A few minutes after the interrogation, I was massaging my feet — stiff from being trapped in those boots for too long — when the door slid open without warning.
I stiffened instantly, pulse spiking.
The twins stepped in together, silent except for the faint scuff of their boots. Their movements were too synchronized to feel natural — two halves of one motion, mirrored without thought.
One of them carried a tray. The smell hit first — real food again, solid this time. Cooked vegetables, chicken. It looked… edible. Almost good.
Neither spoke. They set the tray on the floor beside me, then turned and walked out in perfect unison.
I waited for the click of the lock.
It didn't come.
Silence.
The hum of the walls filled the absence like breath.
I frowned. My body still felt leaden, but curiosity was stronger. I pushed to my feet, ignoring the burst of dizziness that tilted the room.
The tray lay untouched at my feet. The open door stared back — quiet, impossible.
I took one cautious step toward it. Then another.
The corridor beyond wasn't what I'd imagined — not a hallway, but a passage built from absence. White walls, seamless, like they'd been printed into existence. Too clean. Too deliberate.
The air was colder out here, sharp with disinfectant and the metallic tang of recycled oxygen. My Evol prickled faintly under my skin, whispering that the surveillance grid extended into this space too.
I leaned halfway through the threshold. No alarms. No shouting. Just the hum — low, constant, almost like the pulse of something alive.
Then a voice crackled through the ceiling.
"You'll find the provision room just beyond your door," one of the twins said — the polite one. Kieran.
I froze. My eyes flicked upward toward the nearest vent, though I knew the sound wasn't coming from there.
"The bathroom is connected to it," the other added — Luke. Same voice, different rhythm. More casual. "You'll figure it out."
Their tones bounced from one side of the corridor to the other, like they were standing in different corners of my mind.
I took another step forward, scanning for cameras. None visible — which meant there were too many to see.
Kieran again: "You'll find clothes, towels, and toiletries inside."
The hum deepened slightly, a subtle shift in the electrical field. The walls vibrated under my fingertips when I brushed one — warm, then cold. Alive.
"There's also a sleeping bag," Luke continued. "You'll need it."
I let out a dry laugh. "How generous."
Neither voice replied.
The silence after each message stretched too long — like the system itself was deciding what I needed to hear next.
I walked farther down the corridor. My bare feet made no sound on the smooth floor. The scent of coolant and metal grew stronger.
Halfway down, the walls brightened. A strip of light followed me, syncing with my steps — like the hallway was watching.
"You have access to this section only," Kieran said. "Attempting to move beyond it will trigger containment."
Containment. Not security. Not guards. Just containment.
Luke again, his tone softer this time. "Try not to test that."
I stopped.
The air felt heavier now, like the corridor itself had leaned closer.
At the end of the hall, a mirrored panel waited — my reflection staring back, a little distorted, a little delayed.
Not a mirror, then.
A screen.
I turned away and entered the door on my right.
The Provision Room.
It was small — almost perfectly square — lit by a recessed light that cast no shadows. Along one wall sat a metal cabinet and a single narrow shelf. Inside the cabinet, neatly folded, were two pairs of gray sweatpants and T-shirts, toiletries sealed in clear packaging, and a sleeping bag rolled tight and bound with a sterile white strap.
Everything was arranged like it belonged to no one.
I exhaled slowly. "Hospital efficiency meets prison chic," I muttered.
Another door connected to the back wall. I opened it and stepped into the bathroom — minimalist, metallic, spotless. The faint scent of sterilizer clung to everything.
"Are there cameras in here?" I asked aloud, voice steady.
No answer.
I waited. Then again, quieter this time: "Is this private?"
Still nothing.
So I reached inward, letting my Evol expand — threads of perception slipping outward like fine static. The signal returned weakly: the surrounding walls pulsed with network activity, but this room was quieter. Shielded.
No active optics. No thermal feed.
At least… none I could feel.
For once, I decided to believe it.
I peeled off the hunter uniform and stepped under the water. It came hot. Steam rose instantly, ghosting across the mirrorless walls.
The heat hit me like a shock, and I closed my eyes. For the first time since waking in this world, the touch of something normal — warmth, cleanliness, control — nearly broke me.
It was just a shower. But it felt like reclaiming a body I'd almost forgotten was mine.
When I finished, I dressed in the gray clothes. The fabric was plain but soft. I tucked the sleeping bag under one arm and returned to my cell.
The air shifted subtly when I crossed the threshold, as though the room recognized me again.
The tray was still on the floor. I sat and ate. The food was cold, but it didn't matter.
The hum of the walls followed me back into silence — steady, patient, breathing.
When I lay down on the sleeping bag and closed my eyes, it was still there.
Not hostile. Just present.
Like the facility itself was waiting to see what I'd do next.
