Chapter 8. The building has no name. Only a number: 8.

Black glass. No windows. No signs. The door opens before he arrives. The sensors know him. The system was waiting.

Inside: ozone. The smell of scanners warming up. The smell of processing.

Tomás walks through a corridor he designed himself. Eighteen and a half degrees Celsius —cold enough to keep the subject alert. This exact corridor width. This light intensity. Every variable optimized by his own hand, eight years ago, in a meeting room with lukewarm coffee and efficiency charts.

Now he is the subject.

They confiscate Dren's note. Marek's message. Eliana's rug —scanned, catalogued, sealed in plastic as evidence. The technician doesn't look at him when he pronounces the shortest sentence in the world:

Was.

Past tense. What he had, he no longer has.

Only Tael's paper survives. Folded until it is almost nothing. Pressed against his skin, under his arm, where the scanners don't look. The only act of resistance he has left.

Twelve capsules arranged like numbers on a clock. Eighteen liquid crystal needles. And his own frequency —the one he has carried encoded in his chest since birth— projected across twelve screens like a confession he could never hide.

He built the perfect system to classify what he himself was.

Now the system classifies him.

MINUS HUMAN Vol. I — El Umbral Ontopunk saga by Jesús Bernal Allende Escuela del Deber-Optimizar y la Soberanía de la Evidencia 📖 Available on Amazon KDP — search "MINUS HUMAN El Umbral" 🎬 Chapter 1 cinematography on YouTube: youtube.com/@MinusHuman.Universe