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The image flickered as if emerging from her lens. The camera blinked, and the frame changed. Dim lighting, gray walls lined with shelves filled with documents, desks buried under stacks of folders. In the center of the room, a massive screen continued its broadcast: Marek was holding Apolonia, her body trembling with sobs, while his face remained serious, softly focused.
A man in a white lab coat sat on a creaky chair. Short, with disheveled blond hair and thin glasses that he occasionally adjusted. A box of popcorn sat in front of him. He was happily tossing handfuls into his mouth, grinning as he watched the scene unfold.
— Oh, Mike, — he said, leaning back in his chair. — Or should I say Apolonia, haha! Individual program number 404 is turning out to be a masterpiece—so much drama, so much emotion!
His hand reached for another handful of popcorn, but a sudden female voice made him flinch.
— Slacking off, Stevenson?
Stevenson spun around abruptly in his creaky chair, spilling popcorn all over the keyboard. Standing at the lab’s entrance was Dr. Evelyn Carter—the head of Project "Town." Her icy gaze made Stevenson swallow hard.
— Dr. Carter! I was just... analyzing the data of subject 404, — he clicked his mouse nervously, switching the screen to display brain activity graphs.
Dr. Carter slowly walked along the desk, her heels tapping a rhythm reminiscent of a doomsday clock. Stevenson swallowed again, trying to cover the spilled popcorn with a folder full of documents.
— Weekly report, — her voice was as sharp as a blade slicing through the air. — And explain to me, finally, who this Marek is. An actor? A construct?
Stevenson squirmed, clicking the mouse. The screen flickered with brain activity graphs, overlaid with footage—Mike, in his Apolonia form, sobbing in Marek’s arms.
— Program 404... uh, it’s a unique case, Doctor! — He jabbed a finger at the monitor, where orange waves pulsed. — Subject M-O’Connor is demonstrating record integration—82% assimilation in 37 days!
— Stevenson. — Carter placed her hands on the desk, looming over him. — Who. Is. This. Man.
The lab tech blinked like an owl caught in headlights.
— Marek Kowalski. A real Pole living in the U.S., 34 years old. His wife... — he tugged out a folder, pulling a photo of Apolonia. — Died three years ago. Pancreatic cancer. We... uh... borrowed her biometrics for the template.
The photo showed a woman with soft features—round cheeks, a neat nose, warm brown eyes. The real Apolonia. Dr. Carter ran a finger over the image, her gaze growing even colder.
— And you decided to use her likeness for this... circus? — One of her eyebrows arched. — Remind me, what is the objective of Program 404?
— Testing social-role assimilation! — Stevenson perked up, pointing at the graphs on the screen. — Everything is going perfectly! Largely thanks to the fact that Marek himself offered to... — he lowered his voice, — ...be the anchor. Says he believes in miracles, that his Apolonia will return, that she lives in his heart... A damn romantic.
On the screen, Marek stroked Mike’s trembling shoulders, whispering something in Polish. Carter curled her lips in distaste.
— You let a civilian influence the experiment?
— He’s a psychologist! Well, almost... — Stevenson tugged at his collar. — A construction foreman with a degree in clinical psychiatry. He designed the influence protocol himself—gradual memory replacement through...
— Sexual contact? — Carter tapped a nail against the monitor, where Mike was pressing against Marek’s broad chest. — This is your breakthrough?
— Uh... Oxytocin hormones enhance the effects of the drugs! — Stevenson frantically pulled up the video archive. — Look: Day one—the subject has a breakdown at the sight of a mirror. Day twenty—voluntarily cooking borscht with smile. Day thirty-four... — He played a clip where Mike, now in a pencil skirt, was laughing while adjusting Marek’s tie.
Carter watched in silence as "Apollonia" absentmindedly fixed her bangs on screen—exactly like the real Polish cleaning lady in the photo.
— She still believes this is an experiment?
— Yes, but that’s part of the process, — Stevenson proudly gestured at the screen. — We used artificial intelligence to create the illusion. See? We took real photos and videos of Apolonia and then adapted them to Mike’s face. The AI did everything, making it seem like he was her from the very beginning. Even her memories, her mannerisms—it’s all part of his new identity now, largely thanks to the subject's willingness to embrace the role. And I’m confident that in the future, this will become standard. Today, we’ve made significant progress in integration thanks to this.
Carter leaned in closer to the screen, her eyes narrowing.
— And you’re sure this will work? That he won’t completely break?
— We’re close to success, — Stevenson smiled, though his smile was nervous. — Marek... he knows what he’s doing. He believes in it. And it seems like Mike... or Apolonia... is starting to believe too.
Carter slowly nodded, though doubt still lingered in her gaze.
— Alright, Stevenson. Everything you just told me—compile it into a standard report using form MN-54 and send it to my email tonight.
— But, Dr. Carter, that’s so much work, maybe...
— No "maybe", — she cut him off sharply, slamming her palm on the desk so hard the sound echoed off the empty walls. Her gaze quickly scanned the mess around his workspace. — I’m turning a blind eye to the mess you’ve created here, but the report on subject 404 must be in my inbox tonight!
Stevenson shrank into his chair, feeling the scorching intensity of her stare, and through clenched teeth, he muttered:
— Yes, ma’am. It’ll be done tonight.