Deep State: Crimson Claw E-Book

Yeong Hwan Choi

• Herausgeber: epubli
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 276

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

[Deep State II: Crimson Claw] "Ha…ha. Why does the world dismiss it all as a conspiracy?" He whispered. "Even when we leave behind symbols, numerology, and undeniable traces, the foolish masses keep calling it a delusion." They desired a new world order. But whose hands would shape that order? Simon and Raphael, after stopping in the Vatican and England, follow a set of mysterious blueprints that lead them to Israel. And in the so-called Garden of Eden, they begin to see the truth—though only in fragments. → As they exit the park, they notice a yellow butterfly and a cursed child. The truth, long buried beneath the facade of 'freedom,' begins to surface. — But that was only the beginning. → A chain of unrelenting chaos erupts, leading to the last surviving Freemason arriving in Korea. "We have an emergency here, too." The president's impeachment. A rigged election. A suspicious bookstore in Itaewon. Protests and riots surrounding the enigmatic K-WEB. Whistleblowers disappearing without a trace. Somewhere, a great fire ignites—a flood swallows the evidence whole. 【A passage from the journal】 "Day and night reversed, light and darkness devouring each other in an endless cycle. The brighter the sun burned, the darker the shadows grew. And the moon, in its glow, carved even deeper fissures into the night. People feared the darkness so much, they clung to any glimmer of light. They reached out, blindly, desperately. My descendants, what did you see? And more importantly—what do you believe? For the end will mirror the beginning." And at last, standing at the heart of the chaos, he appears for the first time. The leader of Nemesis. Absolute power. Crimson Claw. "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free." "No. The truth is a shackle. And the key? It's in our hands."

Leseprobe

​Deep State

-Crimson Claw-

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

DEEP STATE: CRIMSON CLAW

First edition. February 12, 2025.

Copyright © 2025 Yeong Hwan Choi.

Written by Yeong Hwan Choi.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Deep State: Crimson Claw

<The Teahouse of Haiyakan Park>

Part 1: The Garden of Eden and the Cursed Child | Chapter 1: The Secret of the Tangy Green Apple

Chapter 2: The Cipher Hidden in the Sky Cards

Chapter 3: The Trick Mirror and the Black Goat

Part 2: The Yellow Butterfly in Korea | Chapter 1: The Dangerous Deal at the Itaewon Shop

Chapter 2: The Bookseller Who Alters Fate

Chapter 3: The Martial Law That Ended in Two Hours

Part 3: Nemesis and the Crimson Claw | Chapter 1: Their Courtroom and the Grotesque Painting

Chapter 2: Simon and Raphael: The Kings of Deception

<The Speaker’s Massive Disclosure>

Deep State

[Crimson Claw]

––––––––

Yeong Hwan Choi

––––––––

Disclaimer

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, real persons, living or dead, organizations, or locales is purely coincidental. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this book are the products of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.

ⓒ Deep State: The Soul's Pact 2025

<The Teahouse of Haiyakan Park>

THE ATTENDANT GESTURED toward the elevator, but Simon waved him off, pointing to the stairs.

"It's just the second floor. No need for an elevator."

As they ascended, the colossal structure known as The Garden of Eden loomed overhead, its towering presence exuding an almost sacred atmosphere. By the time they reached the final step, the entire park unfolded beyond the vast glass wall. A golden mist floated above the greenery, basking in the sunlight, while the leaves shimmered with a near-hypnotic vibrance. The wind rustled through the giant fronds, carrying a lingering echo—almost like a hymn reverberating through an empty cathedral.

Inside, however, was an entirely different world. A seamless fusion of ancient mythology and cutting-edge AI technology.

Holographic menus hovered above elegant marble tables, their light flickering softly like candle flames. AI baristas—designed to resemble celestial beings—moved with eerie precision, their voices smooth and inviting.

"May I take your order?"

The drinks they served bore the artistry of alchemy—mysterious liquids, predominantly a luminous shade of green, with an aroma both unfamiliar and strangely nostalgic. Simon and Raphael stepped up to the counter. Without hesitation, they placed their orders: Solomon’s Coffee and Ezekiel’s Elixir.

