I asked to speak with one of the floor bosses. Not the Supreme Leader—not yet. That kind of access would take time, favors, or blood. But someone lower in the chain, someone with enough authority to grant small permissions? That I could manage.
They brought me to an office that smelled like old metal and sterilized control. The walls were bare, the windows tinted too dark to see out of. The man behind the desk didn't look up when I entered. He wore a crisp black uniform, sleeves tight around thick forearms, a data pad cradled in one hand.
"You requested a meeting."
His voice was clipped. Disinterested.
I didn't sit.
"I want to talk about the omega in Program Nine."
That made him glance up. One eyebrow lifted, cool and calculating.
"They already assigned you emotional modeling. You want more?"
"I want to give him a name."
His brows knit together. "He has a designation."
"I'm not talking about numbers," I said. "I mean a real name. One that's his."
The boss set his data pad down. "He's not a person. He's property."
I forced myself to stay calm. "He'll respond better if he's treated like something with identity. It's about creating a framework—a reference point for the self. Without that, your emotional development protocols won't yield results."
He studied me a moment longer. Then leaned back in his chair.
"You think this matters?"
"I know it does."
Silence stretched. The tension hung sharp between us.
Finally, he waved a hand.
"What name?"
"'Nine,'" I said. "He's already responding to it. It's simple. Familiar."
The boss snorted. "Naming him after his designation? That's what passes for creativity now?"
"It's not about creativity," I said. "It's about stability."
Another beat passed. Then he nodded once. "Fine. You can use it in your sessions. But don't get attached. You know who he's for."
I said nothing.
Because I did know.
He was made for the Supreme Leader—the man who ruled over all of this. This entire organization. The one everyone feared but no one spoke of directly.
And one day, they planned to hand Nine over like a gift.
But not yet.
And until then, I could make sure he had something that was his.
Even if it was only a name.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
The boss had already gone back to his data pad.
The meeting was over.
But something in me had shifted.
It wasn't much.
But it was a start.