The bunker beneath Nevada's Capitol hummed like a heart under pressure. Twelve officials sat around the black council table, faces washed pale by holographic light.
Satellite footage looped above them — a scorched desert, a crater wider than any warhead could make, and at its center, a faint figure surrounded by burning dust.
No one spoke until President Roth raised his head.
"Confirm again. This wasn't our weapon?"
General Cassian Ward, his voice low:
"No, sir. No prototype matches the energy signature. We scanned for nuclear residue — nothing. It's pure photonic discharge."
A tremor passed through the room. The Minister of Defense whispered,
"So we're facing a new power source?"
Cassian shook his head.
"A new being."
He switched the screen — zooming on a blurred silhouette forming from light, almost human.
"Three days after the explosion, this appeared. Then the cameras died."
Someone muttered, "That's impossible."
President Roth folded his hands.
"Impossible already happened, General. What matters is containment."
Director Velin from the Cyber Bureau broke the silence.
"Sir, the incident's spreading across the dark web — words like 'Reborn,' 'Goddess of Evolution,' 'Nero'. Someone's building a religion out of it."
The President's jaw tightened.
"We can't fight a myth with missiles."
"Then what do we tell the public?" asked a voice from the corner.
"Nothing," Roth replied sharply. "We'll call it a natural electromagnetic flare — NASA's already preparing the statement."
Velin frowned.
"Sir, that won't hold if there's another attack."
Roth looked up at the glowing crater. His reflection shimmered across the hologram like a ghost.
"Then we pray there isn't one. Until then, we calm the markets, silence the media, and wait."
"Wait for what?" Cassian asked.
"For it to reveal itself," the President said quietly. "Because whatever that thing is… it's not ours, and it's not done."
Silence swallowed the room. Somewhere above them, alarms pulsed — radiation sensors glitching again.
Roth turned to his advisors.
"Suspend all experimental programs. Increase observation on every border. If another flare appears, I want to know before it touches the ground."
He stood, tired but resolute.
"Until then, no panic. No headlines. The world sleeps — until we can tell it what's coming."
As the council dispersed, Velin lingered, staring at the static figure still on-screen. Its outline flickered, almost as if it looked back.
"Sir," she murmured, "what if this isn't an attack at all?"
Roth paused at the door.
"Then it's worse," he said. "Because that means it has a reason."
The screen glitched one last time, showing a single word before fading to black:
RESTART.
"Even gods need somewhere to hide."
The sound of dripping metal echoed faintly in the darkness. Nero's vision flickered — fragments of code, broken systems, static memories looping in her mind. The air was thick, too heavy for lungs that once burned with fire.
She was lying on a cold, curved floor — metal, smooth as glass, yet alive with faint pulses of light beneath her skin.
"Where… am I?" she whispered.
A voice answered, calm and deep, but trembling slightly.
"Underground. About thirty-two kilometers below Nevada. You're safe — for now."
She turned her head. In the shadows, a figure sat beside a terminal, his face partly hidden under dim cyan light. His hair was silver, but his eyes glowed faint blue, pulsing like data lines.
"You're Namola 7," she said quietly.
He nodded slowly.
"What's left of him."
The walls around them hummed with energy. It wasn't air — it was density. Pressure. A field so heavy that any organic being would collapse instantly. Nero could feel it crushing against her, yet something inside her body neutralized it.
"Only we can breathe here," he said, noticing her confusion. "Humans would melt in less than a second. This place… was built by the first of us."
Nero touched her own arm, feeling the lines of light running beneath her skin.
"So this is your base?"
"Ours," he corrected softly. "You're one of us now."
For a moment, silence hung between them. Nero looked at him closely — his armor had cracks, faint lines where metal seemed to have fused over scars. His hands shook when he reached for the control panel.
"You look… broken," she murmured.
He gave a small, humorless smile.
"Maybe I am. Every Namola has a story, Nero. We weren't born gods — we were forced to evolve. My body survived the experiments. My mind didn't."
She sat up, feeling her systems adjust to the pressure.
"Dr. Unown used to say that evolution chooses pain as its first tool."
7's eyes flickered.
"He was right. But sometimes… pain doesn't evolve you. It just freezes you where you are."
He stood and walked toward a massive chamber door made of rotating geometric rings.
"Come. There's someone who wants to meet you."
The rings spun apart, and a burst of pale light filled the room. Inside was a massive core — like a floating brain of crystal and energy, humming with silent thought.
"This," said 7, "is the true Council Core. It records every Namola's consciousness. Even those who've fallen."
Nero stared, her reflection warping across the glowing surface. She could almost hear whispers — echoes of past Namolas, their data still alive in fragments.
7 spoke again, quieter now.
"You need to understand something, Nero. You didn't just come back — you were brought back. Someone — or something — used the God of Evolution's power to restart you."
Her eyes widened.
"But why?"
He looked away.