The AI barista nodded, beginning the meticulous preparation. First, Solomon’s Coffee. Through a transparent tube, dark crimson coffee beans cascaded downward. An intricate mechanism whirred to life, grinding them into an impossibly fine powder before extracting the liquid—rich, dark, and, under the café’s warm lighting, almost iridescent.

"A legendary blend," the barista remarked coolly. With a delicate motion, it released a single drop of an unknown black substance into the cup. The coffee deepened instantly, and a rush of sweetness—intense yet fleeting—drifted into Simon’s nostrils. A scent that felt less like something he remembered and more like something that had been meant to be remembered.

"Wisdom transcends all senses," the barista added, offering the cup with an unsettlingly human smile.

Next came Ezekiel’s Elixir. Deep green fig leaves flowed smoothly into another chamber, while a secondary cylinder extracted pomegranate juice in slow, measured drops. Dates—suspended in an adjacent compartment—were blended in with surgical precision.

"According to Ezekiel 47, the water flowing from the East Gate brings life," the AI intoned. "This drink embodies that very essence."

Again, a single drop of an unknown substance was released into the mixture. This time, the transformation was striking—what began as a vivid emerald hue gradually paled, turning a pure, milky white.

"Here you are."

Drinks in hand, Simon and Raphael scanned the room for an empty table. That was when they spotted him.

A man sat by the window, silhouetted against the park’s ethereal glow. He was writing, his fingers methodically gliding over the page. His stark white hair, chiseled jawline, and aura of quiet authority made him instantly recognizable.

A faint smile crossed Raphael’s lips. Without hesitation, he strode toward the man seated at the window. "It’s been a long time, Prime Minister Levin."

David Levin set down his teacup. His gaze lifted, steady and unreadable.

"Well, well. I never expected to see you here, Raphael."

Simon frowned. "You two know each other?"

"This man..." Levin mused, studying Raphael for a moment. "We crossed paths in Italy, fifteen years ago. Are you planning to sit?"

As Simon and Raphael pulled out their chairs, Levin's eyes traveled down, scanning them both. His gaze traced the worn leather of Simon’s coat, lingering somewhere near his waist.

Then, in an almost casual tone, he remarked, "Tell me... why do the two of you look like you’ve just crawled out of a battlefield?“

Simon lowered his head and let out a small cough. And then, he saw it—their coats were covered in dust and stains, the fabric marred with dirt, and on the left sleeve of one, a faint smudge of dark red.

Raphael nonchalantly adjusted his collar. "Well... we didn’t exactly have the luxury of a wardrobe change for the past week. Ha."

Simon chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Traveling between England and Italy... didn’t leave us much time for fresh clothes, Prime Minister."

Levin tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Ah, so Mr. Raphael, that explains you. But you—you're not Israeli, are you?"

"I'm Simon Gray. Back in New York, I often saw you at Pigeon Media, Prime Minister." He shrugged and extended a hand.

Levin's gaze sharpened as he accepted the handshake. "A journalist, then? Here for business or pleasure? I must admit, I’m not particularly fond of reporters."

Simon waved a hand playfully. "My girlfriend had a rather... high-ranking position. Me? I was just the janitor."

Levin's lips curled slightly. "Is that so?"

Raphael turned his head, suppressing a grin. Simon, unfazed, lifted his cup to his lips. Then, after a quick glance around the café, Raphael raised an eyebrow at the Israeli Prime Minister.

"But tell me, Prime Minister, where is your entourage? No aides, no security detail... You came alone?"

Levin chuckled, lacing his fingers together. "Raphael, have I ever been the kind of politician who parades around with an entourage?"

"A vacation, you say? And yet, you chose to come here, to a place under the strictest AI surveillance?"

Levin smiled but said nothing. Instead, Simon leaned forward.

"A vacation. No security. That’s... unusual."

Levin met his gaze. "And what about you two? What brings you here? You mentioned England and Italy, didn’t you?"

