The silence hit harder than the final blow.
It settled like ash.
Thick, heavy, clinging to Raj's shoulders as he stood in the center of the wreckage, chest heaving. His golden suit—burned along the sleeves, smeared with soot and cracked tile—still glowed faintly, though it was pulsing slower now. Weaker.
Peter stumbled to his side, limping slightly, one eye-lens of his mask shattered, the other flickering between lens modes like a dying flashlight.
The lab—if it could still be called that—was reduced to chaos.
Half of the lighting above had collapsed. Dangling wires sparked overhead, a warning more than illumination. Shattered glass crunched beneath their boots, mingling with melted tiles, burned papers, and the odd limb of a scorched chair.
Three bodies lay scattered near the ruined stasis chambers.
Tempest was slumped against a wall, his armor scorched and torn, the electro-containment pipes he'd crashed into still arcing with harmless sparks. His tattoos—black coils of energy etched along his forearms—were cracked and dim now, like lightning that had finally run out of storm.
Phaze was wrapped tightly in Peter's high-viscosity insulated webbing, still twitching slightly as the last of the static charge fizzled through his nerves. His half-phased hand stuck out of the wall beside him, solidifying slowly as his consciousness slipped.
And Embercore—her body lay sprawled near the emergency generator, wisps of smoke curling from her hairline. Her fiery aura had finally sputtered out, steam rising from her scorched gloves. The floor beneath her was glassed over from where she'd tried—and failed—to ignite one last blast.
Raj exhaled deeply. Every breath tasted like rust and ozone.
Peter looked around and muttered, "Okay. That... wasn't in the plan."
Raj didn't answer. His hands were trembling—not from fear, not even from fatigue—but from the residual energy still coursing through him. It hadn't left yet. Whatever he'd tapped into, whatever light he'd unleashed against Tempest—it was still burning, still echoing through his muscles.
"Power grid's fried," Peter said, flicking open his cracked communicator. "No outside connections. Comms are dead. No security alerts sent—at least not yet."
Raj knelt beside Embercore, checking her pulse. "She's alive."
"Barely," Peter added. "Hydra must've done something to them. They didn't even scream. Just... fought. Like it was all they had left."
Raj looked at Embercore's face. She had burn scars older than this fight—ones that weren't his doing. "They were being used."
Peter didn't argue.
Overhead, an emergency light flickered and hummed.
Sprinklers continued to drip steadily, their rhythm like a broken metronome—tick, tick, tick—each drop hitting metal with a tired hiss.
"This place was more than a base," Raj said, slowly standing again. "It was a lab. An assembly line. That restricted door wasn't just keeping secrets."
Peter nodded grimly. "We need to see what they were hiding."
He turned, limping toward the shattered blast door labeled "RESTRICTED"—the same one they'd seen on Ned's layout. With most systems destroyed, its magnetic lock had powered down. Raj pressed a palm against the twisted remains and shoved.
The door groaned but relented.
Behind it was a corridor, different from the others. Cleaner. Newer. While the lab had looked retrofitted and broken down, this part of the base was clearly still operational—until they crashed the party.
The floor was spotless. The lights buzzed without flickering. Panels lined the walls with embedded surveillance ports, now blinking static.
At the end of the hall was another room—sealed by glass, now spiderwebbed from tremors caused by their earlier fight.
Peter tapped the edge of the frame. "Welcome to the core."
Inside were blueprints. Not on paper—on holographic displays projected from shattered consoles. They flickered with overlapping code and schematics. Some showed genetic sequences. Others listed codenames.
Raj stared at a list:
PROJECT: R-7
PROJECT: R-8
PROJECT: R-9... (ACTIVE)
PROJECT: R-10… (PENDING)
Beside each was a file photo—blurred, distorted. R-9 had no face. Just a light signature.
Peter stepped closer. "R-9. That's you."
Raj didn't speak for a long time.
Then he whispered, "They've been tracking me since the beginning."
Peter looked through the other files. "These weren't volunteers. They were recruits. Or test subjects."
More panels lined the walls—some with readings, others with what looked like DNA manipulation overlays.
In the far corner, behind reinforced glass, was a chamber. Inside, a single chair—restraints included. Burn marks on the floor. A cracked visor lying nearby.
"Interrogation?" Peter asked quietly.
Raj shook his head. "No. Experimentation."
They stood in silence for a long moment.
"Raj," Peter said, barely above a whisper, "if this is just one base—"
"There are more," Raj replied. "We both know it."
Peter finally peeled his mask back, revealing the tension in his jaw. "We need to shut this down permanently. Not just Hydra. Not just the mutants they've twisted. All of it."
Raj looked around. Then turned back toward the corridor they came from.
He walked over to the crumpled body of Tempest, yanked a keycard from the man's belt, and returned to the terminal.
With a single swipe, the interface lit up again—barely functional.
Raj found the access menu. Located the power source. Located the central core.
Peter leaned over. "What are you doing?"
Raj looked at him. "We end it. Now."
"But—"
"No data survives. No plans for more. No second generation of soldiers." He paused. "We walked into this place as targets. Let's walk out as the reason they never try again."
Peter looked conflicted, but then nodded. "Let's light it up."
Raj initiated the core override. Warning beeps blared, screens turning red. A countdown appeared—3:00… 2:59…
Emergency sirens erupted.
The base trembled.
They ran.
Back through the halls, over the bodies of fallen mutants, past flickering lights and melting machinery.
When they reached the surface hatch, Raj turned back for a split second—one last glance.
Not at the base.
At the people it had stolen.
And then he climbed.
They emerged into the cold pre-dawn air, the sky now streaked with pale orange light. Sirens inside the warehouse wailed, but no one else came. No backup. No Hydra reinforcements.
Just the world... waiting.
The building shuddered below them as the countdown hit zero.
Then—
A dull boom. No fireball. No explosion of flame.
Just a deep pulse beneath the ground, and a slow, sinking groan as the warehouse's foundation gave way. The walls cracked. The roof caved inward like an old lung finally exhaling.
Hydra's lab was no more.
Peter stood panting beside Raj, who had dropped to one knee, exhausted.
"You good?" Peter asked.
Raj didn't look up. "No."
Peter gave him a look.
"But I will be," Raj added.
The sky lightened above them.
Smoke rose behind.
And somewhere—far from the echoes of battle—Hydra's remaining eyes watched through fractured signals and damaged feeds, noting one thing:
Subject R-9 had survived.
Worse… he had chosen his own path.