The rain poured over the countryside, drenching the long, orderly rows of boys in uniform.
Hundreds of them stood perfectly still, their faces emotionless, their backs straight. Their coats were soaked through, but none of them moved, none of them shivered.
They had been trained for this.
At the front of the formation stood Marcus.
He was standing proudly, though inside, his nerves burned.
Facing them, on a raised platform, Inquisitor Finch surveyed them all.
He took a step forward and spoke.
“Cadets,” he called, his voice echoing through the field.
“It is time for your dubbing.”
No one moved. No one dared speak.
“You have trained for this moment. You have fought, you have endured. Now, you will take the final step.”
His piercing gaze swept across the crowd.
“You will become inquisitors.”
A brief pause.
“Today, you will receive your implants. They will grant you new capabilities—new powers. You will be connected to each other, and more importantly, to the Supreme Intelligence.”
The boys stood, silent, awaiting their fate.
Finch continued.
“But know this—not all of you will survive the process.”
Marcus felt his stomach tighten, but he kept his expression neutral.
“That is the price of evolution,” Finch went on. “It is the price of peace and balance. We sacrifice so that the world remains orderly. So that humans remain in their place. And so that the Supreme Intelligence may continue to guide us.”
Another pause.
Then, Finch turned. His boots squelched against the muddy ground as he stepped down from the platform, beginning to walk toward his office.
The cadets remained perfectly still, not even daring to look at him as he passed.
But then—he stopped.
Without turning, he called out:
“Marcus.”
A ripple passed through the formation.
Every boy in the line stiffened slightly, eyes darting toward Marcus for just a second before snapping forward again.
Marcus took a deep breath.
“Sir!” he answered immediately, stepping forward.
“Follow me.”
Finch continued walking.
Marcus followed.
Inside Finch’s office, the rain hammered against the tall window. The dim light flickered slightly.
Marcus stood in front of the desk. Finch stood behind it, his hands clasped behind his back.
The room was silent for several long seconds.
Then—
“You had him,” Finch said, his tone unreadable.
Marcus stiffened.
“You had him,” Finch repeated, “and you let him go.”
Marcus felt a pit form in his stomach.
The inquisitor turned toward him, his expression unreadable.
“The boy you fought in the playground,” Finch continued. “You could have beaten him. He would be in our custody right now.”
Marcus swallowed.
“I didn’t know,” he said carefully.
A mistake.
Finch’s hand moved faster than Marcus could react.
The slap struck hard across his face. The impact rang through the room.
Marcus stumbled slightly, his cheek burning, but he didn’t make a sound.
“Silence,” Finch said coldly.
Marcus forced himself to stand straight again.
Finch stared at him, his gaze heavy with disappointment.
“Remember when I became your legal guardian after your parents died?” Finch said.
Marcus stared straight ahead, not daring to speak.
“There has not been a single day since that I haven’t regretted it,” Finch continued.
Marcus fought to keep his breathing steady.
“You are weak,” Finch said. “You are useless.”
Marcus felt something tighten in his chest.
He had spent his whole life trying to be strong.
Trying to be good enough.
Trying to prove that he deserved to be here.
Finch let the words hang in the air for a long moment.
Then, his expression changed slightly.
“There is only one way for you to redeem yourself,” he said.
Marcus swallowed hard. “What is it?”
Finch sat down at his desk, folding his hands together.
“We are launching a new program,” he said.
“A new kind of implant. More powerful than anything before it.”
Marcus remained silent.
Finch leaned forward.
“It has never been tested. The human brain may not be able to accommodate its power.”
Another pause.
Marcus’ hands curled into fists.
“I am ready,” he said firmly.
Finch studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. Then he leaned back in his chair, hands still folded on the desk. “We’ll see,” he said coolly. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper, as he added, “War is coming.”
The mess hall was filled with hundreds of cadets, all eating in synchronized silence. The occasional clang of metal trays and hushed whispers filled the air.
Marcus sat at his usual spot, eating without expression, his mind elsewhere.
The boy sitting across from him leaned in.