"Yes."

"Specifically, where?"

Simon hesitated for a moment, drumming his fingers on the table. "It wasn’t leisure. It was... research."

"Research?"

"The Vatican and the British Parliament."

Something shifted in Levin’s expression. "The Vatican... now that is a place steeped in secrets."

"It is," Simon replied cryptically. "And we’ve seen some of them firsthand."

Raphael exhaled, exchanging a glance with Simon before continuing. "In London, we found an old blueprint in Parliament. That’s what led us here to Israel."

The Prime Minister’s fingers hovered over the rim of his cup. "And did you find what it meant?"

Raphael inhaled deeply and glanced at Simon. "It was a Masonic headquarters. At Exit Three, we found an Israeli flag... along with a Mandala symbol."

Levin’s expression darkened slightly. Simon added, "To be precise, it was a subsidiary of the Freemasons. After the Illuminati, another group emerged... one we’ve been tracking—Nemesis."

"Nemesis..." Levin murmured, his voice low. "I never thought I’d hear that name here."

Simon leaned forward. "We've been tracing their movements through history—rituals, operations, everything. In England. In the Vatican."

A heavy silence settled over the table. Levin traced his finger along the edge of his teacup, deep in thought. And then, finally, he spoke.

"The Deep State... I know a thing or two about them myself."

Raphael and Simon lifted their heads simultaneously. The Prime Minister sighed and took a sip, wetting his lips before speaking.

Sigh. "We've received intelligence that Nemesis is orchestrating something in South Korea."

Simon narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly are they planning to do there?"

The Prime Minister slowly wiped his lips with a napkin, his voice dropping to a grave whisper. "They've already begun. Tell me... how well do you know the nation of Korea?"

David Levin, the Israeli Prime Minister, took another sip of tea, as if his throat had gone dry. "After World War II, in 1948, Korea gained its independence—much like Israel. A dreadful event is about to unfold there. And... if you choose to go, you may come to understand Nemesis far better than I do."

Simon studied the Prime Minister’s gaze carefully before asking, "Does this have anything to do with Zionism?"

Levin parted his lips as if to respond but then hesitated. Instead, he slowly rose from his seat. His voice, deep and sonorous, filled the café like a long-rehearsed sermon.

"In the days to come, the mountain of Yahweh’s temple will rise high, towering over the hills..."

A few passersby turned their heads at the sudden outburst, but Levin paid them no mind. His voice grew stronger, more resolute.

"And nations will stream to it in great numbers. Peoples will come and say, ‘Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of the God of Jacob! He will teach us His ways so that we may walk in His paths.’ For the law will go out from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem."

The Prime Minister’s intensity deepened, his eyes gleaming as if seeing something beyond the walls of the café.

"He will judge between the nations and settle disputes for many peoples. They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. Instead, each man shall sit under his own vine and under his own fig tree, and no one will make them afraid."

Raphael frowned, his brow furrowed in confusion. "...What exactly are you saying, Prime Minister?"

He raised his voice even further.

"The Lord of Hosts has spoken! Do not all nations call upon the names of their gods? Then let us call upon the name of our God, Yahweh, for generations to come!"

The Prime Minister extended his hand like a prophet delivering divine revelation.

"On that day, I shall gather the lame! I shall assemble those who were cast away! They have suffered, yes, but those crippled, those who stumble, they shall be the seeds from which I will forge a great nation! From this day forth, Yahweh shall reign forevermore from Mount Zion!"

His voice thundered through the café, as though an invisible audience of thousands had gathered to witness his proclamation.

"O tower of the flock, O stronghold of Zion! The dominion you once lost, you shall reclaim! The sovereignty of Jerusalem shall be restored!"

And then, suddenly, he slumped into his chair, lowering his voice into a near whisper.

"Is this what you were referring to?"

He looked straight at Simon, smiling slightly before posing another question.

"Are you criticizing this nationalist movement?"

Outside, the quiet hum of several black SUVs rolling to a stop sent a ripple of unease through Simon. His brow furrowed.

