I Can See The Success Rate Mga Nobela at Kwento

Mya sat at the café table long after the initial swell of tears had subsided, her hand still pressed over the test results like the paper might vanish if she let go. The numbers were burned into her memory already—99.9998%—but she couldn’t seem to stop glancing back at them, as if reassurance were something she had to drink in again and again.

A failure rate as high as 80-percent, was it? There was a 20-percent chance of success, regardless. Anthony looked out the window and at the beautiful bamboo house. He seemed to have made a decision as he answered, “Have it prepared, then. I’ll go tomorrow.” Forget 20-percent; he would still undergo the operation even if the success rate was just one-percent! Nial nodded. “I’ll wait for you then, Bro!” Anthony hung up and leaned on the sofa with his eyes shut. His face was solemn.

Even rebellions feeling predictable. --- AER-9 dims the projections slightly. “Operation success probability currently stands at sixty-two percent.” “That’s terrible,” I say. “It is acceptable,” it replies. “Acceptable?” “Yes.” --- I laugh nervously. “Only a machine would call sixty-two percent acceptable when the entire planet is involved.” “Humans have launched wars with worse odds,” AER-9 says. Fair point. Still terrifying. --- The meeting continues for hours. Timelines. Fallback protocols. Regional coordinators.

I could sense there was more. He cleared his throat. “What is it Dr zay?” What are you not telling me?” I asked. “Your majesty. Cupid's arrow dust has a 90-95% success rate on any given night due to its properties. Since you were dosed with it, then the female you uh...coupled with last night was also dosed with it." He said nervously.

I said. "Tessa… when we started talking online, I honestly thought you were just pretending to be pitiful to scam me." Now that Calvin had seen everything for himself, he no longer suspected that I was lying to him. After some thought, he looked steadily into my eyes. "If you could make one wish right now, what would you want?"

It won't hurt to try, it doesn't change the state of things. Afraid to view the final result, my eyes shut tight and I start counting under my breath. Reminding myself this is a shitty app, made up of a shittier algorithm set up by bored people, I open my eyes without taking a peek. It shouldn't matter what number the calculator displays. They don't know me or Brandon, how can they tell if we are in love? 65%

While the young nurse kept talking, Nathaniel listened very carefully, and even outlined the scene at that time in his mind. That was his daughter! She was so strong, so sensible, and so heart-rending. "If the matching is successful, what is the success rate of the surgery?" Nathaniel looked at the nurse and asked. He knew that he should ask the doctor about it, but the doctor couldn't give him a satisfactory answer now. Now that the young nurse was very clear about Rita, Nathaniel posed the question. "I heard from the doctor that the success rate is more than sixty percent."

“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

Then he picked up the folder again and went back to reading, which meant he didn't believe me and had decided to wait. I had nothing to announce. Although The clinic in Riverdale had confirmed it on a Tuesday. One round. Mia had told me the success rate was between thirty and fifty percent and that most women needed multiple attempts, so I had braced myself for failure and failure had not come. The test had been unambiguous. Dr. Martinez had confirmed it with a blood draw two days later. Three weeks. Salvatore's.

I leaned closer without realizing it, my hands braced against the desk. 63%. My pulse spiked. “Come on,” Jonas muttered under his breath. 87%. I held my breath, eyes fixed on the screen. This was it. 99%. And…