THE PRICE OF VICTORY

They appeared from around the dome's curve, moving with perfect synchronization, like parts of a single vast machine. An 'Eden' patrol-four soldiers in immaculate white uniforms, gleaming in the sun, no dust, no wrinkles, no flaws. The uniforms hugged their bodies like second skin, and on each chest was embroidered the tree with intertwined roots-the symbol of 'Eden,' which now seemed to Elias the seal of slavery. Their faces were calm, expressionless, devoid of emotion, like masks that couldn't be removed. They looked straight ahead, not distracted by wind, sun, or wastelands. Their eyes were empty, like dolls, puppets. They moved with mechanical precision-each step identical, each arm swinging in the same rhythm, each breath synchronized.

They looked as if they weren't human. They were machines, performing their function without questions, doubt, feeling. Their steps were perfectly even, their breathing steady, and Elias knew they wouldn't stop until they fulfilled their orders. They were part of 'Eden,' part of that perfect machine grinding people up and turning them into cogs. And he knew if they noticed him, they'd catch him, and he'd never find Iris.

Elias froze, pressing his back against the dome's smooth wall, holding his breath. He pressed himself into it as hard as he could, trying to become invisible, merge with the surface, dissolve in its silver glow. His heart pounded in his chest, a dull rhythmic thud in his ears, audible for kilometers. He stared at the patrol, not daring to breathe, feeling sweat stream down his face, hands trembling with tension.

The patrol approached. He heard their steps-even, measured, like clockwork. He saw their faces pass, their empty eyes sliding past his hiding place, not stopping. They didn't see him. They kept walking, as if he were part of the landscape, as if he didn't exist. Elias waited until they passed, until their footsteps began to fade, until they disappeared around the dome's curve. He waited, feeling every heartbeat in his temples, every second stretching into eternity.

And when they finally vanished from sight, he exhaled-slowly, quietly, trying not to make a sound. He stood pressed against the wall, trembling passing through his body, adrenaline fading, leaving only weakness and pain. He knew he'd been lucky. If they'd noticed him, stopped, asked even one question, it would all be over.

He pushed off the wall and continued his journey, moving silently as a shadow. He walked along the domes, peering at every crack, every crevice, every dark passage that might lead inside. He knew there were old tunnels leading under the domes, but he didn't know where they were. He had to find them. He had to find a way in.

He walked, each step a struggle, pain in his shoulder growing, blood seeping through the bandage, darkening his clothes. He walked, searching for any way in, feeling time slip away, the sun climb higher, his strength drain with every moment.

He stopped to catch his breath and looked at the domes. He saw inside the city, people walking, smiling, talking. Children running in parks, water flowing through channels, flowers blooming. He saw paradise, perfect and flawless, and knew it wasn't paradise. Knew beauty hid a lie. Knew these people were puppets, and he had to free them.

He felt resolve rising inside him, sweeping away all doubt, all pain, all exhaustion. He would get in. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would do it. He wouldn't let this world win. He wouldn't let these walls stop him. He wouldn't let his pain break him.

He walked along the domes again, searching for an entrance, and in his head, only footsteps, wind, and his own breathing echoed. No voices. No internal dialogues. Only silence, preceding the storm, and with each step, the wastelands around him grew more inhospitable. The ground changed beneath his feet-from gray and hard to loose, covered in strange bumps and craters, as if something huge had passed, leaving marks of its wrath. The air grew thicker, heavier, and a metallic taste appeared-thin, barely perceptible, but persistent, coating his tongue and causing mild dizziness. Elias knew this taste. He'd felt it before, passing through exclusion zones left after old bombings. Radiation. Seeping from destroyed reactors, cracks in the earth, debris of what was once technology meant to serve humanity and now slowly killed everything living around it.

He paused for a moment, listening to his body. His head spun slightly, and he felt weakness spreading through his limbs, legs like lead, fingers barely obeying. He knew radiation wasn't a danger you could see or hear, but it was here, near, and it was killing him slowly, imperceptibly, with every breath. He knew he had to hurry, find a way into 'Eden,' or he simply wouldn't make it. But he couldn't run. He couldn't afford carelessness.