"No. I was just... curious. Whether the Protocols of Zion played any role in Korea as well, given that both nations gained independence in the same year. So... are the Protocols real? Or just another conspiracy theory? It’s been a highly controversial subject worldwide."

The Prime Minister laced his fingers together slowly, wetted his lips, and then—

"That too... was the work of Nemesis. A ploy designed to eliminate the rising influence of Eden, which was gaining traction in both the United States and Israel."

Then, like a floodgate bursting open, his words poured out in an unrelenting cascade.

"Chapter 1: Power is justice. True power is absolute."

"Chapter 2: Control the people's minds through the press."

His pace quickened.

"Chapter 3: We dominate the world through economic might."

"Chapter 4: We create chaos, replacing faith with materialism."

"Chapter 5: Use entertainment—theater, cinema—to manipulate public consciousness, keeping the masses preoccupied."

It sounded like a chant. A ritual. An incantation woven into reality itself. Simon felt his breath catch in his throat.

The Prime Minister had closed his eyes. No... they weren’t just closed. They had lost focus.

"Chapter 6: We must eradicate the goyim by any means necessary."

"Chapter 7: Strengthen military power, manipulate the media, and ignite wars for profit."

"Chapter 8: Train specialists to craft laws that benefit us."

"Chapter 9: Educate every nation under the Freemason ideology."

His voice was growing softer, echoing like whispers from the depths of a cavern.

"Chapter 10: Install weak leaders—ones with exploitable flaws—so they may serve as our puppets."

"Chapter 11: God scattered us across the world so that we may rule it."

Then, slowly, the Prime Minister opened his eyes. They locked onto Simon’s with an unsettling intensity.

"Chapter 12: Control the media to dictate public sentiment."

"Chapter 13: Distract the masses with sports, celebrities, and entertainment to erode their critical thinking."

"Chapter 14: In the world government to come, only Judaism shall remain. Christianity must be eradicated."

And then, Simon understood. This man—he wasn’t reading this. He was possessed by it.

"Chapter 15: Enforce strict laws. Punish dissenters mercilessly."

"Chapter 16: Rewrite history. Educate future generations with a new philosophy."

"Chapter 17: Modify human nature so that people inform on one another, building a flawless totalitarian state."

The Prime Minister swallowed hard, as if severing an invisible thread. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

"Chapter 24: From the lineage of David, select a king. Pass down the secret knowledge. Establish the throne."

And then... silence.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Simon exhaled slowly, his voice carefully measured.

"...So what you’re saying is—" He cleared his throat. "—this document was fabricated by Nemesis?"

The Prime Minister smiled slowly—deliberately—as if savoring some private amusement. Then, lowering his voice, he murmured, “Believe what you wish, Mr. Simon. After all, that’s what makes the truth so fascinating, doesn’t it? People don’t really care about truth or lies. They crave sensation. They believe what they want to believe and see only what they wish to see.”

He tapped the table lightly—once, with calculated precision—before continuing. “But let me tell you this: whether it is the government or Deep State, the highest priority must always be freedom. A world without freedom is nothing short of hell. That document you’re referring to? Pure fascist rhetoric. A relic of Nemesis' past, back when they and Eden were still one. A crude fabrication, no doubt, devised to purge Eden from within.”

He took a sip of tea, his face composed, but Simon noticed the faintest tremor in the fingers gripping the delicate glass. Was the Prime Minister in possession of the truth? Or was he merely choosing to believe his own version of it?

Simon studied the man for a moment before speaking. “I see. You mentioned 1948. Interesting. Then tell me—does Korea have its own share of such theories and conspiracies? I know very little about the country.”

The Prime Minister let out a small, knowing smile and shook his head. “Conspiracies? Hard to say. The narratives are not as widely documented as in the West.”

Simon leaned in slightly. “If Korea, unlike Israel, lacks a strong nationalist movement tied to these theories... then what exactly is happening there?”

