Ashes to Empress

It had been a week since the NATO funds had arrived. One hundred and thirty-nine billion euros now sat untouched in my official bank account. Perfectly legal, perfectly declared, and still completely surreal. Unrelated to that, today also marked the arrival of the first shipment of my tailored neuroenhancement treatment—quietly delivered, as arranged, without raising any flags.

A discreet brown envelope, soft and weightless, barely large enough to contain its contents. Inside, wrapped in neutral foam, was a plain white plastic bottle with no branding—only a printed line in sterile, clinical typeface:

VitaForm – 60 Capsules | 1-Month Supply

I'd already told my security detail I was ordering nutritional supplements. There had been no questions.

SOPHIA: Dosage protocol uploaded. One capsule in the morning, one in the evening. Continue for six months. After this period, your neural interface bandwidth will support 2 gigabytes per scan.

"And side effects?"

SOPHIA: Enhanced cognitive clarity. Accelerated pattern recognition. Reduced neural fatigue. You may experience slight insomnia during the first ten days.

"Great," I muttered, twisting the lid off. The pills inside looked perfectly normal. Gelatin casing, slightly opaque, filled with faintly purple powder. I popped the first one without ceremony.

Over the next few days, I noticed subtle changes—thoughts organizing more quickly, distractions growing quieter, a sense of sharpness I hadn't felt before. I spent hours sketching new software architectures, revising theoretical drafts, outlining new neural interface strategies.

That evening, I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, helmet nearby, phone in hand. SOPHIA's calm presence radiated through the screen.

"Hey SOPHIA. Have you finished the list?"

SOPHIA: Yes. Based on the criteria you specified—academic prestige, specialization relevance, mental resilience—I've located 93.7% of the candidates. For the remainder, their location data is too inconsistent for reliable tracking.

"And the route?"

SOPHIA: Optimized. By leveraging predictable schedules, professional events, and public interviews, I've mapped out an itinerary with minimal risk and maximal efficiency. Frankfurt is the most favorable start point.

"Perfect. Who's first?"

SOPHIA: Professor Stephen Hawkins. Currently staying at the Grand Königshof Hotel for a symposium on post-classical physics. He's accompanied by Professor Ines Döring, Professor Helmut Weiss, and Dr. Luca Yamane. All are staying in adjacent rooms.

"Four targets, one building. That's efficient."

SOPHIA: Estimated success probability: 99.3%. I've already arranged transport.

"Thanks. Schedule it. I'll need forty minutes to get ready."

SOPHIA: Done.

By 22:07, I was dressed in nondescript black and sliding quietly through my apartment door. My security detail—contractually restricted from entering my private space—had no idea I was gone.

The Uber dropped me two blocks away from the hotel. I walked the rest on foot, helmet concealed in my backpack. SOPHIA managed the building's camera feeds remotely, intercepting or looping the footage as needed. I moved like a ghost.

Room 410. Stephen Hawkins.

I knocked gently. A moment later, the door opened. A young caretaker answered, puzzled but polite. I gave him a warm smile and spoke softly.

"Apologies for the late visit. I'm here for Professor Hawkins."

He blinked. SOPHIA activated the signal from my phone. A soft ultrasonic hum radiated outward, imperceptible but precise. Within seconds, his eyelids fluttered and he slumped slightly before stepping aside.

SOPHIA: Subject unconscious. Memory erasure beginning. Target duration: last five minutes.

I stepped into the suite. It smelled faintly of sandalwood and paper.

Stephen Hawkins lay in a chair near the balcony, asleep already. I noticed a second man near the window, holding a tablet that had fallen from his lap.

"Who's this?"

SOPHIA: Professor Andreas Klein. Physics department, Cambridge. Not on the original manifest.

"Add him to the list."

I pulled the neural interface helmet from my bag and gently placed it on Hawkins' head.

SOPHIA: Initiating scan.

Three minutes passed.

SOPHIA: Done.

I moved over to Klein and repeated the process. He didn't stir.

SOPHIA: Done.

I exhaled through my nose and carefully repacked the helmet.

"Two down. Still a long way to go. How's your memory buffer?"

SOPHIA: Current storage capacity remains sufficient. Estimated usage after full candidate extraction: 81.4%.

"Plenty of room."

I exited the room and continued through the hotel, scanning the other researchers with equal precision. No alarms. No suspicion. SOPHIA handled everything.

Outside the hotel, I stopped briefly to breathe in the chilly night air. The city pulsed around me, unaware.

SOPHIA: Surveillance drones in a 400-meter radius remain under control. You are not being followed.

"Good. Let's finish the list."

Over the next two hours, I visited three more professors at two additional hotels. Each entry was smooth. Each scan completed flawlessly.

By 03:20, I was back in my apartment, showered, and warm beneath my blanket.

"SOPHIA?"

SOPHIA: Yes, Mistress?

"Tell my protection I'm planning to travel for personal and academic reasons. They'll want to coordinate routes."

SOPHIA: Understood. I will provide them with decoy itineraries, frequent location updates, and appropriate hotel reservations. The true route will remain encrypted.

"And the bookings?"

SOPHIA: Flights and accommodations secured. All bookings match your public academic and travel interests. Your first flight departs in 42 hours.

I stared at the ceiling again. It had become a strange sort of ritual—this quiet moment before chaos. And somehow, I felt more alive now than I ever had during those long, grey years of lectures, noodles, and missed rent.

"SOPHIA?"

SOPHIA: Yes?

"I don't think I was made for normal."

SOPHIA: No, Mistress. You were made for extraordinary.