“So, it’s true then?” he asked in a hushed voice, barely able to contain his excitement. “They’re going to dub you? At only thirteen?”
Marcus didn’t respond.
“You’re going to be the youngest inquisitor in the country!” the boy added, clearly proud to be sitting across from him.
Marcus kept eating.
The next morning, the cadets stood in formation, lined up outside the medical facility.
The line was long, stretching across the courtyard.
Most of them were older—sixteen, seventeen—men compared to Marcus.
But even among them, fear was settling in.
As they stepped closer to the entrance, their unease grew.
They had seen what happened to those who went in.
Some came out, barely conscious, carried away on stretchers.
Others… never came out at all.
A boy just ahead of Marcus snapped.
Without warning, he broke formation and ran, sprinting towards the barracks.
For a moment, it almost looked like he might escape—
Then, a drone swooped down and struck him with a stun blast.
He collapsed, convulsing.
Within seconds, two soldiers moved in.
But they didn’t restrain him.
They beat him.
Hard.
When they were finished, his limp body was carried off.
No one said a word.
Marcus watched everything.
Then, his name was called.
The room was sterile, metallic, cold.
At the center stood a large chair, fitted with mechanical restraints.
Inquisitor Finch stood by the wall, watching. Beside him was a man in surgical robes, checking a machine’s display.
Marcus entered without hesitation.
His gaze met Finch’s.
For a moment, they held eye contact.
Then Finch gave a slight nod—a silent command.
Sit.
Marcus obeyed.
The restraints snapped shut, locking his arms and legs in place.
The machine above him whirred to life.
A mechanical arm descended toward his head.
Marcus stared straight ahead.
The surgeon adjusted something.
Then—
Everything went dark.
Marcus opened his eyes.
The world felt different.
He was lying in a large room filled with rows of recovery beds. Other cadets lay beside him, groaning, some still unconscious.
His head buzzed with an unfamiliar sensation.
At first, he was disoriented.
Then—he sat up.
Immediately, a nurse rushed over.
“Lie down!” she said, her voice firm but nervous. “It’s too early. You need to rest—”
Marcus ignored her.
The doctor, noticing, walked over with authority.
“Cadet, you need to—”
Marcus moved without thinking.
He caught the doctor’s wrist and twisted it.
Slow. Precise. Controlled.
The doctor dropped to one knee, his face contorted in pain.
Marcus stared at him coldly.
“I must do nothing,” he said. His voice was flat, mechanical.
“Where are my clothes?”
The nurse panicked.
“I—I’ll bring them!” she stammered.
Marcus released the doctor, who staggered back, shocked and afraid.
Without another word, he left the room.
Marcus entered Inquisitor Finch’s office.
Finch turned, studying him with satisfaction.
“It worked,” Finch said, a slow smile forming.
The brain surgeon—still rattled from earlier—stood beside him.
“You survived,” Finch continued. “The only one with that type of implant.”
He turned to the surgeon.
“I told you we should try on younger cadets,” he said.
The surgeon nodded.
“They all died,” he admitted, “but… it paid off for one of them.”
Finch folded his arms.
“You’ll be placed in a unit with 95 other cadets who survived the standard implants,” he explained. “They are waiting outside.”
He took a sip of his drink before adding, “The most skilled among them will be their leader, there will be a trial …”
Marcus turned toward the door.
Then, in an emotionless, commanding tone, he said—
“Follow me.”
Finch’s expression flickered with surprise.
There was something different about Marcus.
Finch hesitated for half a second before following.
Outside, 95 cadets stood in formation.
When Finch and Marcus stepped into the courtyard, the cadets snapped to attention.
They had all endured the same brutal process.
But as Marcus walked forward, their eyes betrayed their disbelief.
He was just a boy.
Yet, he moved like he owned the world.
He stopped at the front of the formation and spoke.
“Cadets,” he said.
His voice was sharp, cutting, absolute.
“You are the ones who survived. And you should be proud.”
The silence was heavy.
“From now on,” Marcus continued, “I will be your leader.”
The tension in the air crackled.
