Httoq – Day Four

Zerox was still here.

And "Y" didn't care.

Not one message. Not one search party.

The world had noticed, of course. The press demanded answers.

"Where is Zerox?" "Has "Why" lost his heir?" "Does he even care?"

But Y stayed silent.

And that silence was louder than any denial could have been.

Zerox sat at the far end of the bunker, fingers tapping against his knee, jaw locked tight. Something inside him felt like it was breaking.

Not physically. Not visibly.

But like a wire snapping in his mind, one connection at a time.

He really doesn't care.

That thought should have been private.

But it wasn't.

Because Zerox wasn't just thinking anymore.

He was broadcasting.

And everyone in the bunker heard it.

A Thought That Wasn't Meant to Be Heard

The moment his thought slipped, the entire room froze.

Not because of what he said.

But because of what came next.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The image hit them all at once.

A memory—fractured, violent, raw.

A hand gripping his shoulder, too tight. The voice of a man who was not his father. The feeling of being trapped inside his own body.

The thought was loud, even though Zerox never spoke.

And then, in an instant—

It was gone.

Just static left in its place.

A void where a truth had been half-formed, then buried again.

Zerox gasped, his breath sharp, his pulse pounding.

The others were still looking at him.

Not with pity. Not with shock.

But with understanding.

Remo was the first to speak.

"That wasn't just a thought," he said slowly. "It was a transmission."

Hermes exhaled, shaking his head. "ScriptBoy just turned his fucking brain into a loudspeaker."

Zerox clenched his fists. "Shut up."

"No, really," Hermes smirked. "You're literally the voice of the Network. You don't just hear it—you stabilize it. No wonder you wouldn't shut the fuck up at the concert."

Zerox shot him a glare, but before he could snap back—

Lupa moved.

She had been still, silent, processing.

But now she stepped forward, eyes locked on Zerox.

"Do it again," she said.

Zerox blinked. "What?"

"That thought. That emotion. That—" she hesitated, searching for the word, "—break. Let it happen again."

Zerox laughed dryly. "You want me to have a breakdown on command?"

"Yes," Lupa said simply.

He stared at her.

She wasn't joking.

Lupa's Moment of Clarity

Lupa didn't need an equation to understand what was happening.

She could feel it—the shift in the air, the tightening of the frequency, the way the Network had reacted to Zerox's pain.

She had been waiting.

Not passively. Not idly.

But waiting for a moment sharp enough to cut through the static.

And now, it was here.

"Zerox," she said, voice steady. "That memory. It hurt you. It still hurts you. And because of that—it's a clean signal."

Zerox frowned. "You're saying my trauma is some kind of fucking power source?"

"Yes," she said.

Silence.

Then—Hermes whistled. "Shit, I like her more every day."

Zerox ignored him. "So what, you want me to just—suffer, but louder?"

Lupa's amber eye burned.

"Yes," she said. "Because the more you focus, the clearer the Network becomes. And I need it clear."

A beat.

Then—

Zerox inhaled.

And he let go.

The Network Awakens

The moment he stopped resisting, the Network shifted.

Not in the way it usually did—fragmented pulses, scattered voices, half-built sentences in the dark.

This time, it was seamless.

A full, complete, uninterrupted transmission.

And Lupa saw everything.

The first moment of Boris's arrival.

The first mutation, buried in the blood of a dying woman.

The first lie that built No Nation.

It was all there, like pieces of a puzzle that had never been missing—just hidden.

Lupa gasped.

The connection snapped back to the present.

And when she opened her eyes—

She knew exactly what to do next.