The regression protocol

Regression?

The weight of the night pressed down on her like an ocean of silence. The flashing lights below, the muted sirens —everything blurred into insignificance. Her body felt hollow, as though all the fight, all the purpose, had been drained from her veins. Slowly, she turned to face the railing, the cold steel biting against her palms as she drew in a long, trembling breath.

"It seems..." her voice cracked, soft enough to be swallowed by the wind, "...this is where my end is....."

A single tear traced a lonely path down her cheek, glinting briefly in the city's glow before falling away. She closed her eyes, shutting out the world—the flashing headlines, the bitter voices, the betrayal—and in that suspended moment everything grew unnaturally still. The relentless noise of the city faded into a muffled hush, like a curtain of silence descending on a stage.

As she tipped forward, surrendering herself to gravity, fragments of her life flickered behind her eyelids—snatches of laughter, fleeting warmth, the proud faces of her parents, the early mornings and sleepless nights spent working for something greater than herself. And then, just as vivid, the moments that had unraveled it all—the whispers, the accusations, the betrayal that had branded her a traitor.

Time seemed to stretch as she fell, her memories cascading around her like shards of light and shadow. Above her, the rooftop faded into the night sky; below, the city rose to meet her, indifferent and unyielding.

And in that free-fall, there was no more noise, no more headlines, no more chasing shadows—only the echo of who she had been, and the haunting question of what might have been, had the world not turned against her

-Flashback-

A young woman in her late twenties sat poised at her workstation, her dark brown hair neatly coiled into a bun, formal attire accentuating her composed elegance. Hazel eyes, sharp and focused, were fixed on the glowing screen before her. Her long, deft fingers danced across the keyboard, moving faster than the eye could follow. For thirty intense minutes, she was lost in a world of code and logic, a realm where every keystroke carried weight and consequence.

Finally, she leaned back with a satisfied exhale. A soft smile curved her lips.

"Perfect. With this new firewall system access of other personal info is nearly impossible finally my sleepless nights were worth it," she whispered, a quiet triumph ringing in her voice, with a click she submitted her project. The shrill ring of her phone broke the moment. She glanced at the screen; it was her senior.

"Hey, Avni. Where are you? Come quickly, or you'll be late for the award function."

"Yeah, I know," she replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll be there soon. Just a minute." With a graceful motion, she gathered her bag and left, her hotel conveniently close to the venue. The moment she reached the entrance, her credentials allowed her seamless access. She offered a polite wave to her senior, who had been waiting, and slid into the seat beside them. The room buzzed with anticipation, an electric mix of excitement and reverence, the kind that only a gathering of elite minds could generate.

The speeches began, a series of accolades highlighting pioneers and innovators. Applause rippled through the hall like a tide, names being called one by one as recipients ascended to claim their hard-earned recognition. Avni's heart thrummed with anticipation, though she remained composed, the calm veneer of a professional who had spent countless hours perfecting her craft.

Then, finally, the moment came. Her name echoed through the hall.

She rose, poised and graceful, accepting the award with a radiant smile that reflected both pride and quiet vindication. Among thousands, only fifteen had been chosen—a select few who had demonstrated exceptional skill in the art of ethical hacking. The recognition came from Hackios, a renowned institution in the cyber security world, whose awards were considered a pinnacle of achievement.