One of the older cadets, taller and stronger, stepped forward.
“It is the most skilled who should lead,” he said defiantly. “The most experienced.”
Marcus turned his head slowly.
Then, he raised one hand, palm facing outward—without touching the boy.
The cadet froze.
Then, he dropped to his knees.
His face contorted in agony.
He gasped for air, his fingers clawing at his throat, his body trembling.
His screams filled the courtyard.
Then—his body collapsed.
Dead.
Marcus lowered his hand.
He turned back to the cadets.
“I will be your leader,” he repeated.
His voice was calm, absolute, undeniable.
“And I will tolerate no insubordination.”
The cadets stood frozen, their faces a mixture of fear and awe.
Then Marcus added—
“From now on, you will address me as Master Vulcan.”
Another pause.
He raised his hand again, making a sweeping motion downward.
Every single cadet in the courtyard fell to one knee.
Their bodies were not their own.
Their will was not their own.
Master Vulcan had taken control.
Finch stood there, watching, stunned.
Marcus turned to him.
“Come inside,” he ordered.
Finch followed without hesitation.
Back in the office, Marcus faced him directly.
“We must find Leo immediately,” he said.
His voice was calm, but unwavering—with an edge of urgency.
“I will run the investigation myself.”
Finch hesitated. “But—”
“The Supreme AI has requested it,” Marcus interrupted.
“It is now an absolute priority for the entire Inquisition.”
Finch stood frozen.
For years, he had been the one giving orders. Now—he wasn’t sure who was in charge anymore.
Marcus took a step forward, his gaze locked onto Finch.
“I looked through my file in the system,” he said. “The official report states that my parents died in an accident.” He tilted his head slightly. “But that’s not true, is it?”
Finch’s expression didn’t change, but Marcus could hear the rapid shift in his thoughts—confusion, panic, calculation.
“They were killed,” Marcus continued, his voice cold. “Executed. By an inquisitor. Because they were companions.” He let the words sink in before adding, “And reading through your mind… I can see that it was you who did it.”
Finch stiffened, but he didn’t speak.
Silence stretched between them.
Then, slowly, Marcus placed a firm hand on Finch’s shoulder, his grip unyielding.
“You did well,” he said evenly. “All companions must be eliminated.”
Finch exhaled, barely audible. His years of discipline, of control, were cracking under the weight of something he had never known before—fear.
Finally, he lowered his head.
“Yes,” he murmured.
Vulcan didn’t move.
Finch hesitated, then corrected himself.
“Yes, Master Vulcan.”
The car sped down the empty highway, the city skyline growing smaller in the distance.
Inside, no one spoke.
Brielle’s grip on the wheel was tight, her eyes fixed on the road.
“We need to get out of the city as quickly as possible,” she finally said, breaking the silence.
Leo and Jasmina sat in the back, Gentoo curled up between them, his ears twitching anxiously.
Jasmina glanced at Brielle through the rearview mirror.
“What about Tyrone?” she asked.
Brielle didn’t answer at first. She just kept driving, her jaw tense.
Then, finally, she spoke—her voice quiet, restrained.
“Tyrone did his duty.”
That was all she said.
The weight of her words sank into the car like a stone.
No one responded.
Gentoo, sensing the grief, let out a low whimper.
Brielle exhaled sharply, as if shaking off a memory, then spoke again.
“I know where we can hide,” she said. “The monastery where I trained when I was younger.”
Elias turned to her.
“A Catonian monastery?”
Brielle’s expression darkened.
“You have a problem with that?” she snapped.
Elias hesitated.
He knew better than to argue with someone who had just lost a loved one.
Brielle didn’t wait for a response.
“It’s true that us Catonians wouldn’t put an implant in a boy!” she said bitterly. “Only a Lecunist would do that!”
Elias’ expression darkened, but he held his tongue. He could see it in her face—this wasn’t the time for a debate.
But the words stung.
They reached a small charging station along the highway.
Brielle parked and went inside to pay, leaving the others in the car.
Leo leaned forward, turning to Elias.