He looked at the ground and saw what made his heart clench with fear. Ahead, a few meters away, began a minefield. He recognized it by barely visible signs-small raised patches of earth that looked recently dug, old rusty signs poking from the dust, almost hidden by sand. Red circles with crossed-out lines were barely visible, but he knew what they meant. He'd seen these signs before, in other wastelands, where death hid beneath your feet, waiting.

He froze. He looked at the ground, studying its surface carefully, searching for the slightest signs of danger. He saw mounds that could be mines, tracks leading nowhere, bones-human and animal, white and smooth, gnawed by time and hunger. He knew many had died here. He knew one wrong step and he'd join them.

He took a deep breath, heavy air filling his lungs, and began moving again, but now his steps were cautious, measured, almost silent. He stepped only on spots that seemed safe, testing every centimeter of ground ahead. He moved slowly, like a man walking on thin ice, knowing icy water lay below. He walked, and time lost meaning. Minutes, hours, an eternity. But he knew he couldn't stop. He had to find Iris. He had to enter 'Eden.' He had to keep his promise.

Radiation grew stronger. He felt it seeping through his clothes, settling on his skin, entering his lungs with every breath. The metallic taste in his mouth grew more distinct, and he knew if he stayed here too long, he simply wouldn't be able to go on. His shoulder ached, pulsed with a dull pain, and he knew the bandage was soaked again. He had to find shelter. Re-bandage the wound. But he couldn't stop.

He almost passed the dangerous area when he heard a sound-low, guttural, full of hunger and rage. He stopped, a chill running down his spine, heart beating faster, adrenaline flooding his blood. He slowly turned.

On a small rise, a few meters away, stood two wild dogs. They were thin, to the bone, ribs showing through dirty, mangy fur, covered in scabs and bald patches. Their eyes burned with hungry, mad fire-yellow, with red veins, staring at him like prey, like meat that could satisfy their endless hunger. Their mouths were open, drool dripping, mixed with dirt and blood, falling to the ground. They stood motionless, staring at him, bodies tensed like coiled springs, ready to spring.

Elias gripped the pistol, though he knew it was empty. He knew the weapon was useless, wouldn't save him. But he couldn't give up. He couldn't let them kill him here, in this wasteland, far from Iris, from everything he loved. He slowly lowered the pistol and pulled a knife from his pocket-small, but sharp, carried for emergencies. He gripped it, feeling the cold steel steady him. He knew this was his only defense. He had to be ready to fight.

The dogs moved towards him. Their steps were silent, stalking, like ghosts, paws soundless on the ground, not raising dust. They moved in sync, surrounding him from both sides, and he knew if he made one wrong move, they'd attack. One of them snarled, revealing yellow, worn fangs, a low growl from its throat that made his blood run cold. He prepared for the attack, every muscle taut, heart pounding in his throat.

He looked at them, gripping the knife, a wave of resolve rising inside him. He wouldn't give up. He would fight to the end. Even without bullets, wounded, barely standing. He wouldn't let them kill him. He had to find Iris. He had to save the world. For Gora. For Cain. For Cale. For all who died so he could stand here.

The dogs leaped simultaneously.

Elias rolled aside at the last moment, feeling the first dog's claws rake his arm, tearing his shirt and leaving deep scratches on his skin. The pain was sharp, burning, but he didn't allow himself to scream. He rolled on the ground, raising a cloud of dust, and scrambled to his feet, knife in hand.

The second dog was already turning for another leap, eyes burning with wild fire, foam dripping from its mouth. They were fast, hungry, merciless. Elias knew if he let them corner him, if he fell, they'd tear him apart in seconds. He stepped back, once, twice, trying to keep them in front of him, not letting them flank him.

But the leader-a large, muscular dog with a torn ear and scarred muzzle-gave him no respite. It lunged, aiming for his throat, and Elias barely got his knife hand up. The blade sank into its side, between ribs, and the dog yelped-piercingly, pitifully, like a wounded animal. It fell to the ground, convulsing in agony, dark blood mixing with dust and dirt. It tried to get up, but its legs gave way, and it collapsed back, letting out a low, dying whimper.

The second dog stopped dead. It looked at its fallen comrade, then at Elias, fear appearing in its eyes. It whimpered, backed away, then turned and ran, disappearing over the nearest hill as quickly as it had appeared. Its steps faded, and silence fell over the wastelands again-only the wind howling over the earth, carrying sand and dust.

