I Can See The Success Rate Novels & Stories

Once we see they’ve stabilized, we set them free to make space for the next struggling person. So far, success rates have been at 90%, and even though Leonel tells me he’s so proud of me because I’m mostly in charge of the rehabilitation efforts, I have to remind him it’s only been a month. But yeah, I’m pretty proud of myself as well. I just hope that the executives at our companies are proud of me too. “Okay,” I breathe out, taking a deep breath and reaching for my necklace. “Okay, you’re right.” “Always am,” she winks, before reaching for the pink sleeveless set I threw on the bed. “And I think you know damn well what you should wear.”

“No, it had to be her. None of my other feelings were tampered with except that I suddenly fell in love with Sarah. After my feelings changed, Sarah was the only one who benefitted from it. Furthermore, Professor Lincoln said that the person who did it must be someone I completely trusted, otherwise it wouldn’t have succeeded!” “The success rate was also very, very low. If it had failed, I would’ve become a retard.” Shaun smiled bitterly. “That’s not all. It is not treatable because the success rate of the treatment is even lower. It’s only 0.01%. If it fails, I’ll also become a retard.” Chester’s expression was conflicted and despondent. It was no wonder Rodney did not believe Shaun. It was

"Mr. Ballard, how confident are you?" Ambrose asked, staring nervously at Sebastian. "80%!" Sebastian answered calmly. Sebastian was actually just being modest. Sweat beaded on Ambrose's forehead. An 80% rate of success was still much too low when a life was at stake. Besides, the one that was hovering between life and death on the hospital bed was his son! After an hour's treatment, Elias finally opened his eyes. "Elias!"

Sia motioned for the file in his hands, and Julian obediently passed it to her. Sia went through it quietly, comparing it with the one she had in her hand, then closed the folder and passed them both back to him. “Mr. Turner, your success rate is quite impressive. You have never failed a mission before, and your records are clean . . . except for a few client complaints.” Sia finished with a raised eyebrow.

I felt a jolt go through me as his lips pressed against my skin, breath so feathery that my breath caught in my chest. One kiss. Two. Three. Trailing up my arm as his warmth set my skin on fire. Then he stopped. Right in the crook of my elbow, where my pulse throbbed the hardest…he just…stopped and leaned back. Focus, Calista. Remember what happened last time. “What did she say?” Will I ever have a chance? He cleared his throat softly and fixed me with his stare. My world slowed as his jaw worked. “Twenty five percent,” his voice was firm, “with regular check ins, your chances will be up by twenty five percent, Calista. That is…” his voice trailed off, but I barely heard him anymore, not wit

Classes, late nights at the library, killer views, and food that actually tasted like joy—life was finally good. Then one random afternoon, I spotted someone outside my building. Mark. I always knew he'd track me down. Just didn't think it'd be this fast. He looked like he'd been waiting forever. The second he saw me, he came running like some pathetic stray, full of regret and begging for a second chance. I shoved him back. "We're divorced. Go away. I don't ever wanna see you again."

“Agreed.” That night, alone, I reviewed the day with clinical precision. No emotional distortion. No defensiveness. Just data. The system is adjusting around me. Not to remove me immediately—but to make removal plausible. That is the strategy. Controlled collapse. Gradual enough to avoid resistance. Visible enough to justify the outcome. I close my notebook and set it aside. They are measuring my limits. What they don’t understand yet—is that I am measuring theirs too.

"Sophie—" "I've thought about it," I said. I kept my voice steady and clear, the way I had practiced it on the bus. "Not just right after you told me, but every day since. I've turned it over properly. And I've made my decision." He leaned forward slightly in his chair, his elbows on the desk. "I understand it feels settled right now. But I want you to understand what you're choosing. A fifty percent success rate is not a guarantee, but it is a real and significant chance. And without treatment, the timeline we discussed—"

8% The number began climbing steadily upward. Everyone gradually stopped typing and began watching the giant screen. The progress counter continued moving higher as the system compiled and executed its full operational sequence. 25.9% 38.2% 57.4% The room grew quieter. All eyes remained fixed on the screen as the numbers kept climbing. 73.6% 82.1% 91.3% Petra stood with her arms still folded, watching calmly but with a quiet tension hidden behind her composed expression. 99.4%