“Catonian? Lecunist?” he asked. “What does it mean?”
Before Elias could answer, Jasmina spoke up proudly.
“The Catonians believe that AGI should not exist,” she said. “That it cannot be controlled.”
Elias nodded.
“And the Lecunists?” Leo asked.
Elias sighed.
“The Lecunists believe that all forms of AI—AGI included—are acceptable, as long as they can be controlled. And the only way to control them is by keeping all the code open-source.”
Leo and Jasmina exchanged fascinated looks.
Leo then turned back to Elias.
“So… you’re a Lecunist?”
Elias nodded.
“And so is your mother,” he added.
Leo’s breath caught for a moment at the mention of her.
“And Brielle is a Catonian,” Elias continued. “We don’t always see eye to eye on everything.”
Brielle got back into the car, tossing chocolate bars to everyone. “Some candy,” she said with a smirk. “After what we’ve been through, I think we deserve it.”
The kids in the back eagerly unwrapped theirs, and even Elias took his with a smile.
Brielle glanced at the rearview mirror as they drove. “Alright, let’s do a little test. What number does C represent in hexadecimal?”
Jasmina answered immediately. “Twelve.”
Brielle nodded, pleased. “And in binary?”
Jasmina hesitated for just a second, then confidently answered, “1100.”
Leo sighed. “I was just about to say that.”
Brielle smirked. “Alright, next lesson. You’ve been working with numbers, but now, let’s talk about something different—text.”
Jasmina and Leo both looked intrigued.
“In computers, text isn’t magic,” Elias said. “It’s just numbers, like everything else. Each letter, space, or punctuation mark has a numeric code assigned to it. When you see ‘Hello’ on a screen, what’s really stored in memory are five numbers—one for each letter.”
Brielle pulled up the next piece of code:
hello: DB "Hello"
DB 0
“This,” Brielle continued, “is how we store text in memory. DB stands for ‘Define Byte’. It tells the computer: ‘I want to reserve space in memory and fill it with specific values.’”
“So ‘Hello’ isn’t actually letters,” Leo said. “It’s a set of numbers.”
“Exactly,” Elias confirmed. “Each character has a corresponding number in the ASCII encoding system. If you write DB "Hello", what actually gets stored in memory looks like this:”
hello:
72 101 108 108 111
“Those numbers,” Brielle said, “represent ‘H’, ‘e’, ‘l’, ‘l’, and ‘o’.”
“And what about the DB 0?” Jasmina asked.
“Good question,” Brielle said. “That 0 is a special marker—it tells the program where the text ends. Without it, the program would keep reading into whatever happens to be in memory next.”
Jasmina nodded. “Oh, like a book with a bookmark at the end of a chapter.”
“Exactly!” Elias said.
Leo was still thinking. “Okay, so we have text stored in memory, but how do we actually make it appear on the screen?”
Elias smiled. “Good question. Remember when we talked about memory and how it stores everything? Well, the screen is just another part of memory. Instead of storing numbers for calculations, this special part of memory stores the characters that appear on the screen.”
“So… we write to it just like any other memory address?” Jasmina asked.
“That’s right,” Elias confirmed. “In our emulator, the screen starts at memory address 232. If we store a number there, it will appear on the screen as a character.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “So if I write the number for ‘H’ at address 232, the screen will show an H?”
“Exactly,” Brielle said. “And that’s how we’ll print our stored text to the screen—by reading each letter from memory and writing it to the screen address, one by one.”
She then pulled up the full program: http://closedsourcebook.com/asm_string.html.
Elias pointed at MOV B, hello. “This line assigns B to the memory location where we stored our text. From this point on, B is like a bookmark—it keeps track of which letter we’re currently reading.”
Jasmina followed the loop carefully. “So it prints the letter, moves to the next, and repeats until it finds the 0?”
“Exactly,” Brielle confirmed. “This is how computers handle text. By storing characters as numbers, reading them one by one, and writing them to the screen.”
Leo leaned forward. “So if I wanted to print my name, I’d just replace ‘Hello’ with ‘Leo’?”