Elias stood, breathing heavily, staring at the leader's body at his feet. The dog no longer moved. He felt no joy in killing it. Only emptiness and exhaustion. He sank to his knees and vomited-from pain, weakness, everything he'd endured in the last hours. He sat on the ground, adrenaline fading, leaving only trembling and pain.

He looked at his hands. They were covered in blood-his own and the dog's. The knife had fallen from his slackened fingers, and he looked at it, revulsion and despair rising within him. He hadn't wanted to kill. He hadn't wanted to become someone who kills indiscriminately. But he'd had no choice. It was his life or theirs. And he chose life.

He forced himself to his feet, every muscle protesting. His shoulder burned, and he knew he had to re-bandage the wound, or he'd bleed out right here. He stepped away from the dog's body, found a boulder to lean against, and began bandaging his shoulder. He pulled the bandage as tight as he could, using his teeth to tie the knot, and felt the pain ease slightly.

He sat, pressing his arm to his shoulder, and looked at 'Eden's' domes rising before him. He knew he had to go on. He couldn't stop. He had to find Iris.

He got to his feet, weakness spreading, and took a step forward. Then another. He walked slowly, stumbling, leaning on walls and stones, but he walked. He had to find her. He had to keep his promise.

The sun was beginning to set, shadows growing longer, painting the wastelands in dark orange and crimson, reminding him of blood spilled on these lands. He knew he had to find an entrance before nightfall, or he'd be stranded in the wastelands without shelter, water, hope. At night, the wastelands became deadly-temperatures dropped below freezing, wild animals came out to hunt. He quickened his pace, ignoring the pain in his shoulder pulsing with his heartbeat, and the weakness spreading through him, making him stumble.

He found it by chance-an old iron door, almost hidden behind a pile of rocks and rusty metal. It was covered in layers of dust and cobwebs, and he nearly missed it as he passed. He stopped and looked closer. The door was massive, hinges rusted, the handle seemingly not opened for years. But he knew this could be an entrance. He stepped closer and pulled the handle. The door gave way with a terrible screech echoing over the wastelands, and he saw a dark passage leading down into the earth. He knew it might be dangerous, but he had no choice. He had to enter.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door slammed shut behind him with a dull thud, and he was in complete darkness. He pulled an old lighter from his pocket, one he carried as a memento of Gora, and flicked it. A weak flame lit walls covered in dust and mold, and a floor littered with debris. The air was cold and damp, and he saw his breath in the dim light. He stood still, listening to the silence pressing on his ears, feeling his heart beat faster with tension.

He walked forward, guided by memory and instinct. The tunnel was narrow and winding, walls closing in, silence pressing on his ears, darkness enveloping him like a living thing. He heard only his own breathing and footsteps echoing in the empty space. He thought of how he'd come here, what he'd lost, what he had to do. He thought of Iris, waiting in the heart of the enemy. He thought of Gora, teaching him not to be afraid, telling him: "Fear is not the enemy. The enemy is when you let fear control you." He thought of Cale, sacrificing himself to save him. Of all who died so he could stand here.

He walked, light growing brighter, air warmer, the smell of earth and mold giving way to flowers and clean water. He knew he was close. He quickened his pace, hope filling his heart, pain easing, exhaustion retreating. He walked until he emerged from the tunnel, and suddenly found himself inside 'Eden.'

He froze, stunned by what he saw. Around him stretched a city that looked like a dream come true. Perfect streets paved with white stone, clean and tidy, as if washed daily. Beautiful houses with flower-draped balconies and warm-lit windows. Trees in neat rows, leaves green and lush, as if watered every hour. Water flowing through channels, clean and clear, fish swimming, flowers reflected on its surface. The air was filled with fragrances he hadn't smelled in years, and he heard birds singing, creating a melody that seemed unreal.

He looked at this perfect world, a strange feeling rising within him. It was paradise made by human hands, but he felt something was wrong. There was no life in this city. He saw people walking, smiling, talking, but their eyes were empty, their movements mechanical, their smiles not reaching their eyes. They were puppets, strings pulled, and he knew beauty hid lies. Knew this paradise was built on control, fear, submission. Knew these people were slaves who didn't know they were slaves.

