CTS RE250.05.26 — 6:15 AM
HALLWAY OF DNA — EVALUATION DAY
Sophia stood perfectly still in the long corridor, the polished obsidian floor reflecting her silhouette like a darker twin. The full DNA attire felt heavier than it looked—not because of the material, but because of what it symbolized. The long black obsidian coat flowed down to her calves, trimmed with faint crimson circuitry that pulsed slowly, almost like a second heartbeat. Her gloves were fitted, her boots magnetically aligned to the floor, and the insignia of DNA glimmered faintly on her shoulder.
She looked composed.
She was not.
Her fingers flexed once, then stilled. Evaluation day, she reminded herself. Just another battlefield. Just… different rules.
Footsteps echoed.
Measured. Unhurried.
Sophia didn't turn at first—but her instincts screamed before her eyes confirmed it.
Dr. F was approaching.
And he was not alone.
On either side of him moved two colossal machines—easily ten feet tall, their forms neither humanoid nor elegant. They were built like walking catastrophes: layered black alloy plating, jagged geometry, exposed red reactors burning like open wounds at their cores. Their limbs moved with unsettling smoothness, each step synchronized perfectly, the floor humming softly beneath their mass.
They did not look at her.
They did not need to.
Sophia's breath caught for half a second before she forced it steady.
Don't react. Don't give them that satisfaction.
Dr. F stopped a few steps ahead of her, hands folded behind his back as usual, coat pristine, expression neutral.
"Agent Saya already informed you," he said calmly, as if discussing weather patterns, "that today is your evaluation."
Sophia nodded once. No words. Her eyes flicked—just briefly—to the towering machines beside him, then back to his face.
She began walking when he did, falling into step beside him, though every muscle in her body screamed at the proximity of the giants.
Her shoulders were tense.
Dr. F noticed.
"They make you uncomfortable," he observed.
She exhaled through her nose. "I'm trying very hard not to imagine them stepping on me."
"That is wise," he replied flatly.
She shot him a look.
He continued, unbothered. "They are Terminator-class destroyers. Deployed only for high-ranking missions where failure is not an acceptable variable."
Sophia stopped walking.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Her blood ran cold.
Terminator class.
Her mind replayed every rumor, every classified whisper she'd ever overheard in ISA briefings—cities erased, fleets neutralized, civilizations reduced to data footnotes.
She swallowed.
Then she moved again.
"I see," she said quietly.
Dr. F glanced at her. "You're doing well."
"I'm pretending," she replied under her breath.
That earned her the slightest tilt of his head—his version of amusement.
They continued down the corridor, the lights adjusting automatically to Dr. F's presence, dimming slightly, then brightening in a controlled gradient. Sophia couldn't shake the feeling that the building itself was watching them.
Then Dr. F spoke again, tone maddeningly casual.
"For your information," he said, "the 'F' in my name does not stand for that."
Sophia nearly tripped.
She stopped dead this time.
Her face heated instantly. "I—what—I mean—" She coughed, then laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. "I was just assuming! You know. Hypothetically. Because I was wondering what 'F' actually stands for."
Dr. F stopped as well.
Turned.
Looked directly at her.
"And," he said calmly, "what exactly did you assume yesterday that 'F' stood for?"
Her soul attempted to leave her body.
Sophia's ears burned. Her eyes darted everywhere except his face—the floor, the walls, one of the Terminator's glowing reactors, anywhere.
"I—uh—listen," she said quickly, words tumbling over each other, "it was late, I had just woken up from a nightmare, my brain was not exactly… diplomatic."
One of the Terminator units emitted a low mechanical hum, as if processing something deeply amusing.
Dr. F raised a brow.
"Interesting," he said. "Go on."
"No," she snapped, then immediately softened. "I mean—no, thank you. I withdraw my previous internal commentary."
"Internal?" he repeated.
She groaned. "You hear everything. Of course you do."
He resumed walking.
Sophia hurried to match his pace, coat swaying behind her.
"For the record," she muttered, "it wasn't flattering."
"That is unfortunate," he replied.
She glanced up at him, surprised.
"…You don't sound offended."
"I am not," he said. Then, after a beat, "Accuracy matters more to me than flattery."
She laughed despite herself—a small, helpless sound that escaped before she could stop it.
"Of course it does."
Dr. F allowed the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth.
"Evaluation begins in five minutes," he said. "Try not to insult my name again before then."
Sophia straightened, forcing composure back into her posture.
"No promises," she said lightly. "But I'll aim for creativity next time."
For the first time since stepping into the hallway, the tension in her chest loosened—just a little.
The giants marched on.
And Sophia walked between monsters—unsure which ones scared her more.