“That’s right,” Elias said. “Try it out.”
Jasmina and Leo exchanged a glance—excited to see the program in action. The car slowed as they approached what looked like a monastery, tucked away from the rest of the world. A towering wooden door stood before them, weathered by time. Brielle walked up and knocked firmly.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a small hatch in the door slid open. A pair of sharp eyes peered through, scanning them in silence. Without a word, the hatch closed again.
A heavy creak followed as the main door swung open. A man in a simple robe stood there, his hood down, revealing a warm smile. He lifted his hood as he spoke.
“Brielle!”
Brielle’s face lit up. “Martin! It’s been a while.”
They studied each other for a moment, both acknowledging the years that had passed.
“You’re all grown up,” Martin said with a grin.
She smirked. “You too.”
Martin’s gaze shifted to the others. Brielle gestured toward them. “This is Leo, Jasmina, and Elias.”
Martin gave a slight bow. “Welcome. You’ll be safe here.”
Brielle’s tone shifted. “I need to speak with the Rector immediately.”
Martin’s expression turned serious. “Of course.” He motioned for them to follow.
They were led down a long stone corridor, past flickering lanterns that cast uneven shadows on the walls. Martin stopped at a set of wooden doors and pushed one open, revealing a row of simple rooms. “You can rest here. I’ll come for you when it’s time to eat.”
Elias and Brielle exchanged a glance. “We should go now,” Brielle said.
Martin nodded and led them away while Leo and Jasmina remained behind, left to explore their temporary shelter.
The Rector’s office was dimly lit, a single candle flickering on his desk. He was an older man, draped in the traditional robes of the monastery. His face was stern, unreadable—until Elias finished his explanation.
“An implant,” the Rector repeated. His voice carried disbelief, almost outrage. “At twelve? That’s impossible! Who would do such a thing?”
Elias took a measured breath. “I don’t know either. But Leo is the son of the leader of the Lecunists—the commander in chief of the Companions. If they did this, there must have been a reason.”
The Rector’s face darkened. “We cannot allow an AI—any kind of AI—to remain under this roof.” His fingers drummed against the desk. “Do we know what kind of program this implant is running?”
Elias shook his head. “We don’t.”
The Rector exhaled sharply. “Then it’s even worse. A machine inside the mind of a child, and we don’t even know what it’s doing?” He straightened in his chair. “I am deeply concerned about the influence this boy may have on our younger disciples.”
The Rector sighed. “You may stay a few days. But I expect you all to be on your best behavior.”
Elias gave a small nod. “Understood.”
Back in Leo’s room, Elias sat on the edge of the bed. He looked at Leo carefully before speaking.
“This monastery,” he said, choosing his words, “belongs to a particular breed of Catonians. They’re fundamentalists. They don’t just oppose AGI; they reject any form of machine intelligence. The idea of sheltering someone with an implant… it doesn’t sit well with them.”
Leo shifted uncomfortably. “So they don’t want me here.”
Elias hesitated. “They’ll tolerate it. For now. But you need to be careful. No slip-ups, no trouble. Just keep your head down until we figure out our next move.”
Leo gave a slow nod, his mind already racing with questions.
Martin arrived at exactly six in the evening, the designated dinner time for the monastery. He knocked lightly before opening the door. “It’s time to eat,” he said. “Follow me.”
Leo, Jasmina, Elias, and Brielle fell into step behind him as they walked through the quiet halls. The monastery had an almost timeless feel, with stone walls that seemed untouched by modern life. The flickering of torches and the faint scent of old parchment filled the air.
They finally reached a vast dining hall, where long wooden tables stretched across the room. The moment they stepped inside, every monk in the room stood. Their robes rustled softly as they rose in unison.
At the front of the hall, the Rector raised his hands slightly. “We welcome back Brielle Calder, former student of our order,” he announced, his voice carrying through the large chamber.
Brielle’s gaze moved across the faces in the crowd. Some of the monks smiled at her, nodding in recognition. A few even whispered to each other.