The Prime Minister hesitated. He cast a quick glance around the room, as if ensuring they were not being overheard, before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “You’ll understand once you see for yourself. As of now, Eden consists of 814 key executives and 1,480 active members. It’s not as large as our network in Japan, but Korea has its share of scientists, intelligence operatives... and some rather unique individuals who stand against Nemesis.”

He exhaled, his gaze momentarily distant. “You’ve been to the Vatican, haven’t you? Then you already have some sense of what’s at play. Korea... is no different.”

The Vatican. A city where sanctity and corruption intertwined seamlessly. Where violet-robed priests sang hymns in the chapels, even as unspeakable dealings took place within the Apostolic Palace.

And Korea?

What secrets lay hidden there?

Simon felt a quiet thrill creep through him—anticipation laced with unease. He allowed himself a faint smile. “Fascinating. Truly fascinating. I can only hope Freemasonry has some involvement there as well. But tell me... why the secrecy? Why not just give me the answers outright?”

The Prime Minister placed his glass on the table, his movements meticulous, almost choreographed. “Because, Mr. Simon, we value the freedom of thought. And that includes the freedom to arrive at one’s own conclusions.”

Simon narrowed his eyes. “So you’re withholding information intentionally?”

The Prime Minister’s lips curled in a knowing smile. “We do not impose sacrifices upon others. We simply respect the choices of the individual.”

He paused, inhaling deeply. His emerald-green eyes caught the dim light, glinting with something unreadable.

“But freedom, Mr. Simon... always comes at a price.”

His gaze drifted toward the window, settling on some unseen point beyond the glass. And then, after a long silence, he spoke again—his voice quieter this time, as if he had spent years contemplating the words before finally releasing them.

“Tell me... do you believe human beings truly possess free will?”

He let out a soft chuckle and shook his head.

“A difficult question, isn’t it?”

Simon exhaled slowly before responding. "I'm not sure I understand, but once my schedule clears, I'll make a visit to Korea."

The Prime Minister nodded. "You should." Rising from his seat, he added, "For the record, most of Eden's members either follow Judaism or have no religious affiliation at all. It's less about faith and more about philosophy."

He checked his watch, then quickly glanced at his phone, his gaze lingering on the black SUV that had arrived earlier. "Well, it's time to go. I have a Bilderberg meeting to attend. It’ll be virtual, but I can’t afford to stay here much longer."

Simon, Raphael, and the Prime Minister all stood. The thick air inside the teahouse shifted ever so slightly with their movement. As the Prime Minister reached for his briefcase, he turned to Simon with a final remark. "When you're in Korea, visit a bookstore."

"A bookstore?" Simon repeated, eyebrows furrowing.

"Seoul, Yongsan District, 216-gil, number 18."

Simon murmured the address under his breath, committing it to memory.

"But don’t trust the owner," the Prime Minister warned, his voice lower now. "Approach him as if you're just a passerby, someone who wandered in by chance. Whatever he tells you—be careful. What has already happened, and what is yet to come... it's all connected to him."

Raphael muttered under his breath, "We should let him go. He’s running out of time."

"Good luck, Simon. Raphael."

"Thank you, Prime Minister. I suppose we'll meet again soon."

Simon shook the man's hand one last time. His grip was firm, almost unnaturally so. Cold, rigid—like steel wrapped in flesh. A sensation crept through Simon’s mind, unshakable, familiar. A memory of another handshake, long ago. The director’s hand. That same unyielding touch.

Part 1: The Garden of Eden and the Cursed Child

Chapter 1: The Secret of the Tangy Green Apple

Simon glanced at the floor directory once more. Third floor. It was time. The wooden tiles beneath his feet were worn smooth, polished by years of footsteps. As he ascended the stairs, gripping the railing, Raphael whispered beside him.

“Prime Minister... doesn’t he seem a bit off? He’s different from before.”

Simon scoffed. “Of course. He’s attending the Bilderberg meeting. That alone speaks volumes.”

Raphael climbed the stairs with the look of a man craving a cigarette. “A secret gathering of those who rule the world... People laugh it off as a conspiracy theory. But look—every so-called ‘theory’ we’ve dismissed has turned out to be true. Even the Nemesis soul contract. There’s got to be something behind this too.”

