Darkness enveloped Kael like a shroud. The medical unit's anesthetic gas had finally overwhelmed his augmented resistance, dragging him into unconsciousness.
But it wasn't sleep.
It was a descent.
He stood in a corridor of white walls and sterile light. Everything was unnaturally clean—so perfect it was wrong. Footsteps echoed behind glass partitions. Children—no older than ten—sat at desks, hooked to machines. Their faces blank. Their eyes dull.
He recognized the corridor.
It was the original NEXUS research wing. The one from the archived files he had downloaded.
But this memory isn't data, he realized. It's mine.
Kael moved down the hall. His body was younger—ten? Eleven? He looked at his hands: smaller, softer, but bearing the mark burned into his inner wrist.
D-3781.
A child designation.
I was one of them.
He turned a corner and saw more children, each strapped to beds as men in white coats pushed needles into their necks. Symbols flashed on screens—brainwave patterns, DNA helices, rejection rates.
One boy seized violently.
A researcher sighed and marked a tablet. "Failure. Burn it."
Kael tried to move, but couldn't. His legs locked. His heart pounded.
Suddenly, a door opened. Inside, he saw a dark chamber bathed in blue light. A tank.
And inside the tank—himself.
A perfect genetic replica floating in gel, wires in the skull, spine exposed. Eyes open.
"Subject Kael D-3781," a voice said through a speaker. "Omega Compatibility confirmed."
The scientists didn't cheer.
They watched him like farmers watching a lab rat survive poison.
Then he heard something new.
A heartbeat.
But it wasn't his.
It came from another tank—farther down. One shielded in layered glass.
Inside was a small child. Younger. No tubes. No gear.
But his eyes were open. And black.
The boy smiled at Kael.
Whispered something.
Then the world caught fire.
Kael screamed awake.
The medical unit blared alarms. His skin steamed from heat. His hand crushed the side panel with inhuman strength. The HUD raced with red code.
[Warning: Neural Storm Event Triggered]
[Symbiote Stabilization: 72%]
Kael stumbled out, chest heaving, eyes wide.
"What the hell was that?" he gasped.
Your truth, Arkanis said. Or part of it.
Kael looked at his arm, trembling.
"I was part of it from the start…"
You weren't chosen, Arkanis replied. You were bred.
He didn't have time to process it.
A tremor shook the floor beneath him. His HUD flashed a warning.
[Proximity Alert – Unidentified Presence Approaching – ETA: 00:02:12]
He ran. Barely dressed, still bleeding, but his legs moved with more certainty now.
He was remembering.
He ducked into a collapsing stairwell, pushing deeper into the undercity. Rusted steel gave way to older walls—places untouched since the collapse.
He found a chamber half-buried beneath dust and cables.
It wasn't in the HUD.
But it was calling him.
The door opened with a hiss.
Inside, lights flickered.
A central console glowed faintly. And on the chair before it, a skeleton—white coat still intact. ID badge charred but readable:
Dr. Rylos Halcor.
Kael's heart stopped.
The Director's brother.
He accessed the console.
Old logs. Files. Memories.
PROJECT ARKOS – FINAL THEORY: THE VECTOR PARADOX
It read:
"If one subject can survive symbiosis, we don't create stability. We create multiplication. Viral intelligence. Evolution through decay. They will call it rebirth. But it is extinction. Kael is the trigger."
Kael stepped back.
He wasn't just an experiment.
He was the cataclysm.
Suddenly, a sharp hum filled the room. A rift shimmered in the far wall. Not a portal—but a crack. In reality itself.
A figure stepped through.
Not NEXUS. Not machine.
A woman in dark robes, blindfolded, skin etched with black circuitry. The same one who watched him last chapter.
"You woke up early," she said, her voice distant.
Kael raised his arm. "Who are you?"
"A friend," she replied. "For now."
She touched his temple.
And the world cracked.
Another memory.
But not his.
This time he saw Subject Zero. Floating in a hyperbolic cell. Eyes pure silver. Skin marked with veins of code. Scientists studying him from behind twenty inches of armored glass.
"Emotionless," one said. "We bred that out."
But the boy turned. Looked at Kael—though he wasn't there.
And smiled.
He opened his mouth.
Words without sound:
"You'll finish what I started."
Then Kael was back.
Sweating. Kneeling. Gasping.
The woman stepped back.
"Time's ending. Faster than they planned."
Kael stood.
"I'm not going to finish anything."
"You already did," she replied. "The day you survived."
She stepped through the rift and vanished.
Kael looked at the console one last time.
It had one final file.
PROJECT: OBLIVION PROTOCOL – IF KAEL BREACHES STAGE 3
He didn't open it.
Not yet.
He walked away.
Into the depths.
Into war.