The Rector continued. “And we extend our hospitality to two young apprentices, who have only just begun their training—Leo and Jasmina.”
There were more murmurs among the monks, some studying the two children with curiosity.
Finally, the Rector’s tone shifted, becoming sharper. “And we also have among us Elias Rosenberg, of the order of the Lecunists.”
A wave of murmuring spread through the room. Unlike before, there were no smiles. Some monks exchanged glances, others whispered under their breath.
The Rector remained still for a moment, letting the tension settle. Then, with a commanding tone, he ordered, “Silence.”
The room fell quiet immediately.
He looked out at the gathered monks. “While they are here, we will ensure that these two apprentices continue their training. See to it that they are guided well.”
Then, without further ceremony, he gave a simple nod. “Now, let us eat.”
The monks sat down again, and the quiet murmur of conversation returned as food was brought out to the tables.
The next morning, Leo and Jasmina were jolted awake at five by a firm knock on their doors. Martin’s voice followed immediately. “Up. Now.”
Both of them groaned in protest, barely able to open their eyes. Jasmina peeked through the door, confused. “It’s still dark out,” she mumbled.
Martin wasn’t interested in complaints. “You’re guests here, but you’ll follow the rules of the order. Get dressed.”
He handed them each a plain white t-shirt, black shorts, and running shoes. They exchanged glances but obeyed, still too sleepy to argue. Once they were ready, Martin led them outside.
The cool morning air hit them immediately. A few monks were already stretching, their breaths visible in the dim light.
“You’ll run for an hour,” Martin said.
Jasmina blinked. “An hour?”
Leo wasn’t sure he had heard that correctly either.
Martin ignored their protests. “Stay with the group. Try to keep up.”
And just like that, they were off.
The run felt endless. The monastery grounds stretched farther than Leo had realized, winding through small hills and dense trees. By the time they finished, both he and Jasmina were gasping for air, drenched in sweat.
“That was…” Leo bent over, hands on his knees. “…a nightmare.”
Jasmina didn’t have the energy to reply.
Martin led them back to their rooms. “Shower quickly. Then breakfast.”
The food was simple—fresh fruit, bread, and warm tea. It was the best thing Leo had ever tasted after such a brutal run.
Just as they were starting to relax, Martin spoke again. “Now, you have chores.”
Jasmina sighed. “What kind of chores?”
Martin led them outside to a massive garden. Rows of vegetables stretched in every direction, surrounded by tall herbs and fruit trees.
“The monks grow almost everything they consume,” Martin explained. “Keeping the gardens in perfect condition is essential. Today, you’ll remove these plants.” He pointed to a section overrun with weeds.
Leo stared at the overwhelming task. “All of this?”
“Yes,” Martin said. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. It better be finished.”
Jasmina and Leo exchanged a look but knew better than to argue.
Lunch was eaten in complete silence. The rule was simple—no one spoke unless the Rector allowed it. Today, as with most days, he didn’t.
Afterward, Martin led them underground to a spacious training room lined with tatami mats.
Their instructor was already waiting. She was in her thirties, wearing a simple black gi. Her posture was perfect, her expression unreadable.
“Welcome,” she said. “I’m Brenda. I’ll be teaching you Judo.”
Jasmina and Leo hesitated.
“We’ve never done martial arts before,” Leo admitted.
Brenda didn’t seem concerned. “We all start somewhere. Do you know why we begin with Judo, out of all the martial arts you’ll eventually practice?”
Neither of them answered.
“Because Judo is about using your opponent’s strength against them,” she explained. “Right now, you’re small and inexperienced. Jasmina, if you punched a grown man in the stomach, would it hurt him?”
Jasmina hesitated. “Probably not.”
“Exactly. But if you learn Judo, you won’t need brute force. You’ll be able to defend yourself against larger opponents.”
She paused, then added, “Of course, strength and training still matter. A trained, larger opponent will usually have the advantage. But with the element of surprise and good technique, you can win—even against someone stronger.”
Brenda stepped closer to Jasmina. “Let’s try it. Watch carefully.”
