Smoke clung to the tunnel walls like rot.
They ran. Not fast, but fast enough to pretend they weren't afraid. Fast enough to make it feel like they weren't running from something they couldn't kill.
Samira glanced back again. "Still blocked?"
Kaz nodded, carrying Mira's weight on his shoulder. "Yeah. Some glass even caved in behind us. The Vice shouldn't be able to follow unless it wants to phase through concrete."
"Don't say that," Mira muttered. Her voice was thin. "It'll hear you."
Max didn't speak.
He walked ahead of them, jaw clenched tight, the drone still tucked under one arm. His coat was cut across the back. One of the glass shards had sliced him pretty bad. Blood soaked his sleeve. He didn't seem to notice.
Samira jogged to catch up to him.
"Hey. You good?"
Still nothing.
His steps were sharp now. Rhythmic. Like he was marching instead of running. Not fast, not panicked—just steady. Focused.
And then she saw it.
Smoke.
Trailing from his hands. But not black like Kaz's fire. Not red.
Green.
It curled from his knuckles in soft tendrils, flickering like it was alive.
Samira's eyes narrowed. "Max. What the hell is that?"
He didn't answer.
Behind them, Mira gasped.
"I felt it," she whispered. "Whatever that Vice was—it's not gone. It's still here. It's still watching."
Kaz turned, ready to strike, but the tunnel stayed still.
Empty.
Silent.
Samira stepped in front of Max, forcing him to stop. "Hey. Say something."
He finally looked up.
His eyes weren't the same.
Not completely.
The green flicker reflected in them. Dim, barely visible, but there. His expression was too calm. Too cold. Max always looked tired, broken, sharp around the edges.
This?
This was something else.
"I'm fine," he said.
No one believed him.
The walls of the facility curved ahead—metal pipes lining both sides. They were near the surface now. Maybe a few turns away from the extraction elevator.
Mira collapsed to her knees. "Wait—just wait a second. I can't—"
Kaz knelt beside her. "We're almost out. Don't pass out yet."
"I'm not weak." Her voice cracked. "It's this place. That Vice. It gets in your head."
"We know," Samira muttered. She didn't look at Mira. Her eyes stayed on Max. "We all saw things."
Max didn't move. His hand twitched once—just once—and the green smoke pulsed with it.
Kaz finally noticed.
"Dude," he said, standing. "What is that?"
Max didn't answer right away.
He closed his eyes.
The air around them changed—barely. Just a degree hotter. Like a warning. Like the moment right before a fire alarm goes off.
Kaz took a step forward. "Max."
Samira grabbed his arm. "Don't."
Then Max exhaled.
And his voice came out wrong.
"I wasn't scared of it," he said.
No one moved.
"I wasn't scared of that thing. I was angry. Because that thing showed me something I didn't want to see."
His eyes opened again.
"I hate it."
The green smoke curled faster now, reacting to his breath.
Mira stared, pale. "I don't think that's Max."
Kaz tensed. "What are you talking about?"
Samira looked between them, heart pounding. "Then who the hell is he?"
Silence.
Then Max smiled. Just barely.
"I don't know."
The lights above them buzzed. Flickered.
Max stepped forward, past all of them, toward the hallway exit.
The smoke followed him like a second shadow.
The green flame hadn't erupted yet—but they could all feel it coming.
Mira's voice trembled. "He's not bleeding anymore."
Kaz turned. "What?"
"There's no blood. His wound's gone."
They looked.
The deep slice across Max's forearm—gone. Not healing. Not clotting. Gone. Like it was never there.
And Max…
He just kept walking.
Silent. Slow. Smoke trailing from his fingertips.
Samira called after him. "Max, what are you—?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Then came the sound.
Not from behind.
Not from above.
From the exit.
A crack.
Then a shimmer.
A splintering wave of glass erupted across the walls ahead of them, sealing off the only way out. The light warped. The air shifted.
And it stepped through.
The Pure Vice of Vanity.
Bigger than before.
Wider. Taller. Beautiful and awful all at once.
Its surface was glass—but not just broken. It was polished. Smooth. Like a twisted cathedral mirror sculpted into a god.
Its face was still a blank pane of reflective crystal, but now it stretched across a dozen limbs—arms like ribbons of glass, legs that didn't move but slid.
And within its body, Max could see them:
Reflections.
Not just of himself.
Of all of them.
Dozens. Hundreds. Every version twisted. Better. More perfect. More beautiful.
It stood between them and freedom.
Mira stepped back. "It followed us."
Kaz's jaw tensed. "No—it waited."
Samira's voice was low. "We blocked the other entrance. It let us think we were safe."
Max didn't blink.
Didn't move.
Didn't speak.
But his body stilled. Locked in place.
The flames on his hands were no longer just smoke—they were green fire now. Unnatural. Starving.
The flames on his hands began to spread.
They cracked along his skin like veins, pulsing, alive, growing. Smoke rolled from his breath.
Kaz raised his voice. "Max?"
Mira reached out. "Something's wrong—"
But it was too late.
Max turned his head slightly.
And he smiled.
It wasn't his smile.
It was something darker.
Something hollow.
Like something inside him had finally stopped pretending.
The Pure Vice of Vanity twisted its form—slow, slow—mirrored arms peeling back like wings. And yet, it didn't move forward.
It didn't need to.
It was waiting.
Waiting for Max.
And Max stepped toward it.
Max spoke.
But the voice wasn't his.
It was lower. Hollow. Not human.
"You think I'm the same as before?"
His eyes flickered — deep, glowing green.
His footsteps echoed.
The flames climbed higher, licking up his arms like hungry vines.
"Then you're not looking close enough."