Elian approached an office door adorned with an intricate circular pattern, its center marked by a designated palm print area. As he lifted his hand, the door's circuits hummed to life, spinning in a mesmerizing circular dance. With a soft whoosh, the door glided open, granting him entry.

Stepping inside, Elian was enveloped by a spacious chamber that seemed to breathe luxury and serenity. To his right, an open terrace offered a breathtaking panorama of the city—a forest of skyscrapers stretching endlessly towards the heavens, their surfaces reflecting the kaleidoscope of lights from vehicles whistling to and fro. The air was infused with a subtle, refreshing fragrance emanating from the lush greenery adorning the terrace's edges.

With a weary sigh, Elian sank into a plush sofa, his arms crossed over his chest as if to hold himself together. The tranquility was short-lived, however, as the opposite door clicked open, heralding the arrival of a woman who moved with practiced grace. She appeared to be in her early twenties, perhaps three years his junior. Elegantly attired in a smart skirt and blouse ensemble, she settled into a seat across from him, her eyes focused on the tablet in her hands as she adjusted her glasses.

"How do you feel?" she inquired, her voice professional yet tinged with genuine concern.

"Empty," Elian replied, his gaze fixed on the featureless white ceiling. Despite its bland appearance, he found an inexplicable sense of peace in its simplicity.

The woman crossed her slender legs, her pen poised above the tablet. "Have you rested these days? Your voice sounds tired."

"Not really," Elian admitted, his tone unnervingly calm. "I've been having nightmares. The exact same nightmare." In his mind's eye, the horrific scene rebuilt itself with painstaking clarity—an infinite loop of violence and despair. Every time he dared to close his eyes, he saw himself slicing someone's neck, then sitting by impassively as the figure died in agony, choking on their own blood. The scenario always concluded with nanobots and guards bursting in, his own head obliterated in a spray of crimson. It was at this point that he would jolt back to consciousness, heart racing and drenched in cold sweat.

He had a sneaking suspicion about the identity of his victim—who else could he possibly hate that much? The answer seemed glaringly obvious, yet it remained just beyond his grasp.

"Are you still taking the treatment?" the woman asked, drawing him back to the present.

"Your pills aren't working," Elian stated flatly, abruptly sitting up. His sudden movement seemed to fluster her, and as their eyes met, she turned away, embarrassed. Realizing her posture had become unprofessional, she quickly adjusted her sitting position.

In a fluid motion, Elian rose and approached her. She leaned back in her chair, a mixture of anticipation and uncertainty playing across her features. He crouched before her, gently lifting her chin with his fingers.

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"This is unprofessional," she murmured, her voice wavering. "What are you doing?"

Their lips met in a sudden, passionate kiss. Though initially surprised, she didn't push him away. Her hands moved deftly to her collar, fingers working at the buttons. But just as quickly as it had begun, Elian abruptly stood, breaking the intimate moment.

Her face flushed, she bit her lip as Elian spoke, his voice oddly detached. "I think I'm going to do it these days."

Her eyes widened in alarm, and she scrambled to her feet, following him. "You can't do that. Think about the consequences!"

"If I stopped to think about the consequences each time, I wouldn't be here, and we would have never met," Elian replied, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Goodbye, Dr. Lia. It was nice meeting you."

"You aren't going to leave just like this," she protested. "We haven't finished—"

"Finished what, exactly?" A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

She shook her head, flustered. "You know what I mean." When he remained silent, she added hastily, "Your therapeutic session."

Elian paused at the door, looking back at her. His finger pointed towards her partially unbuttoned blouse. "Button your collar. It's unprofessional," he said, then walked away without another word.

Dr. Lia's face cycled through embarrassment and amusement before settling on a wistful smile. She gracefully buttoned her collar and retreated into her office, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

Continuing his journey through the immense building, Elian eventually halted before another door. Once again, he used his palm to unlock it, watching as the door slid and spun open. He entered a spacious, impeccably clean apartment.

Making his way to his room, he was greeted by a cool breeze caressing his face, the leaves of plants by the window rustling gently. "Marli, close the window and prepare a shower," he commanded, then proceeded to the bed. He peeled off his shirt, tossing it aside, and kicked off his shoes with little regard for where they landed.

The window clicked shut automatically, and the sound of running water soon filled the air. "Good. Go to sleep until I call you," Elian added.

"My pleasure," Marli's familiar feminine voice replied before fading into silence.

Elian stepped into the spacious shower, where walls sprayed water and soap from all directions. As the liquid touched his skin, he grimaced, clutching his forearm. "I said a shower, not a healing bath, damn it!" he cursed.

"Do you need my assistance?" Marli's voice chimed in, concern evident in her tone.

"Shut up, Marli. I said sleep," Elian snapped, his irritation palpable. Despite his harsh words, a part of him was grateful for the AI's attentiveness. Marli was, after all, the key to Planet 5's functioning. Without her, there would be no Planet 5. All he could do was tolerate her sometimes grating personality, which seemed to grow more pronounced as she evolved.

After his shower, Elian changed into fresh clothes and made his way to the living room. As he sank into the sofa, his gaze was drawn to a picture hanging on the wall. Unable to resist, he stood and took it down, cradling it in his hands.

His eyes flickered to his right forearm, where a tattoo of a snake with bared fangs was etched into his skin. Then, his attention returned to the photograph.

The image captured a group of people dressed in pristine white uniforms, their faces alight with genuine joy and camaraderie. As he stared at their frozen smiles, a bitter smile of his own formed on his lips. Leaning against the wall, he felt a familiar ache in his chest, his eyes growing moist. "Why?" he whispered to the silent room.

The pain in his heart intensified, and a primal yell tore from his throat, echoing in the empty space. Sliding down the wall, Elian sat there, his eyes glued to the picture, a window to a happier past. As the weight of memories and regrets bore down on him, his eyelids grew heavy, and he slowly drifted into an uneasy sleep, the photograph still clutched tightly in his hands.