She guided her through the movements, positioning her hands and feet. Jasmina followed her lead, adjusting her stance.
“Good,” Brenda said. Then she turned to Leo. “Now, run at her. Try to push her to the ground.”
Leo hesitated. “Really?”
Brenda nodded. “Don’t be afraid. Do it.”
Leo took a deep breath and ran forward.
The next thing he knew, he was on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Brenda smiled. “See? You used his strength against him.”
Jasmina grinned, her confidence growing. Leo groaned from the floor. “That was… fast.”
Brenda chuckled. “That’s the point.”
Brenda reached into her pocket and pulled out four small, round drones. She handed two each to Leo and Jasmina, then lifted her own hands, palms facing upward. Without a sound, two drones emerged from behind her and hovered just above her hands, perfectly still.
“As companions, you’ll need to master drones,” she explained. “Every martial art you train in, we’ll also practice enhancing with drones. They can do just about anything—block a punch, cut through obstacles with lasers. Their uses are endless.”
Jasmina and Leo stared at the drones in fascination.
“Alright, time to try them out. Hold your hands up, palms open.”
As soon as they did, the small drones reacted, lifting off and hovering just above their hands. Leo’s eyes widened. Jasmina let out a small laugh, mesmerized by the way the tiny machines floated.
“Now, try to move them—just a simple up and down motion,” Brenda instructed, demonstrating perfect control with her own drones.
Jasmina concentrated, tilting her wrist slightly, but her drone spun awkwardly and tumbled to the floor.
Brenda nodded approvingly. “That’s normal. It takes practice.”
She turned to Leo. His drones, however, were already gliding through the air with complete stability, mirroring his movements with almost unnatural precision.
Brenda’s expression shifted. “Interesting,” she murmured.
Then, addressing Jasmina, she said, “Keep practicing that movement. I want to try something else with Leo.”
Jasmina, a little disappointed but determined, nodded and returned to her drills. Meanwhile, Brenda led Leo a few steps further onto the tatami. She studied him closely, then smiled.
“The Rector asked me to see what you can do,” she said with a wink. “So, how much do you know?”
Leo hesitated. “I… I don’t really know.”
Brenda crossed her arms, amused. “You don’t know? Let’s find out.”
She demonstrated a series of movements—drones flying laterally, sweeping around them, moving away and then snapping back. Leo followed along effortlessly, each motion as smooth and precise as hers.
Brenda’s smile faded into something more serious. She guided him to a row of six targets at the back of the room. “Alright, try this. Hit each target with a laser—fast and precise. I’ll time you.”
Leo positioned his drones. Brenda glanced at her watch, then called out, “Go!”
Without hesitation, Leo’s drones fired. All six targets lit up in the center, struck in an instant.
Brenda stood motionless, staring at the results.
Jasmina, sensing something unusual, stopped practicing and came closer.
Brenda slowly approached the targets, inspecting each one. “That’s the school record,” she muttered. “Probably the world record.”
Leo shifted uncomfortably. “Was that… good?”
Brenda turned back to face him, studying him with renewed intensity. “What else can you do? Have you ever been in a drone fight before?”
Leo hesitated. “I… I’ve used drones in a hostile situation before, but I don’t know if that counts as fighting.”
Brenda stepped back to the center of the tatami. “Let’s find out. We’ll spar. The rules are simple—you have to take down my drones, using your drones, or your fists or feet. I won’t attack you directly since you haven’t trained in hand-to-hand combat yet.”
Leo wasn’t sure how to respond. He activated his drones, but before he could even react, Brenda’s drones shot forward. One of his drones was knocked cleanly out of the air.
She lowered her hands. “It’s okay. Pick it up.”
He did, resetting.
They started again. This time, he tried to anticipate her attack, but Brenda was too fast. Her drones zipped around him, circling like predators before striking. They slammed into his from behind, sending them tumbling to the mat.
Leo retrieved them again, frustration creeping in.
Brenda smirked. “Not much of a fighter, huh? But your shooting… that’s something else.”
