Chương 14: Error: The Sensors Are Crying

Alone with only the energy drinks for company, the Pre-System techniques refused to leave his head. Soren opened the fridge to feel some kind of coolness on his body, as this could only mean someone was announcing themselves in Tokyo. Holding a Red Bull in one hand and a GANBARU ENERGY in the other, he looked at the counter, and the folder Tanaka had brought was still sitting there. Hmm, the Director didn't make these kinds of mistakes; even being tired was no excuse for forgetting confidential documents.

The folder was open, which didn't make much sense, as he remembered it being closed just a few minutes ago. He walked over to the counter, and that was when he noticed a new page that hadn't been mentioned in his conversation with the Director. On that page was a centuries-old photograph, easily recognizable to anyone with hundreds of years of experience; one only needed to analyze its style.

A woman in a traditional tunic stood beside a portal dividing two worlds that Soren knew well; this portal didn't look like a rift, as he had seen these portals back before he had reached the max level, at a time when they were used by archmages to cross dimensions. At the bottom of the photograph was a handwritten signature: Elian Krevolian. Sealed in 1422. Status: Unknown. The name hit his mind like a black belt's karate kick. Elian.

His hands began to tremble so much that it jeopardized the tranquility of the energy drinks, ensuring that the unlucky soul who opened them would be drenched in the beverage. No, it couldn't be her; she was sealed in another dimension. She had been missing for a very long time—it had been centuries of silence.

The photograph thus possessed an unusual energy, seeming to focus on him with a sense of foreboding, but it was the same gaze, the same posture, the same cold expression, a seductive air, along with a supernatural level of intelligence; Elian had once burned empires and reshaped continents across different worlds. Now there was no way around it: the traces in Shinjuku, as well as the crystallization patterns and the spiral he had recognized from centuries ago, were created by the hands of Elian Krevolian.

In a rush, Soren set the drinks down on the counter; the GANBARU ENERGY didn't hold up, slipping from his grasp and falling to the floor.

"Damn it!" He quickly closed that folder. The crown's integration was at 8. 3%; he felt that behind his ribs, the thing was moving again, listening to everything that was happening. Soren packed that folder into his backpack; when his shift ended, there would be no time to sleep—Chiyoda awaited him. 🍲 A day off for Tokyo's most famous night-shift employee; a day without restocking shelves was more than deserved, but there was no time for rest, as Soren had commitments to fulfill.

He came to realize that one of WID's official policies was clearly to make its physical space appear nonexistent, because that building on the corner of Kasumigaseki 3-chome was entirely detached from the rest of the street; it was almost impossible to notice, so kudos to Japanese engineering. Nevertheless, Soren was already on the 49th floor, in a room surrounded by equipment that cost more than the GDP of most Asian countries.

In this room, he was also surrounded by white-coated technicians walking with long strides—not because they were particularly in a hurry, but because they wanted to avoid difficult questions; they were trying desperately not to look directly at him, so they scribbled and doodled things on their clipboards. Well then, it ended up being a convenience store night-shift worker, who hadn't even changed out of the white t-shirt he wore the night before, against highly graduated technicians specialized in classifications.

"Welcome to the capability assessment, Mr. Vonesdar," Director Tanaka greeted him. Her expression showed that she hadn't slept for yet another night, and her friendliness was clearly already working poorly paid overtime. At the back of the room, a technician whose badge read Bruce Okubo spoke in a monotony so exhausting that it resembled a cross between a priest giving mass and a robot reading the Bible.

"Mr. Vonesdar, please enter this chamber." Okubo was finishing his internship at WID, and his emphasis on the last two letters of the phrase was clear, as the "pleeease" dragged on for three seconds. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. As Soren approached, the analyst's face expressed his regret at not having called in sick today; he could have faked a cold or something similar.

He pointed to a cylindrical machine, completely covered in sensors and controls.

"We just need to collect some baseline readings." Bruce didn't take his eyes off his tablet. Baselines.

"You're not going to get any kind of baseline reading," Soren said as he approached the chamber. Bruce clicked somewhere on his tablet, probably just to show he was doing something and to avoid looking at Soren.

"But still, we have to try. Please, go in." Soren stepped into the chamber, and the analyst closed the door behind him with a sound that was probably meant to be reassuring, but in practice sounded like the locking of a cell. In that room, the walls were covered with measuring equipment, bright lights followed by wires, and monitors.

