what?” The president’s voice carried a hint of coldness for the first time.

  Garrat rose from the table.

  “To escape the sector. And the state.”

  Muted voices spread through the hall.

  “You understand that the borders of ‘Mir’ are under full control?” Neina asked sharply. “Checkpoints, drones, scanners. It’s simply impossible.”

  “It’s possible,” Garrat answered evenly. “If you can finance a revolution, then there must be loopholes.”

  The president slowly lifted his head.

  “You… are refusing… power… for the sake of running away?”

  “Yes,” Garrat said firmly. “I’m not a leader. I’m just an outsider who wanted to help an old man.”

  Neina stood up.

  “But if you leave, they’ll be crushed again. The ones who came out to protest… they believe in you.”

  “I never asked them to believe in me.”

  The president slowly rose from his seat. His gaze hardened.

  “You underestimate what you are already entangled in. You are no longer a private individual, Garrat. You are the spark we have finally found.”

  “Then you’ll find another one,” he replied.

  “Spikes don’t choose whether they want to burn,” the president said coldly. “They are either extinguished, or they ignite a fire.”

  Gauda leaned back in his chair.

  “And what are you going to do, Mr. President?” he asked in a low voice. “Just let him walk away?”

  The president remained silent for a moment, then looked at Garrat again.

  “If you try to escape alone, you’ll be caught within a day. And then no one will be able to pull you out. Think again.”

  “I already have,” Garrat said firmly. “And I’m not going to become someone’s project.”

  Tension filled the room.

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  “Are you absolutely sure about this, Garrat?” Neina asked softly.

  He simply nodded.

  The president clapped his hands sharply, bringing the discussion to a close.

  “Well, it can’t be helped. Garrat, of course we won’t force you. But do me one favor.”

  “What kind of favor?”

  “Just come with me to one room. Don’t worry, it’s an ordinary information archive. There is… something quite enlightening there.”

  Neina’s face immediately tightened.

  “Mr. President… are you seriously going to show him that?”

  “Garrat, you don’t really follow the news, do you?”

  “No. All I did was work. I didn’t care about the outside world,” he said.

  The president nodded.

  “Then it’s clear why you have such an attitude toward life. Please, follow me.”

  “Alright,” Garrat replied.

  They walked down the corridor. The door behind them closed softly.

  They moved in silence. White walls, embedded panels, the occasional camera mounted near the ceiling.

  The president spoke first:

  “I understand why you want a peaceful life. Everyone does. But unfortunately, not everyone is allowed one.”

  “I think a peaceful life can be built. You just have to work hard, plan for the future, and avoid unnecessary trouble,” Garrat said.

  The president smiled, but not mockingly.

  “Yes. You think logically, but unfortunately, there’s one problem.”

  “What problem?”

  “Hard work is not always rewarded. Sometimes it’s punished.”

  Garrat frowned.

  “Why do you say that?”

  The president stopped in front of a massive metal door. A scanner panel next to it blinked.

  “Because I’ve seen a lot,” he said quietly. “And now you will too.”

  The door hissed and slid open to the side.

  Behind it was a large, dark room. The walls were covered with screens: dozens, hundreds of live feeds. City streets, factories, residential areas, food lines, protest dispersals.

  One screen zoomed in automatically.

  A factory floor. A middle-aged outsider argues with a supervisor. Within minutes, security is escorting him in handcuffs.

  “The poor man was just asking to be paid for overtime,” the president explained calmly. “Three consecutive shifts, and he has children.”

  The screen changed.

  A young woman on a podium. Her words were inaudible, but the expressions of the crowd made it clear she spoke of freedom. Moments later, the crowd is dispersed with gas.

  “See,” the president said softly. “They just wanted to live in peace too. Raise their children, work, live. But sometimes the system decides for you.”

  Garrat stared at the faces on the screens, at their fear, helplessness, and anger.

  “Yesterday, you became proof,” the president continued. “Proof that it’s possible to resist and survive. And now, either you become a symbol of hope for them… or they will be crushed one by one.”

  “You’re just manipulating me,” Garrat said quietly.

  “Of course. I am a politician. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

  The president looked at Garrat. He wasn’t particularly impressed.

  “Alright, I didn’t want to drag you into this, but follow me.”

  Garrat watched as he approached another door and opened it. The door closed behind them more heavily than the previous one.

  The room was smaller, darker. There were no panoramic screens of the city, just one long table and several screens embedded into the concrete.

  “This is the closed archive,” the president said dryly.

  He touched a panel, and the first screen lit up.

  A surveillance camera showed an underground corridor. Several soldiers were escorting a bound man. From his body, it was clear he was an outsider, exhausted, with blood on his face.

  “Unregistered migrant,” the president said. “Detained for lacking a pass and documentation. Officially transferred to a processing center.”

  The image changed. The same outsider was now in a windowless room, being beaten severely.

  Garrat clenched his fists.

  “And there are many cases like this?”

  The president silently switched the recording.

  A female outsider screamed as her child was taken from her.

  “Noncompliance with genetic requirements,” the president explained flatly. “The child was sent to the adaptation program, and the mother to the labor block.”

  “That… is human trafficking,” Garrat whispered.

  “Formally, it’s a state resettlement program,” the president replied.

  The screen changed again.

  “This archive has never appeared in public reports,” the president said. “Some cases were closed without investigation. Some crimes… were written off as ‘disappearances.’”

  Garrat stepped closer.

  On the next screen was a police report with a photo of a body. The line read: Cause of death: resistance during arrest.

  The president pressed another button.

  Another video appeared: security officers beating a group of young outsiders. One of them barely stood on his feet.

  “They were just asking to be paid for their work,” the president said quietly. “Their case was closed. The cameras ‘accidentally’ failed.”

  “Why are you showing me this?” Garrat’s voice dropped.

  “Because you think you can leave and live quietly. But the system you want to ignore does not ignore you, not because you are evil or inconvenient, but simply because you are different. Not like the others.”

  One of the screens showed footage of yesterday’s events. Garrat in the crowd, his face visible.

  For the first time, he saw himself from the outside.

  “That’s why I invited you here,” the president said. “To make you understand: a peaceful life is a privilege, and sometimes it costs more than resistance.”

  The room was silent, the soft hum of servers the only sound.

  “Now tell me, Garrat…” the president’s voice softened almost imperceptibly. “Do you still want to just walk away?”

  ......