Country: Spain Location: Mediterranean Coast Time: Unknown
Her name was Irene Salvatierra.
Until a few weeks ago, she had been nobody.
A telecommunications engineer, twenty-eight years old — though she always looked younger — an orderly, quiet life.
An existence without upheaval, without grandeur, without visible tragedies.
She didn't believe in heroes.
Much less in destinies.
That's why the irony wasn't lost on her: out of all the people in Spain, she was one of the twenty-nine who woke up with impossible abilities.
Sitting on the rooftop of an abandoned building, with the sea gently beating against the coast, she recalled her awakening.
There were no explosions.
There were no viral cameras.
Just a different night, too quiet… and a mind that wouldn't switch off.
The thoughts had flowed without stopping, like an unstoppable river. They weren't chaotic; on the contrary: they were so precise, so logical, so ordered, that they seemed foreign to her.
In the morning, she tried to recover some normality. She picked up her car keys. She looked at the garage door. And, without knowing why, she extended her hand.
The car lifted off the ground as if it were made of cardboard.
And it didn't come down until she decided it should.
She wasn't hallucinating.
She knew it.
The authorities arrived three days later.
They didn't bring weapons.
They brought contracts.
—We can protect you —they told her.
—Or… keep you away from the chaos.
Irene had lived long enough to recognize a trap disguised as help.
They don't want to protect me.
They want to own me.
That thought sent a chill through her.
Small, but familiar.
It reminded her of something that had happened years ago, something she never told anyone, something that had taught her to distrust people with power.
She wasn't going to repeat history.
Not this time.
Inevitable Decision
As the sea roared below, Irene let her thoughts flow.
We are not gods.
But we are not ordinary citizens either.
If I wait, they will decide for me.
If I speak, I will become a target.
She closed her eyes.
But if nobody speaks… the world will break apart anyway.
She opened her eyes and walked to the edge of the rooftop. From there she could see the city like an incomplete map.
She knew — she felt it — that there were others like her.
Not from the news.
Not from logic.
But from something new in her mind, as if she had acquired an instinct that connected invisible patterns.
Distant presences.
Voids that only someone like her could notice.
If I exist… they do too.
She thought about the twenty-nine governments.
About their agendas.
About their versions of the word "security."
About what they would do if no one took the initiative.
They will speak for us… if no one does it first.
—No —she whispered—. That is not going to happen.
Accessing global networks wasn't difficult.
Her mind absorbed computer science concepts ten times faster than before.
She understood protocols as if she had studied them for years.
She saw vulnerabilities as if they were marked in red ink.
She left no trace. She placed no flags, gave no surname. Just her voice.
She recorded a brief message. Direct. Inevitable.
—If you are watching this, you are like me.
As she spoke, she felt the weight of each phrase. She didn't like responsibility.
But silence seemed worse.
Don't make promises.
Don't threaten.
Don't give orders.
Be human.
—I am not a threat —she continued—.
—And I don't want to be a weapon.
But then she hesitated.
Am I being honest… or am I just lying better than the governments?
Can someone with my power truly promise to be harmless?
She decided the doubts shouldn't appear in the recording.
She placed the coordinates on screen.
A neutral point.
An empty space with no real owner.
—We need to talk. Among ourselves. Before others talk for us.
Her voice hung in the air a few seconds longer.
And then she cut the transmission.
After sending it, she felt no relief, no fear. She felt…
inevitability.
She sat back down on the edge of the building, legs dangling over the void, and let the sea breeze wrap around her.
There's no going back now, she thought.
I hope the others aren't worse than the governments.
I hope someone understands why I did this.
I hope I'm wrong about what I sense…
She raised her eyes to the sky.
For the first time since her awakening, she didn't feel completely alone.
But she didn't feel safe either.
Important notice: This work is a work of fiction. The characters, events and dialogues described herein are the product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, including public figures such as presidents, political leaders or institutions, is used solely for narrative purposes and is not intended to reflect real events or opinions about such persons or entities. It should not be interpreted as a faithful representation of reality, but as part of a fictional universe.