Simon paused mid-step, turning his gaze toward Raphael. “That’s not what’s bothering me.”

Raphael met his eyes. Simon’s expression had sharpened. “What the hell happened back there? The Prime Minister recognized you. Not just a passing familiarity—he looked at you like you were someone special. It’s been years, yet he recognized you instantly. That’s not normal. Who are you, really?”

Raphael let out a long sigh, then shrugged. “Just a Jew.”

Simon clenched his jaw, frustration flickering in his eyes. He slammed his fist lightly against the stair railing before muttering, “And the Prime Minister? Is he part of Eden?”

A small smirk played on Raphael’s lips as he gestured toward the landing. “He’s just a Jew, too.”

Simon opened his mouth to press further, but before he could, they had reached the third floor. His mind reeled. Just a Jew? How much meaning was packed into those words?

The door slid open with a soft chime, revealing a dimly lit lab filled with the hum of cooling systems. The walls were lined with glass panels, each enclosing clusters of holographic displays suspended in mid-air, feeding real-time data streams.

Stepping closer, Simon could make out intricate neuron mappings, simulations of synaptic firings, and rapidly sequenced strands of human DNA unraveling across the monitors. Small drones whirred through the hallway, gliding soundlessly as they relayed data and manipulated laboratory instruments with precise, insect-like arms.

On the opposite wall, portraits of world leaders were arranged in an unsettling tableau. Among them were the familiar faces of U.S. and Israeli heads of state, but two unfamiliar figures caught Simon’s attention.

The first: Amira Nkoshi, a Nobel Prize-winning physicist turned President of South Africa. Dark-skinned with thin, gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light, her portrait bore the inscription: "All humans are connected."

The second: Akira Nakamura, Japan’s Prime Minister, a former Nobel laureate in chemistry. Below his stern gaze, an inscription read: "Freedom is merely structure disguised as choice."

Further ahead, a massive round table dominated the hallway’s center, its surface engraved with an intricate mandala. Around it, floating holographic interfaces flickered like celestial bodies in orbit. The sight was mesmerizing—an abstract visualization of data, research, and, perhaps, the concept of free will itself.

Simon inhaled deeply. What exactly were they studying here? And what did they mean when they spoke of ‘freedom’?

As they continued down the corridor, intermittent LED flashes flickered along the walls, while neuron-like signals pulsed across displays installed every ten meters. Finally, they stopped in front of a laboratory. Beyond the glass wall, the room resembled a vast neural network—thousands of delicate fiber optic cables stretched along the ceiling and walls, intertwining like the axons of a colossal brain.

Beep—beep—beep. Suddenly, the screen above the lab’s entrance turned red, emitting a sterile, mechanical voice.

“Access beyond this point is restricted. You are free to force entry, but the consequences will be severe. Consider this a warning to humankind. Beep—beep.”

Inside the lab, dozens of computers hummed to life in unison. Their monitors flickered as lines of code began to rearrange themselves, forming structured patterns with eerie precision.

“However... you bear the mark of initiation.”

The voice was cold yet disturbingly human, as if something artificial was attempting to mimic emotion. At that moment, the glass door emitted a soft vibration and slid open with a whisper. Metal rails shifted smoothly, allowing a breath of chilled air to seep into the corridor. Then, in an instant, a green glow flooded outward, casting an eerie luminescence across the floor.

Raphael shot Simon a glance, murmuring under his breath.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Before Simon could answer, another voice echoed through the space.

“You know of us, even if only in fragments. Please—step inside.”

The voice was synthetic, but its cadence had changed. It wasn’t the same entity speaking—it was something else.

Simon took a cautious step forward. Instantly, the green light flickered out, only to reignite in an instant. At the same time, the monitors within the lab burst into motion—hundreds of artificial intelligences conversing, debating, and exchanging information at speeds incomprehensible to the human mind.

“Does the human brain truly possess free will?”

“A mandala resembles a neural network.”