The mana catalysts were ready, and the dimensional frequency controller had been calibrated by the best engineers in Japan; there was also a device in the room that looked like a cross between X-ray scanners and some sort of particle accelerator from a nuclear power plant. Everything was prepared. Through the speakers came a voice sounding like a supermarket manager announcing that a car in the parking lot was parked poorly.

"Initiating calibration." But with a slight difference: there was some interference, as the speakers that morning had a minor bad connection. It was then that the equipment came to life; all the lights turned on, and for about four seconds, it seemed to operate within what it was designed to do. The room's main screen turned on automatically: Measurement Matrix: Starting sensors... Calibrating frequency... Establishing a baseline... Analyzing.

Suddenly, a noise echoed through the room that sounded like a dismayed audience watching a contestant get the last question wrong on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Error: Signal overload. Error: Dimensional feedback. Error: Negative mana reading? Error: Values are becoming increasingly negative. Error: The sensors are crying. Recommendation: Please, stop. The room's lights went out for two seconds and immediately came back on, while the control panel threw sparks.

On the same floor, in the room next door, an employee shouted something in two different languages.

"Mr. Vonesdar," Tanaka's voice came through the speakers; her tone was remarkably calm, despite knowing they were going to spend a lot of money fixing the machine.

"What exactly are you doing?"

"I'm standing still, Director," Soren replied through the built-in microphone from inside the machine.

"Are you really standing still? The sensors are registering negative mana values and the scale won't stop dropping, the dimensional analyzer is showing results from last Thursday, and it's acting as if you aren't in there." A tall woman in a white lab coat, with a hairstyle that clearly implied it had been done this morning by one of the best hairdressers in Japan, approached and whispered in Tanaka's ear; her badge read Dr. Kimura.

"Very well, Dr. Kimura has shared with me that she is convinced her equipment is possessed."

"I'm not doing anything on purpose, Director."

"Somehow, that doesn't reassure me, much less convince me, Mr. Vonesdar," the Director said, narrowing her eyes. The door opened and Soren stepped out along with some steam billowing from inside the chamber; the room was still surrounded by technicians, but they could no longer hide their expressions, looking as though they had just witnessed a religious miracle—the kind that makes one question the nature of reality.

"The readings are..." Dr. Kimura stared at the tablet as if it were gravely insulting her. Then, she looked at everyone with a mix of courage and the fluency of a young girl giving her oral presentation at school:"These aren't readings; it's as if the equipment is trying to describe something it can't process. Look over there." Kimura pointed at the device's screen.

"The algorithm has started using metaphors." Soren looked at the doctor, not wanting to doubt her academic qualifications.

"Metaphors? What do you mean?"

"Yes, metaphors. This sensor says: 'Your mana level is like the ocean. As if the ocean were made of mathematics.'" The doctor approached him and showed him the screen.

"See for yourself." Soren read the sentence to himself and then looked at Dr. Kimura, bearing the expression of someone who had just discovered water in the desert.

"Doctor, but that isn't a measurement."

"Yes, I've figured that out."

"That's poetry, Doctor," Soren said, turning toward the chamber.

"Your equipment seems to be quite creative."

"Our equipment was designed by the best minds in dimensional physics; it has measured the best awakened beings in Japan, and even a minor deity once." The doctor leaned in close to his ear.

"But that stays between us." Yet it was true, the device had never written poetry. She pointed her arm at the screen. Tanaka was not liking what she was hearing and approached with her tablet in hand, while Hayashi remained by her side. The Director wore a carefully neutral expression to maintain professional coherence inside a room that felt like an outright theatrical play.

"Dr. Kimura, Mr. Vonesdar, we will try a direct assessment; we are going to attempt a skill-based analysis, so please follow me."

"That won't work either," Soren replied calmly to the Director.

"Probably not." Even though her experience told her this might be true, she had to convince him somehow.

"But my analyst here, Hayashi, is frantically insisting." The Director gave him a pat on the back.

"And you know, Mr. Vonesdar, I've discovered that it's easier to let him disappoint himself through firsthand experience than to explain the 'why' using quantum theory. Please, come with me." That room had fewer machines and much more free space; the air inside was fresher, as it was a capability testing floor that already bore some marks of war, such as burn scars and tears in the walls, not to mention the dents decorating the ceiling.

Hayashi stood in the center of the room; he possessed a mix of enthusiasm, shown through his slightly crazed smile, and a bit of nervousness, as his face wouldn't stop sweating. It could be an incredible story to tell his former college classmates; on the other hand, it was an overwhelming novelty for a young analyst.