He stood on the street, looking at the city, and Gora's voice sounded in his head-quiet, but distinct, like wind in leaves. It said: "Find her." Elias knew it was his own voice, his own will, but he accepted it as a sign. He had to find Iris. He had to find her among this dead city and free her. He had to stop 'Eden.'

He took a deep breath and walked forward. Down perfect streets, wind in his face, sun setting, painting the sky gold and pink. Past people who looked at him with empty eyes, smiled but didn't see him. He walked, a wave of resolve rising inside him. He would find Iris. He would stop 'Eden.' He would save the world.

CHAPTER 2: EDEN

The air inside the dome hit her face, moist and warm, smelling not of dust and ash, but of flowers-real, living flowers she hadn't smelled in over a year. Iris stepped forward, her lungs filling with the scent, mixed with clean water and fresh greenery, and for a moment, she forgot the pain in her legs, the dryness in her throat, the weight of her backpack on her shoulders. She closed her eyes, letting the feeling wash over her, but when she opened them, reality hit with renewed force.

She stood on a perfectly level path of white stone, gleaming as if freshly washed. Around her stretched lawns-emerald green, not a single blade out of place. Trees grew in neat rows, canopies precisely trimmed, branches not intertwining, as if even they were controlled, like everything else in this world. In the distance, she saw buildings-white, cubic, with large windows reflecting the blue sky. Everything was clean, correct, sterile. Too correct.

Behind her, the dome panel closed silently, and she knew the way back was cut off. She had crossed the border. She was inside.

Corvus stood beside her, his hand on the knife hidden under his jacket. His eyes darted around, the same anxiety she felt herself. Vera clenched her fists, the tattoo on her cheek seeming to darken with tension. Marc and Dan stood flanking, faces stone, but she saw them gripping their weapons, ready to draw at any moment. They were warriors, but here, in this paradise, they felt like strangers, like wild animals in a cage.

"Doctor," Corvus whispered, leaning closer, his voice hoarse, as if holding back a shout. "They'll meet us. I know. They always meet. We have to be ready for anything."

"I know," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady, though inside she trembled with tension. "Stay close. No aggression. We're guests until we find out what's happening."

She didn't finish the sentence, because at that moment she heard footsteps. Many footsteps. Even, synchronized, like a metronome's beats, approaching from a side street where a white stone arch, covered in perfectly ordered ivy, was visible. Iris turned her head and saw them.

They emerged from behind the arch-six figures in identical silver bodysuits, hugging their bodies like second skin, shimmering in the sun. Their faces were hidden behind transparent helmets, behind which she saw features-young, smooth, without a single wrinkle, but their eyes were empty. Not just calm or focused, but absolutely empty, like dolls with glass pupils staring into nowhere. They moved with mechanical grace-each step identical, each arm swinging in the same rhythm, as if a single mind controlled their bodies. They were not people. Or no longer people.

Iris felt her heart skip a beat when she saw their eyes-those empty, glowing eyes she'd seen in the village, in those who'd surrounded them, in the gray-haired woman. But here they were different. More perfect. More mechanical. These weren't the drugged ones. These were hybrids-humans remade, turned into part of the system.

"Don't move," she told the squad, trying to keep her voice firm, though inside she clenched with fear. "They want to check us. Don't give them a reason."

The hybrid guards stopped five meters away, forming a neat line. Their movements synchronized, like soldiers on parade, and they froze, staring at the squad through their transparent helmets. One of them, the one in the center, stepped forward and raised a hand. In his palm was a small device-silver, smooth, without a single button, seemingly part of his glove. He held it to his face, and it emitted a soft, melodic sound, like a bird's song.

"DNA scanner," Iris whispered, recognizing the technology. She'd seen similar in Genesis labs, but those were bulky and imperfect. This was tiny, elegant, silent. "They'll check us."

"What if they find something they shouldn't?" Vera asked, a metallic edge in her voice. "My DNA isn't exactly clean. I had experiments. After the war..."

"Quiet," Corvus snapped. "The doctor knows what to do."

But Iris didn't know. She watched the guards moving slowly towards them, a chill running down her spine. She knew her own DNA was the key. Her mother had created a genetic matrix woven into her cells, and if Lena accessed that code, she could use it. But she also knew if she resisted, if she tried to hide her DNA, they'd know she was hiding something, and that would be worse. She had to undergo the scan. She had to show them what they wanted to see.