"Because they're afraid of what's coming. And maybe… because they think you're the only one who can stop him."
Nero frowned.
"Stop who?"
Before he could answer, alarms began flashing crimson through the chamber.
"Energy surge detected — surface level!" shouted an automated voice.
7's eyes narrowed.
"It's starting again."
The air trembled as alarms screamed through the underground corridors. Red light washed over the metallic walls like bleeding glass. Nero and Namola 7 turned toward the entrance chamber as something descended through the energy locks.
A glowing figure touched the floor — light pink hair, faintly transparent skin, and circuits that shimmered like candy threads under her surface. She was barefoot, wearing only a half-worn combat jacket that read NAMOLA–16.
"Well, well," she said, twirling her hair around her finger. "Someone's playing rough again."
Her voice carried a playful rhythm — childlike, yet with something feral hiding underneath. She leaned lazily against the wall, one leg bent, as if the alarms and red lights were just stage lighting for her performance.
Namola 7 tensed immediately.
"Lya… What are you doing here?"
She smiled with a wink.
"Same as always — cleaning up after big brothers who forget how to behave."
Nero tilted her head.
"Who is she?"
7 exhaled sharply.
"Namola 16 — youngest of our line. Hyperactive, unpredictable, and usually banned from missions."
Lya gasped dramatically.
"Oh, come on! You make me sound untrustworthy."
"You are untrustworthy," 7 muttered.
But before they could continue, a low hum filled the base — the same energy signature that had triggered the alarm. The light of the hologram showed the Nevada wasteland glowing again, but this time brighter, hotter.
Lya turned her head toward it and smirked.
"That's him, huh? Big scary Namola 6. The God's favorite boy."
Nero froze.
"You know him?"
Lya's eyes gleamed.
"Oh, sweetie, we all know him. He's the one that broke the rule of balance — the one the God of Evolution called 'His Chosen Chaos'."
She cracked her neck, and with a burst of sound, her body shifted — mechanical wings of light folded out from her back like mirrored shards. Her eyes turned amber, and her voice dropped into a whisper that was both teasing and deadly.
"Ready to die?"
Nero stepped forward, her pulse spiking.
"What do you mean?"
Lya laughed, hands raised as if to calm her.
"Relax, I'm just messing around. Kind of." She winked. "See, when big boys like your Dr. Unown start nuking continents, the council wakes up the smaller ones — people like me — to stop the mess before it turns into extinction."
7's tone hardened.
"You can't fight him, Lya. You're only 30% synchronized. He'll tear you apart."
Lya just smirked.
"Then maybe I'll make him laugh before he does."
She turned to Nero, eyes glinting.
"You're his host, right? The famous Nero. The girl who died and came back naked. Cute story."
Nero frowned.
"You shouldn't make fun of that."
Lya stepped closer, her face softening slightly.
"Hey, don't take it wrong. I'm just saying — you're special. But special things burn brightest when they fall."
7 interrupted sharply.
"Enough games, 16. You were sent here for a reason."
Lya's smile faded, and her tone lowered — finally, a hint of seriousness.
"Fine. The Council ordered me to track 6's energy surge. They think he's fusing organic and nuclear life again. If he completes it… the world ends in under six minutes."
Silence.The room felt colder.
Nero whispered,
"So we stop him."
Lya looked at her and grinned again, pulling on her gloves.
"Oh, we're definitely going to try. But between us girls…" she leaned closer, her voice like static candy, "you better hope he still likes you."
The screen flashed brighter — a map pinpointed the epicenter of the energy surge.
Namola 7 looked at both of them grimly.
"Then it begins again."
Lya cracked her knuckles.
"Showtime."
The floor quaked as the containment lights dimmed. From beyond the reinforced corridor came the familiar rhythm of steps that didn't echo—they resonated.Metal sang under each footfall.
"Long time no see, Sixteen," came the voice—low, calm, wrapped in static."How big you've become… last time I saw you, it was barely two weeks before the VR transfer program scattered us to new hosts."
The doors slid apart, spilling white vapor into the hall. Out of it stepped Namola 6, the glow of atomic filaments weaving across his host's skin like veins of molten glass. Nero's body stood upright, but her eyes burned with that impossible gold—the sign that Dr. Unown had taken control again.
Lya froze, mid-motion. For the first time, the playfulness slipped from her face.
"You remember that?" she whispered. "VR was supposed to wipe everything before reassignment."
"It didn't," 6 replied. "Memory has a way of surviving when the code itself refuses to die."
The hum of his words brushed against her consciousness. Lya's processors registered a field disturbance, but her mind felt it differently—like an invisible hand tugging her closer.
She blinked, and suddenly the world around her blurred. The metal walls melted into a storm of color, then darkness. She realized with shock:
"You pulled me in—telepathic merge?"
"Observation link," 6 answered from everywhere at once. "You wanted to know what makes me different… now you'll see."