“And yet, the project continues.”

“Do they make decisions, or are decisions made for them?”

It didn’t take long for Simon to understand—these systems weren’t just computing. They were studying. Analyzing human consciousness, free will... and limitations.

Then, from the speakers in the ceiling, the mechanical voice spoke again.

“You have seven minutes. Find what you seek.”

The countdown began.

—07:00

Simon and Raphael locked eyes. In that fleeting moment, they reached the same conclusion.

This was not just a research lab.

This research was not for the benefit of humanity.

And—most chilling of all—this place might have crossed a threshold mankind was never meant to breach.

The timer ticked.

—06:50

Raphael stepped forward. Immediately, something rose from the floor—a massive pane of glass. Encased within was a brain... and something else. As he took another step closer, the glass rippled, as if the surface of a still pond had been disturbed. Then—his memories unfolded before his eyes.

Simon saw them. The day he first defied the orphanage director. The moment he parted ways with Katherine. The choices he had regretted all his life.

Even memories he had never consciously recalled surfaced before him.

“What... is this?”

He turned, but Raphael was staring elsewhere, transfixed. A second glass panel had emerged before him, and his expression had hardened.

“Raphael?”

He said nothing. His gaze remained locked on the vision before him. A man stood there—alongside a woman Simon had never seen before. Yet, from the way Raphael’s body tensed, it was clear she was important. But then—she blurred.

And disappeared.

As if she had never existed at all.

“What... is this?” Raphael’s voice wavered.

The room seemed to respond to his words, resonating with an almost sentient hum.

“Your records have been altered.”

The glass panels shuddered, then retracted seamlessly into the floor.

Simon exhaled sharply. “This facility... what the hell are they experimenting on?”

Above them, a mandala pattern began to spin, rotating faster and faster. Its intricate design fractured, dissolving into chaotic fragments. And with each collapsing piece...

They felt something slipping away from their minds.

Memories.

"Five minutes and forty-five seconds remaining."

At that moment, a section of the laboratory wall slid open, revealing a hidden chamber beyond. From the dimly lit space, another Simon emerged. He was identical in appearance—same features, same build—but something was different. His expression was sharper, colder, as if he already knew how this would unfold.

"I'm you," the man said, his voice eerily calm. "Seven minutes ahead." He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "And I am the real heir of the Freemasons." His lips curled into a smirk. "You were never chosen."

Then—

"Replaying archived records."

The mechanical voice echoed through the room as hundreds of screens embedded in the walls flickered to life at once. Every screen displayed the same face—the Prime Minister of Japan, Nakamura Akira. He wore a polite, practiced smile, yet there was something unsettling about the sight. It was as if a thousand unseen eyes were watching them from beyond the glass.

"You now stand at the threshold of consciousness."

On every screen, Nakamura spoke in unison. His tone was measured, deliberate.

"We have waited for centuries for the chosen heir. Simon—have you been chosen?"

He tilted his head slightly, a ghost of amusement in his eyes. Above them, the ceiling of the laboratory shifted. A massive mandala was revealed, intricate and pulsating with shifting numerical sequences. The patterns twisted, fragmented, reassembled into new formations—an ever-changing lattice of symbols and equations.

Simon felt his pulse quicken. "Those numbers... They're..."

Not just random data. They were memories—encoded electrical signals, human consciousness converted into pure information.

"What you are witnessing," Nakamura's voice continued, "is the blueprint of the grand illusion—the architecture of free will."

Another flicker. A colossal hologram ignited at the center of the room, radiating an eerie phosphorescence. Within its swirling depths, Simon saw something that made his breath catch.

Himself.

Not just once, but hundreds of versions of himself—each making slightly different choices, each leading subtly altered lives. It was a mosaic of possibilities, experiments running in parallel.

"Humans believe they make choices," Nakamura stated. "They live by them, regret them, tell themselves they had control. But the truth?"

The screens dimmed. Nakamura leaned forward, his expression unreadable.

"Not once have you ever exercised free will."

His voice was final. Absolute.

