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Myall

We get stuck into the next phase of planning and I glance at each of them—Ziva, Arden, Marcus. They’re more than comrades now—they’re becoming a makeshift family. And like any family, we’re riven with conflicts, with different visions of the future. But for now, we’re united in our purpose.

I just hope it’s enough.

Arden leans in, her eyes flicking between the others. “I can hack The Authority’s records. Pull up a list of potential recruits who’ve shown signs of discontent. If anyone’s been flagged after their interviews with Colvin, I can track them down.”

There’s a beat of silence as the team digests her words.

I look at Ziva and Marcus, both of them silently weighing the risks.

Ziva’s face remains unreadable, but Marcus—there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of doubt, though he doesn’t speak up.

They both know that trusting Arden—trusting anyone—is a gamble. But we need her—now.

“Okay,” Ziva finally says. “But lets plan it properly. We can’t afford mistakes.”

Arden nods, though the fire behind her eyes isn’t dimmed. She stands, an edge of impatience creeping into her movements. “Fine,” she says, her voice clipped. “But don’t blame me if we’re all ‘Harmonized’ before we even get started with this rebellion.”

She storms out, the door slamming closed behind her with a sharp finality. I wince, knowing she can’t help the highs and lows of her mood right now.

Her words hang in the air, thick with truth and tension. I can’t shake the gnawing feeling in my chest. She’s not wrong. We’re on borrowed time. The ground beneath us feels like it’s shifting, fast, and if we’re not careful, it’ll swallow us whole.

“She’ll come around, we just need to give her some time to adjust to her full emotions,” Ziva says, but her eyes are on the door, her voice less certain than usual.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Arden’s always been unpredictable, like the first crack of thunder before a storm.

“We need her,” Marcus says, breaking the uneasy quiet. “But we also need to be smart. Cautious. I fear she may be too hotheaded…too abrasive.”

I turn to him, surprised. He’s right, of course, but his caution often borders on reluctance. I wonder how long he’ll last, if the pressure will turn him into a diamond or just crush him.

“I’m more worried about the rest of us,” I admit. “We’re stretching too thin.”

He shrugs, but the weight of it pulls him down. “It was always going to be a long shot. But we have to try.”

I look at him, really look, and see the tired lines around his eyes, the set of his jaw. We’ve been at this for weeks now, and the toll is starting to show. On all of us.

“Do you ever think,” I start, then stop. I don’t want to ask this, don’t want to know the answer. But I have to. “Do you ever think it’s not worth it? That we should just… give in?”

His eyes meet mine, and for a moment I see the depth of his past hurt, his conflict.

“Every day,” he says quietly, his voice rough.

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes flicking to the door, as though something on the other side might offer him an answer.

“But you know… isn’t trying, even failing, better than doing nothing at all? ”

His words hit me like a slap. I want to argue. I want to say something that will make this all seem possible, but I don’t. He’s right. If we even survive long enough to try.

I hope we’re not fooling ourselves. I hope we’re not just a group of desperate people chasing an illusion, pretending that we can actually change anything.

But deep down, I know the truth. The odds are stacked against us, and no matter how many plans we make, how many risks we take, there’s a part of me that’s already bracing for failure.

The real question isn’t if we’ll win—it’s if we’ll survive long enough to see it through.

* * *

An hour later, Ziva has taken charge of analyzing the system blueprints, trying to identify their weaknesses and devise a plan to make our NeuroMods appear active and functioning when they are, in reality, under our control.

Her dedication to the task is unwavering, and she pours over the technical intricacies of the systems, her focus absolute.

Meanwhile, Marcus and I have been discussing the potential risks and benefits of recruiting new members.

I lean back in my chair, the old leather squeaking beneath me as I stretch my sore neck.

The muscles in my back protest, stiff from too many hours spent hunched over data.

A low ache spreads from my spine to my shoulders, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding in my head.

