The order was already in motion.
Drones shifted formation—not toward Yin Lie, but toward Qin Mian. Their geometry sharpened, containment patterns recalibrating around her position.
Preserve the primary.
Remove the unstable variable.
Yin Lie understood instantly.
They weren't hunting anymore.
They were collecting.
"No," he said.
The word came out low. Flat.
It barely sounded like a threat.
Kai heard it—and felt something in her chest tighten.
"Lie," she warned, already raising her weapon.
"This is bad timing."
Qin Mian barely registered the drones moving closer. Her vision swam, left side numb, Anchor field still flickering in broken pulses.
"They're… here for me?" she whispered.
Yin Lie didn't answer.
He stood up.
And the world failed to stop him.
The Moment He Lets Go
Containment geometry surged, trying to define his edges again.
This time—
it didn't stick.
Not because it broke.
Because there was nothing left to hold.
The drift that had made him unstable collapsed inward, folding into a single, crushing point of intent.
Yin Lie felt it—
the wolf, the ice, the Keystone—
not harmonizing.
Aligning.
Not balance.
Direction.
He took one step forward.
The ground didn't compress.
It gave way.
A drone fired.
The shot never reached him.
Space between them twisted—not bent, not frozen—
reassigned.
The beam hit the wall behind him, carving a perfect line of absence through concrete.
Kai stared.
"…He's not resisting containment," she breathed.
"He's redefining proximity."
When Weight Becomes Force
Yin Lie moved again.
Too fast to track.
Not speed—
priority.
He was suddenly closer than the drones expected him to be.
One reached for Qin Mian.
It vanished.
Not destroyed.
Removed from sequence.
Like it had never been part of this moment.
The second drone tried to compensate.
Its geometry warped.
Folded.
Then crushed inward on itself with a sound like glass underwater.
Qin Mian screamed.
"Lie—stop—!"
He didn't hear her.
Not because he couldn't.
Because he couldn't afford to.
The City Pushes Back
The Director reacted instantly.
SUBJECT YIN LIE: STATUS ESCALATED
THREAT CLASSIFICATION: UNBOUND
Containment fields thickened.
Harder.
Sharper.
The air screamed as rules stacked on top of each other, trying to force him into one shape.
Yin Lie staggered.
Blood spilled from his nose, his ears.
For a second—
just one—
he almost fell.
Kai moved.
She planted herself between Qin Mian and the advancing drones, firing continuously, buying fractions of seconds.
"Lie!" she shouted.
"You're tearing yourself apart!"
Yin Lie looked down at his hands.
They were shaking.
Cracking with light that didn't belong to any spectrum.
"I know," he said hoarsely.
"But they're not touching her."
The Breaking Point
Qin Mian tried to crawl toward him.
Her body didn't respond properly.
Her Anchor spasmed again, flaring weakly—then collapsing.
She sobbed.
"Please," she begged.
"Don't do this for me."
That reached him.
He turned.
For the first time since he stood up, his focus wavered.
The world rushed back in.
Containment geometry snapped tight.
Pain exploded through his chest.
He dropped to one knee.
The drones surged.
Kai screamed his name.
And something inside Yin Lie snapped.
Not control.
Not sanity.
Permission.
What Happens When He Stops Asking
Yin Lie rose again.
This time—
the underground answered.
Not with presence.
With absence of resistance.
The city's rules peeled away where he stood, like they simply didn't apply to him anymore.
He screamed—not in rage, not in pain—
in release.
The air imploded.
Every drone in the corridor froze mid-motion.
Then—
they collapsed.
Not outward.
Inward.
Reduced to compacted fragments of logic and metal, falling uselessly to the floor.
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Absolute.
Qin Mian stared, trembling.
"…Lie?"
He turned slowly.
His eyes weren't glowing.
They were empty.
Like something had burned through and left clarity behind.
"I told them," he said quietly.
"No one takes you."
After the Explosion
The city reeled.
Systems scrambled to compensate.
New containment requests queued—then stalled.
For the first time since the Director took control—
intervention failed.
Kai lowered her weapon, breathing hard.
"Lie," she said carefully.
"Talk to me."
He swayed.
Blood dripped from his chin.
"I can't… keep this shape," he admitted.
"But I can hold it… long enough."
Qin Mian reached him.
This time, when she touched his arm—
it didn't hurt.
It scared her more.
"You're scaring me," she whispered.
He met her eyes.
"I know," he said softly.
"I'm scared too."
Behind them, alarms wailed as the city recalculated again.
This wasn't victory.
It was a declaration.
Yin Lie had crossed a line the Director could no longer ignore.
And somewhere, deep in the city's core—
a new conclusion was forming.
Not how to contain him.
But whether he could be allowed to exist at all.