—
The next time I woke, the hum was softer — distant, like it was coming through water.
I sat up, groggy, pulse quickening. The air felt faintly warmer — recycled too many times. Something had shifted in the schedule.
Then came the knock. Soft. Hesitant. Completely out of place.
I was halfway to standing when the door slid open and she stepped through.
Elara.
For a second, my brain refused to process it.
I'd built her face for days — trying to recreate mine, but prettier — but seeing her here, breathing the same air, was something else entirely.
Not a screen. Not a dream.
She looked the way she always did before a mission — sharp posture, guarded eyes, a little too calm for someone caught in a cage.
"Diana."
My name, spoken like a confirmation.
I swallowed. "You're—alive."
"So are you." Her gaze swept over me — bruised throat, the tray in the corner, the sleeping bag. "They told me you were being held separately. I didn't think I'd get clearance to see you."
"Clearance?" I frowned. "They're letting you walk around now?"
She huffed, not quite a laugh. "If you can call it that."
Up close, I could see the exhaustion beneath her eyes. The faint smell of gunpowder clung to her clothes. Her fingers trembled when she crossed her arms — subtle, but there.
"What did they do to you?" I asked.
"Same thing they're doing to you," she said quietly. "Trying to pull something out that doesn't want to come."
Her tone shifted — brittle. "He made me use my Resonance on him."
I clicked my tongue. "Of course he did."
She nodded once, the motion clipped. "Every time it fails, he just looks at me like it's my fault. Like I'm broken." She exhaled sharply.
I watched her. There was more she wasn't saying. "What happened?"
Elara's eyes flicked toward the ceiling — the reflex of someone who knew she was being listened to but didn't care anymore. "He gave me a gun," she said simply.
I listened. I knew the script.
"Put it in my hand," she went on. "Said if I really blamed him for my family's death, I could end it right there. Then he wrapped his hand around mine and pulled the trigger."
Her voice stayed steady, but her hands didn't. A tremor passed through them like an aftershock.
"Didn't even flinch. Just… watched me." She shook her head, jaw tightening.
"Sounds about right," I murmured. "When you hesitated, he forced your hand."
The scene from the game replayed in my head — word for word, frame for frame.
Elara's mouth twisted. "Then he took me out to a workshop. Philip is the guy."
I tilted my head. "And?"
"They ran diagnostics. Hooked me up to some sort of Evol scanner. Tried to make it work. Forced me to fight an altered Wanderer." Her voice dropped lower. "He came to the conclusion I can't resonate with Sylus because I'm hostile to him."
I let it sit for a moment before asking, "Hm. It tracks. Do you know why he's keeping me locked up?"
Her gaze flicked toward me. "I was going to ask you that. He didn't tell me — only that you were 'different.' What does that even mean?"
"It means his Evol doesn't work on me," I said simply.
Her eyes widened. "You're serious? He can't read you?"
"Not even a little."
For a moment, Elara just stared, something between disbelief and envy crossing her face. "When he used it on me, it felt like my mind was being torn apart. Heat, pressure — like drowning inside your own thoughts. You didn't feel anything?"
"Nothing," I said. "No pain, no pressure. Just… silence."
She didn't answer. Just looked at me differently after that — not with pity, or suspicion, but with something closer to fear.
I let it sit for a moment. "Tell me more. You look like you just came out of a fight — what happened next?"
Her gaze snapped to me. "After Philip stabilized my protocore, I went back to the room and Sylus wasn't there anymore. I thought he'd finally grown bored with me and left me to… whatever happens to outsiders in the N109 Zone."
"So you went outside, alone?"
"Yeah…" She hesitated. "I met a little girl. She guided me to a bar called Elysium. I figured I could buy some intel."
"Did it work?" I asked, already knowing the answer. I had to be careful — not to sound like I knew.
"To an extent. I was interrupted by some goons."
"Hm. Did you get a name?"
"Yeah, I heard something about a Sherman. I assume he's either a rival faction or someone trying to take over Onychinus. Apparently Sylus has been out of the picture for a while."
So far, the script was holding. Nothing off yet. But what did that mean for me?
"So that was it?"
"There's one more thing — it's why I wanted to find you." She pulled a flashdrive from her pocket. "I was hoping you could tell me what's inside."
I took it, turning it over in my hands.
This is off script.
In the game, she goes to Sylus to decrypt it, not to a colleague. But then again, in the game there wasn't a colleague available in the N109 Zone.
I already know what's on it — intel about the protocore auction, the reason for the mission that got her — now us — trafficked into the N109 Zone.
I tried using my Evol on it. Nothing. Not even static.
Two options: fake it and tell her what I knew from memory… or play it safer. Tell her I couldn't access it. Blame it on Sylus. Maybe even on memory loss.
If the system had written me into this story, I needed to learn what version of me they thought they were talking to.