“Don’t start celebrating yet. We still have to—”

Arden bursts back into the room, her usual swagger amplified by an obvious excitement. “Guys, you’re not going to believe this.”

“We’re kind of in the middle of something,” I mutter, but Arden is already beside Marcus, tugging him from his seat.

“While you’ve been busy playing whack-a-mole with the systems blueprints, I’ve been accessing these old relics.

Some of them still have a trace of access to The Authority’s mainframe,” she says, gesturing to the computers and datapads scattered around the room.

The computers, coated in layers of dust and rust, hum faintly like the dying breath of something long abandoned.

My eyes widen. “Arden, you didn’t—”

“I figured out a way to hack into their network,” she says, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. “We can get everything—plans, security protocols, even the list of known potential rebels.”

The room goes silent. I can almost hear the gears in everyone’s heads grinding. This is huge.

Marcus is the first to speak. “It’s suicide. The moment you breach their firewall, they’ll trace it back here. We’re not ready for that kind of heat.”

“We’re not ready for a lot of things. Doesn’t mean we can just sit on our hands.” Arden’s voice is laced with defiance.

I look at Ziva, waiting for her to weigh in.

Her fingers tap against the dataport, the sound sharp in the silence.

Her eyes flicker to the screen and away, a tell I know all too well.

She’s thinking, but her face is still a mask, unreadable.

I attempt to catch her eye, but she looks away, her fingers brushing through her hair in a nervous gesture.

My stomach tightens—she’s pulling back, and that’s never a good sign.

“It’s risky,” she says, her voice quiet but firm. “But that data could change everything. We’d need to move fast—and relocate immediately.”

“Assuming we even have time to run,” Marcus interjects. “This is insane. We have a plan. We should stick to it.”

All eyes turn to me. I hate this part, being the one to make the final call. It’s not like we’re a democracy, but we do try to reach consensus. When we can’t, it falls to me, and I’m never sure I’m right.

“We need to weigh the pros and cons,” I say, stalling. “If we had that information, it could make our job easier. But if it gets us compromised—”

Arden crosses her arms, her grin fading but not entirely gone. “We’re compromised just by existing. This could give us everything we need to take down The Authority.”

I bite my lip, the salt of sweat clinging to my skin.

My hands tremble, gripping the table for stability as my mind races through the potential fallout of Arden’s plan.

The weight of the decision presses on me, a dull throb in my temples.

She’s not wrong, but neither is Marcus. It’s a gamble, and we’re already stretched too thin to take more risks.

“Let’s make a list,” I say. “Pros and cons. Then we decide.”

Ziva grabs a dataport and starts jotting down notes as we all throw out ideas. The room feels heavy with unspoken anxiety, each argument sharp and laden with consequences—data that could turn the tide, but also the threat of discovery, a risk that could cost us everything.

“Con: We don’t even know if she can pull it off,” Marcus says, and I see Arden bristle.

“I’ve hacked more secure systems than this,” she snaps. “Have a little faith.”

God, I’d love to hear that story someday.

“Enough,” I say, rubbing my temples. “We get it. This is dangerous, but so is what we’re already doing.”

Ziva sets the dataport down. “It comes down to this—are we willing to bet everything on a maybe?”

I look at the list, at the faces of my friends.

We’re tired, scared, and hoping for a miracle.

But beneath the fear lies something deeper—a quiet certainty that every choice could be our last. I catch Ziva’s eye, and I see the same worn-out resolve mirrored there.

We’re no longer just fighting to survive.

We’re fighting to win—and that’s a whole different kind of fear.

“I say we sleep on it,” I finally declare. “No rash decisions. We’ll vote tomorrow.”

Arden looks like she wants to argue, but she holds her tongue. That, more than anything, scares me. She’s always so sure, so fearless. If even she has doubts…

The group disperses, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I stare at the schematic, heart pounding, praying we’re not cutting the wrong thread. The whole plan hinges on it.