"We have run thousands of simulations. No human has ever stepped outside the parameters set by our system. Whether you are a Freemason heir or a mere pawn—whether you choose one side or the other—it makes no difference. You are still operating within the machine."

Simon stared at him, his mind racing. Then—Nakamura blinked. His pupils flickered.

For a brief instant, his eyes turned a luminous shade of green.

"So go ahead," he said softly. "Make your choice. We hope you were chosen."

"Two minutes and forty seconds remaining."

Raphael grabbed Simon's shoulder, shaking him hard. His eyes were wide, frantic.

"We have to break out of this! Find a way to override the system!"

Simon’s gaze darted across the room—the shifting numbers, the collapsing mandala, the endless faces of Nakamura watching from every screen. Somewhere within all of this lay the truth.

The answer to what free will really was.

Simon exhaled. His decision was made.

"Then let's find out."

Without hesitation, he reached forward and plunged his hand into the center of the hologram.

ALERT: DATA COLLISION DETECTED.

A violent tremor rocked the room.

Raphael stumbled backward. "What the hell is happening?"

In the hologram, the countless lives of "Simon" were beginning to fracture. Some Simons suddenly became police officers, others turned into murderers. One even appeared as the leader of Nemesis, while another became an experiment subject of Eden. Yet, no matter their form, they all met the same end: death.

Once again, Nakamura Akira's face appeared on the monitor, and his voice echoed through the lab.

— "Did you see that, Simon?"

— "You have never truly chosen freely."

— A pattern, inescapable, unbreakable.

"Time's up. Setting final pattern," a cold mechanical voice chimed in. At that moment, the enormous mandala on the ceiling contracted, only to violently expand, swallowing the entire lab in a blinding explosion of light. Sound. And then— silence.

It felt as though everything had frozen. The space vanished, and time no longer held meaning. And just then, a voice echoed in Simon's ears. Old, yet eerily familiar. — "Simon."

His grandfather. Though Simon had never heard this voice before, he instinctively knew it belonged to Solomon. And before his eyes, an old leather diary opened, and the words appeared clearly in his mind. "Those who follow false light walk into darkness, while those who dwell in true darkness will finally behold the light."

His grandfather's handwriting— vivid and sharp. "Do not believe that truth will set you free. True freedom lies only in 'forgetting.' Yet, those chosen are not even allowed the luxury of oblivion. What path will you choose?"

"Is this an illusion, or reality?" Simon thought, when— "Remember now, Simon," his grandfather's voice rang out once more. — "That night, I glimpsed a tear in reality. It was like a ripping veil, and within it, I saw another version of myself. He spoke to me. 'We have walked the same path, but if your choice diverges from mine— you cannot escape their darkness.'"

Simon slowly opened his eyes, and once again, the figure before him was another version of himself. But this time, it was different. The doppelgänger looked identical, but its eyes— they were empty.

And then— Raphael screamed, darting around the lab in a frenzy. The mechanical voice returned. "Seven minutes have elapsed. Goodbye." The door to the lab swung open, and dozens of AI voices echoed once again. "Returning to the beginning."

Simon was back at the moment before entering the lab, and Raphael was still panting heavily beside him. The mechanical voice chimed again, "Access is now restricted. You are free to break the door, but the consequences will be grave. A warning to all humans. Beep-beep."

But this time, the door remained shut. Was what they had just experienced an illusion, or was it real? As Simon glanced at his watch, the minute hand pointed to the time just seven minutes ago.

"Damn."

Raphael, still leaning against the wall, was gasping for breath. His chest heaved with every sharp inhalation, his face flushed as if he had just resurfaced from drowning. "What... did we just see?"

Simon turned his gaze back to the door. It didn’t budge. The red warning lights blinked steadily, flashing a message.

That’s when Simon's eyes drifted to one side of the hallway, and the faintly illuminated inscription on the wall caught his attention: [Lab 07 – Quantum Genetics Application Center / Research Focus: mRNA Cancer Treatment: Tissue Regeneration & Cellular Repair Protocol.]