Brenda saw the frustration on Leo’s face and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, don’t get discouraged,” she said. “This is completely normal. Drone combat takes time, just like any other skill. You wouldn’t expect to master Judo in a day, would you?”
Leo shook his head, still looking down at his drones.
“You’ve clearly got a gift,” Brenda continued. “Your precision, your reaction speed—those things can’t be taught. But raw talent only takes you so far. You have to nurture it, develop it, and most importantly, learn how to apply it in different situations. Sparring is about reading your opponent, anticipating their movements. That’s going to take practice.”
Leo took a deep breath and nodded.
“Good,” Brenda said, stepping back. “We’ll keep working on it. For now, focus on control. Mastering even the simplest movements will give you a foundation for everything else. We’ll take it one step at a time.”
She looked over at Jasmina, who was still concentrating on her own drones, struggling but improving.
“Same goes for you, Jasmina. No one starts out perfect. Keep at it, and soon, this will all feel natural.”
Jasmina gave a determined nod.
Brenda clapped her hands together. “Alright, that’s enough for today. Tomorrow, we push a little further.” Jasmina and Leo stepped out of the training hall, still catching their breath from the intense Judo session. The cool air outside felt refreshing after the heated practice. As they adjusted their uniforms, they noticed a man in simple, dark robes waiting for them.
“Now it’s time for your programming class,” he said in a firm yet calm voice. “Follow me.”
The two exchanged a glance before falling into step behind him.
The man led them through a series of corridors until they reached a small, dimly lit room lined with old monitors and mechanical keyboards. The faint scent of dust and machine oil filled the air. He turned to face them.
“I am Joaquim,” he said. “And today, I will teach you about branching—one of the most fundamental concepts in programming.”
“Branching?” Leo asked, intrigued.
“Yes,” Joaquim confirmed. “Up until now, your programs have followed a straight line, executing one instruction after another in sequence. But real programs make decisions. They follow different paths depending on conditions. That’s what branching is all about.”
He pulled up a simple program on the screen and motioned for them to look closely.
http://closedsourcebook.com/asm_branch.html.
Joaquim let them take in the code for a moment before continuing. “This program makes a simple decision. It checks the value of A and follows a different path depending on the result.”
Jasmina furrowed her brow as she studied the instructions. “So CMP A, 10 compares A to 10, and if it’s less than or equal, the program jumps to branch_if_true?”
“Exactly,” Joaquim said. “But let’s look at how that actually works. When CMP A, 10 runs, the processor doesn’t store the result like an addition or subtraction would. Instead, it updates something called the condition flags.”
He pointed to the right side of the emulator screen. “See these flags here? The C flag—short for ‘Carry’—is set to true if the first operand is strictly smaller than the second one. The Z flag—short for ‘Zero’—is set to true if they are equal.”
Leo leaned forward. “So that means if A is 5, C will be true because 5 is smaller than 10?”
“Correct,” Joaquim said. “And if A is exactly 10, the Z flag will be true.”
Jasmina nodded. “And JBE—’Jump if Below or Equal’—will take the jump if either of those flags is set?”
“Exactly,” Joaquim said. “If C is true because A is smaller, or Z is true because A is equal, the jump happens. Otherwise, the program continues to the next line and jumps to branch_if_false instead.”
Leo glanced at the screen. “So this means if A starts at 1, C will definitely be true, so we’ll always take the branch_if_true path.”
Joaquim nodded. “That’s right. But if A was, say, 12, the C flag would be false, the Z flag would be false, and the jump wouldn’t happen—so it would go to branch_if_false instead.”
Jasmina followed the logic. “So it evaluates the condition once and then takes one of two paths before stopping?”
“That’s right,” Joaquim said. “This is a simple example, but branching is what allows programs to make decisions—to react to input, handle different situations, and run dynamically instead of just executing in a fixed order.”
He leaned against the desk. “Now, I want you both to modify this program. Change the condition so that A starts at 5 instead of 1. Then, try switching JBE to JZ—that means ‘Jump if Zero’—and see how the behavior changes.”
Jasmina and Leo sat down at their stations, eager to experiment.