Chapter 8. The building has no name. Only a number: 8.

Black glass. No windows. No signs. The door opens before he arrives. The sensors know him. The system was waiting.

Inside: ozone. The smell of scanners warming up. The smell of processing.

Tomás walks through a corridor he designed himself. Eighteen and a half degrees Celsius —cold enough to keep the subject alert. This exact corridor width. This light intensity. Every variable optimized by his own hand, eight years ago, in a meeting room with lukewarm coffee and efficiency charts.

Now he is the subject.

They confiscate Dren's note. Marek's message. Eliana's rug —scanned, catalogued, sealed in plastic as evidence. The technician doesn't look at him when he pronounces the shortest sentence in the world:

Was.

Past tense. What he had, he no longer has.

Only Tael's paper survives. Folded until it is almost nothing. Pressed against his skin, under his arm, where the scanners don't look. The only act of resistance he has left.

Twelve capsules arranged like numbers on a clock. Eighteen liquid crystal needles. And his own frequency —the one he has carried encoded in his chest since birth— projected across twelve screens like a confession he could never hide.

He built the perfect system to classify what he himself was.

Now the system classifies him.

MINUS HUMAN Vol. I — El Umbral Ontopunk saga by Jesús Bernal Allende Escuela del Deber-Optimizar y la Soberanía de la Evidencia 📖 Available on Amazon KDP — search "MINUS HUMAN El Umbral" 🎬 Chapter 1 cinematography on YouTube: youtube.com/@MinusHuman.Universe

Chapter 7. The doors of NeuroSalud close with a soft, final sound. Like the click of a trap that has finally been sprung.

Dr. Voss knows what Tomás is. She has known since his file arrived on her desk with that impossible classification: Type 2 stable, no anomalies, perfect for the Quantum Coherence department. Too perfect.

Eleven years building CRONOS-7. Eleven years hunting frequency anomalies. And his own frequency —11.7 kilohertz— is encoded in the very system he designed to destroy those like him.

But Voss didn't come to arrest him.

She came to ask him to trust her.

The Tic Tac doesn't know if that is salvation or a sentence.

Months later, Tomás marries Eliana. Fifteen guests. Synthetic flowers. A dress the color of an old moon. And a small rug —woven in spirals and straight lines— that belonged to her grandmother and that, at his touch, makes the Tic Tac shift its rhythm for the first time.

As if the patterns in the weave contain a frequency that recognizes him.

For the first time in years, that night he dreams of nothing. Only darkness. Only peace. Only the rhythm of two breaths finding each other in the night.

But the truce has cracks.

MINUS HUMAN Vol. I — El Umbral Ontopunk saga by Jesús Bernal Allende Escuela del Deber-Optimizar y la Soberanía de la Evidencia 📖 Available on Amazon KDP — search "MINUS HUMAN El Umbral" 🎬 Chapter 1 cinematography on YouTube: youtube.com/@MinusHuman.Universe

Chapter 6. The doors of NeuroSalud make no sound when they open.

Tomás enters the Architecture of Coherence Division. He is twenty-two, with a mask perfected over four years, and a Tic Tac that here — in this temple of calibrated frequencies — feels more exposed than ever.

Director Voss wears an analog watch on her wrist. A deliberate anachronism. And eyes that calculate before they see.

For eight years, Tomás builds systems that hunt frequency anomalies.

For eight years, without knowing it, he teaches the system exactly what to look for.

For eight years, he turns his own Tic Tac into code.

CRONOS-7 was not just looking for him. CRONOS-7 knows him.

The auditor has audited his own humanity. And found it deficient.

But the Tic Tac keeps beating.

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MINUS HUMAN Vol. I — The Threshold

Ontopunk saga by Jesús Bernal Allende

School of Deber-Optimizar and the Sovereignty of Evidence

📖 Available on Amazon KDP — search "MINUS HUMAN The Threshold"

🎬 Chapter 1 cinematography on YouTube: youtube.com/@MinusHuman.Universe