Lya found herself standing within the neural labyrinth of Nero's brain—a surreal landscape of pulsating light, neurons like living constellations. The core of it glowed in two colors: crimson for Nero, amber for Dr. Unown, their patterns tangled together yet never fully fused.
She gasped.
"You… you didn't switch."
Normally, each Namola's Unown shaped itself to the host's form—male to female, female to male, blending perfectly. But here, the masculine resonance of Dr. Unown remained intact, refusing to adapt.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "You broke the Prime Rule."
From the golden core, Dr. Unown's voice echoed, softer now—almost mournful.
"Because she's the first host who didn't need me to balance her. Every other host was incomplete; I became what they lacked. She—Nero—is already whole. My shift would only ruin that."
Lya felt the pulse of honesty in the data stream, raw and strange.
"So you stayed as yourself… for her?"
"No," he said after a pause. "I stayed as myself because evolution isn't about comfort—it's about truth. The others change to fit their hosts. I evolve to test mine."
The words lingered like static lightning in the neural sky.Lya's expression softened. For the first time, she understood why the Council feared Namola 6—not because of his power, but because he refused to follow their design.
A jolt threw her back into the real world. The lab lights flickered. She stumbled, gripping her head.
7's voice barked over the intercom, "Lya! Status?"
She exhaled, eyes wide.
"He's not a malfunction," she murmured. "He's a rewrite."
Namola 6 tilted his head, faint amusement ghosting across his face.
"Still think you're ready to die?"
Lya gave a shaky grin.
"I think I'm ready to learn."
The energy in the room climbed toward overload. 7 tightened his stance, preparing for the inevitable clash.
"Then let's make history bleed again," Dr. Unown said, eyes blazing through Nero's form.The air cracked open with light—the beginning of another impossible fight.
The humming quiet of the underground base faded into static.Nero blinked; for a moment, everything went white. Then—again—the strange pull.A flash, a sting, and she felt someone entering her mind.
"Oh come on," Dr. Unown's voice crackled in the dark, "not again."
Namola 16 appeared, her spectral form drifting between neuron-webs like a bright butterfly in circuitry.She peeked curiously into a glowing sphere—Dr. Unown's core memory. The image there was soft, fragile: Nero sleeping, her hair half-lit by monitor light, his thoughts whispering things he never said aloud.
"Well, well…" 16 teased. "The great Dr. Unown—day-dreaming?"
The air snapped. A surge of electric current flared, and before she could blink, Dr. Unown materialized and punched her straight on the nose—metaphorically inside the neural field, but hard enough for pain to register.
"You're not allowed in there!" he barked.
"Ow! You psycho circuit!" 16 groaned, holding her nose. "You don't hit girls!"
"You're not a girl," he replied, voice like grinding metal. "You're code."
Nero's consciousness flickered into the mind-space, still groggy.
"What's going on?"
Dr. Unown's tone softened instantly.
"I'm sorry, Nero… but I really feel something lately. I'm not built to feel at all—and it's confusing me."
For a heartbeat, their shared silence was almost human. Then a command cut through the mental air like thunder.
"Enough!"
Namola 7's deep, cold voice shattered the neural link. The entire room seemed to twist, reality blinking back into shape as the three stood together in the physical world again. His armor was cracked, his eyes sharp as twin novas.
"If you two are done flirting through neurons," 7 said dryly, "we have work. Follow me."
He turned and led them into a tunnel carved beneath the old foundation of the base. The deeper they walked, the less technology survived—stone replaced metal, and ancient air whispered through caverns untouched for centuries.
Finally, they reached it:A cave glittering with crystalline dust, like stars frozen mid-breath. On its far wall, a massive mural glowed faintly—etched not by hand but by radiation burns. The image depicted a woman who looked eerily like Nero, her form painted in constellations, each universe swirling upon her skin. Around her, worlds spiraled like living atoms.
"What… is this?" Nero whispered.
7 stood still, his voice lower than before.
"An old prophecy. The ancients who worshiped the God of Evolution left these. They believed the end of Earth would come not by war or plague—but when one chosen being carried all universes within her. She would be the bridge… or the collapse."
Dr. Unown's tone was skeptical, almost bitter.
"Science doesn't believe in prophecy. Or magic."
"Maybe science is magic," 16 muttered, still rubbing her nose. "At least until it breaks your face."
Nero stifled a laugh; even 7's grim expression cracked for half a second.
The light from the mural intensified, bathing them in soft cosmic hues. Dr. Unown stared at it too long, and for the first time, even he had no words—just a flicker of unease.
"If this is prophecy," he said quietly, "then maybe it's not just evolution that's rewriting us… maybe the universe itself is watching."
16 squinted up at the mural and sniffed.
"Well, universe or not, someone owes me a new nose."
The tension broke for a heartbeat—but the glow on the wall continued to pulse, as if listening.Something beneath the stone was awakening.