The first guard approached her. He was nearly a head taller, and she felt cold emanating from him-not physical, but an inner cold seeping into her bones like radiation. He raised his hand, the device glowing blue as it swept over her face, then her neck, then her wrist, which he grasped with cold fingers. His touch was metallic-cold, and she felt goosebumps on her skin. The device made a short sound, and green lights appeared on its surface.

The guard released her wrist and nodded-mechanically, like an automaton. Then he turned to the next-Corvus.

Iris held her breath. She knew Corvus had been in 'Eden' before, had escaped, and his DNA might be in the database as a "deserter" or "traitor." If they recognized him, it was all over. She saw Corvus tense, his fingers gripping the knife handle, his jaw clenching. She saw sweat on his temples, his eyes growing hard and ready to spring. She wanted to shout: "Don't resist!" but the words stuck.

The guard stopped before Corvus. His empty eyes stared straight at the fugitive's face, and Iris saw Corvus staring back, not looking away. The scanner buzzed, blue light sweeping over his skin, over scars on his arms, his face. Time crawled, like thick honey, and she felt every heartbeat in her ears.

Then the scanner made the same melodic sound, and green light appeared. The guard released Corvus's hand and nodded, as if nothing had happened.

Iris exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. She didn't know how they'd fooled the system, but they had. She looked at Corvus, and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod-his face pale, but relief flickering in his eyes.

The others were scanned just as quickly. Vera, Marc, Dan-all passed the check, and the hybrid guards, done with their work, formed a line and froze, awaiting further instructions. Then one of them, the one who'd scanned Iris, raised his hand and pointed towards a white building standing a few hundred meters away.

"Follow us," he said, his voice flat, emotionless, mechanical-not human, synthesized, devoid of inflection, like a voice assistant. "You are placed in quarantine pending completion of verification."

"Quarantine?" Iris asked, trying to sound calm, though inside she clenched with foreboding. "Why? We've already been scanned."

"Standard procedure," the guard replied, no sympathy in his voice. "All arrivals undergo adaptation. You will be placed in separate quarters. After twenty-four hours, you will be examined and cleared for life in Eden."

Corvus stepped forward, and Iris saw his hand move towards his knife again. She grabbed his wrist and squeezed, stopping him.

"We obey," she said firmly, looking at the guards. "We await your instructions."

She saw Corvus looking at her with incomprehension and anger, but she couldn't risk it. If they resisted now, they'd be killed on the spot, and she wouldn't find 'Protocol 7,' stop Lena, save the world.

The guards turned and walked forward, and the squad followed. Iris walked, each step on the perfect white stone echoing in her feet, the air growing moister and warmer, the flower scent more cloying, almost nauseating. She looked around and saw people in the streets watching them with curiosity, but it was a strange gaze-lifeless, like mannequins. They smiled, but their smiles didn't reach their eyes. They stood in doorways of perfect houses, on balconies, benches, watching the procession pass, their faces expressionless.

She saw children playing in the park, but they weren't laughing. Their movements were precise, but joyless. Their voices didn't rise in shouts and squeals, like normal children. They moved like wind-up toys, and the sight was more horrifying than any ruins she'd seen in the wastelands.

"This is wrong," Vera whispered, horror in her voice. "They're not living. They're just... existing."

"Quiet," Iris said, but she agreed. It was wrong. All of it. But she couldn't stop. She had to go on.

They passed through the park, past fountains spraying perfect streams, past rose alleys blooming as if planted yesterday. Finally, they reached the white building-not a house, but a station, a long single-story structure with a row of doors leading to small rooms. The guards stopped at the entrance and opened one door, gesturing for Iris to enter.

She looked inside. The room was small but clean, with a narrow cot, a table, and a small window looking onto an inner courtyard with an artificial pond. No decorations on the walls-no pictures, ornaments, signs of life. A prison cell disguised as a hotel room.

"Each of you will be placed in a separate room," the guard said. "Doors will be locked. Do not attempt to leave-it could be dangerous to your health."

"Dangerous?" Marc asked, sarcasm in his voice. "What, someone might bite?"