Gray was on his feet the second the hallway outside his door went silent. That kind of silence wasn't natural in the barracks. Not here. Not this deep.
Syv noticed too. She dropped the processor tool into her jacket pocket and looked up at him.
"Guards," he said. Low. Even.
She nodded once. Didn't ask.
He pulled open the corner locker—a rusted half-case he never used. Inside were old wrappings, a backup stim patch, and nothing else. Just enough space for someone small to crouch.
"In," he said.
She hesitated. Only a second.
Then she moved.
He closed the door. Not loud. Not rushed.
Then he sat back on the cot, elbows on knees. Silent. Waiting.
The knock wasn't a knock. It was the edge of a shock-baton tapped twice against the metal.
He stood and opened it.
Two guards. Not the usual ones. These wore newer armor. Cleaner visors. Uniforms with a darker stripe along the collar—**tower shift**. That meant direct from syndicate command.
One of them spoke. Not hostile, but not casual either.
"Get up. You've been summoned."
Gray didn't move.
"Now," the guard said.
"What for?"
The guard stared through the visor. "They said you'd ask that. Said to tell you it's not a fight. It's bigger than that."
Gray stepped forward. Didn't close the door behind him.
The guard hesitated. "You gonna come like that?"
Gray glanced down. Shirtless. Still barefoot. He looked back up.
"I'm coming."
They didn't question it.
They walked in a triangle—Gray behind them, silent. The corridors were empty. That wasn't right. The fight roster wasn't over for another two hours. There should've been trainers, medics, some of the crowd staff filtering through the pipes.
None.
As they reached the upper tier, Gray saw something that confirmed it.
Two **Vemrial Core insignia** on an armored crate being wheeled through the back hallway. That was black-level tech. Medical, maybe. Or extraction.
They turned left at the administration wing—doors most fighters never saw. Behind them, the lower levels dimmed as if the power grid had been shifted away from non-priority zones.
One guard keyed open a steel door. The other gestured him in.
Inside, the air was cold. Not cool. **Refrigerated**.
The room was small. Two chairs. One table. Clean. Monitors on the wall. One of them blinked static.
A woman sat on the far side.
Not the same one from before.
This one was older. Skin the color of ash. Black suit, no insignia. Gray sat before she asked.
She looked at him like she already knew the bones under his skin.
"CR-05," she said.
He didn't answer.
"You're not going to ask who I am?"
"No."
"Do you know why you're here?"
"You need something."
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.
"We received confirmation that your designation was reactivated," she said. "We also confirmed your record survived."
She slid a photo across the table.
Gray didn't touch it.
It was grainy. A still from a surveillance feed. Him. Standing over the Surgeon, arm twisted. Blood on the mat.
The woman continued.
"That wasn't just a fight. That was a recall trigger."
Gray finally looked at the photo. Then back at her.
"I'm not yours."
"You never were," she said. "But you were marked."
Silence.
She tapped the table once. A small spike drive rose from the surface.
"New orders are being distributed," she said. "Kajlamas is entering Gray Protocol alignment. That means external forces are being allowed inside. You're going to be a test point."
"I'm not aligned."
"You are now."
She stood.
"You'll be summoned again. Next time, don't ask questions. Don't bring anyone."
She left.
The guards didn't walk him back. Just opened the door and disappeared.
He walked alone.
Every corridor felt tighter on the way down. Every pipe hissed like it remembered his name.
When he reached his dorm, he opened the locker.
Syv stepped out. Eyes wide. Controlled, but rattled.
"What was it?"
"They want a response."
"To what?"
He looked at her.
"To me."