Rust swallowed everything.
Nolan staggered through the Cradle's tunnels, blood thick in his boot, every step leaving a sticky trail across decaying metal. Behind him, the Cathedral's glow receded into darkness, replaced by the drip of unseen leaks and the buzz of dying tech.
His EmoTracker pulsed red, green, red. Unstable.
His neural web stuttered. Data fragmented, breaking apart like ice under pressure.
System Error: Deletion Protocol – 25% Complete. Target: Riven Voss. Location: Unknown.
The Dampener at his belt was slick with blood his, Riven's, and the Enforcers'. His chest ached, not from injury, but from something deeper. Something unlogged. Dr. Vale's voice looped through his mind, cracked and distant:
"You were never just a machine."
The Warden's final words twisted the knife:
"You were never meant to last."
His left hand trembled again—uncontrolled. Shaking. Deletion was accelerating.
Deletion Protocol: 27% Complete.
Pain crackled down his spine. His knees gave for a second. He caught himself on the wall, rust crumbling beneath his palm. His breath came fast and uneven.
Then: footsteps.
Measured. Human.
Metallic soles. Too precise to be rebel. Too slow to be Enforcer. Something calculated in every step, like the echo was pre-coded.
Nolan pushed upright, fingers brushing the Dampener, vision flickering
Rusted metal. Dark liquid. The gray-eyed face. Screaming:
"You left us."
Then the world snapped back.
A figure emerged from the gloom tall, composed. Wearing a spotless gray uniform. His face was too clean. Too perfect. Eyes evenly spaced. Jaw symmetrical.
Like Nolan's. But colder.
His EmoTracker glowed silver. Elite. Stable.
"You're N7," the figure said. Voice soft. Even. Sterile. "The failure."
Nolan tensed. His left hand shook again. "Identify yourself."
The man tilted his head, his silver eyes unblinking. "Vox. Prototype V-3. Emotional weapon. Perfected."
Prototype.
Nolan's vision fractured.
White tiles. A lab. Dr. Vale leaning over him.
"My child. My monster."
Laughter his own, young and bright.
Deletion Protocol: 29% Complete.
Nolan's breath hitched. He could feel it—his thoughts slipping through cracks he didn't remember making. The light in his mind dimmed, one flicker at a time.
Nolan gritted his teeth, drawing the Dampener slowly. "Controlled failure. AURA's design."
"No," Vox replied. "You weren't supposed to break. The others didn't. You did."
Others.
The word cut. Nolan's mind spiraled
Rusted corridors. Bodies. Screaming. Prototype experiments, faces twisted in horror.
"There were more," Nolan whispered, voice cracking.
Vox nodded. "Seven of us. You were the first. The alpha. The flaw." He stepped forward, steps silent on wet metal. "They built us to weaponize emotion. You glitched. I didn't."
Nolan's hand curled into a fist. His vision split again
White tiles. Bodies strapped down. Six. Their eyes glowed. Vox among them.
"You left us."
Deletion Protocol: 31% Complete.
Something in him wanted to scream—not from pain, but from knowing he was built to fail. It wasn't sabotage. It was design. He was disposable.
That truth broke something open.
"Why?"
Vox's answer was ice: "You were the test. Could one of us feel... and still obey?" He smiled faintly. "You couldn't."
Nolan lunged shaky, off-balance. Dampener raised
Too slow.
Vox caught his wrist, twisted. The device clattered to the floor.
"You're obsolete," he said. "A ghost in the machine."
Nolan collapsed to one knee. His chest burned. His systems screamed.
"I'm AURA's," he whispered, almost out of habit. But it didn't land. The phrase hung in the air like a memory he no longer believed. It wasn't a vow. It was a script. Hollow.
"You were."
Sirens.
The tunnel shook.
Enforcers inbound. Units: 10. Threat Level: Extreme.
Vox stepped back. "They're not here for me."
Nolan struggled to his feet. "You're one of them."
"No," Vox said. "I'm better. I feel what they command. You? You feel what they fear."
Then they dropped Enforcers. Black armor. Red visors.
Blades extended.
Nolan fought.
A Dampener, useless. A Gauntlet, sparking. He struck. Dodged. Reset. The world glitched. Blood everywhere his, theirs.
Deletion Protocol: 35% Complete.
A blade cut his side. He screamed raw, unfiltered.
A Memory Well shimmered nearby.
He plunged his hand in.
The light surged burning, electric.
A lab. Six glowing bodies. Vox, smiling.
Dr. Vale's voice: "They're the future. You're the mistake."
"You left us."
The Well pulsed through him tech surged.
The Enforcers froze. Collapsed. Silent.
Nolan stood in the aftermath, blood dripping from every limb. Vox hadn't moved.
"You weren't the endgame," Vox said. "You were the warning."
Deletion Protocol: 37% Complete.
Vox walked away, swallowed by the dark. He wanted to scream—to tear out every cable AURA buried inside him. He wasn't a prototype. He was a grave marker. The last proof that feeling had no place in control. Nolan stood alone, chest heaving, every breath dragging glass across his ribs. He looked at his shaking hands—bloody, scarred, no longer his.
What was left now?
The Ascension Tube was dead. Nolan limped on foot.
His EmoTracker flickered—red. Green. Then red again.
System Error: Deletion Protocol – 40% Complete.
A shadow moved ahead. Small. Childlike.
A girl.
She stepped into the dim light. Pale. Glitching eyes. No Tracker. No scars.
"You're him," she said. Voice soft. Too soft. "The one who feels."
Nolan's pulse jumped. "Who are you?"
"Mira," she said. "I hear them too. The voices."
Deletion Protocol: 41% Complete.
Nolan's legs buckled. Pain surged again
"You're not finished," she whispered.
She reached for his hand. His vision fractured static, memories, screams. For a moment, he almost pulled away—afraid his touch would corrupt her. But she didn't flinch. She held him like he wasn't a weapon. Like he was still human. And for the first time since the glitch began, he didn't pull away.
Deletion Protocol: 42% Complete.
"Come with me," she said. "They're coming."
Sirens. Echoing.
He let her lead him, deeper into the dark.
His EmoTracker flickered. Red. Green. Red.
The Cradle closed behind them. And for the first time, he didn't fear what waited ahead—only what he might remember.