The subway silence had barely settled when the first floodlight cut through the dark.
Jack's head snapped up, blade already half drawn. Victor froze beside him, his breath sharp in the cold air. Dust drifted down from the tunnel ceiling like falling ash as a low hum rolled closer — mechanical, deliberate.
Then the voice came, flat and amplified:
"District Nine. This sector is under Authority control. Lay down your weapons."
It echoed off the tile walls, bouncing back jagged.
Victor cursed under his breath. "They tracked us."
Jack didn't answer. His pulse hammered too loud in his ears. For a moment, he swore the voice sounded like Marcus's — smooth, mocking, folded into the Authority's command. His grip tightened on the blade until his knuckles ached.
The floodlights multiplied. Dozens of them, pinning them in raw white beams. Shadows tore long and thin across the broken tracks.
Figures stepped forward in heavy armor — Authority enforcers. Their visors glowed a cold blue, rifles leveled, movements too clean to belong to scavengers. Behind them, drones buzzed like locusts, their lenses fixed on Jack.
Victor raised his rifle but didn't fire. His jaw was set hard. "Jack. Listen to me. If you go full Marcus here, they'll bury us both under the Sprawl."
Jack's mouth twitched into something almost like a smile. "If I don't, they'll bury us anyway."
The Authority line tightened. Boots hit concrete in perfect unison.
One soldier stepped ahead of the rest, voice cutting. "Subject: Jack." A pause. The helmet tilted, scanning him. "Alias: King."
A ripple of recognition ran through the line. They'd heard the chants too.
Victor shifted, pressing closer to Jack. "They want you alive. That's worse than dead."
Jack's eyes flicked sideways at him — just a fraction, just enough. The thought was there, unspoken: maybe he'd rather be neither.
The soldier barked again: "On your knees. Hands on your head. Or the Sprawl burns for your defiance."
That line landed. It was never just about Jack. The Sprawl was collateral, leverage. Authority wanted a public display — to drag the so-called King through the dirt where everyone could see.
Jack's throat went dry. He heard Helena's laugh in his head, soft and distant, the way she used to tease him for always standing taller than he should. The memory stabbed worse than the order itself.
Victor caught the flicker in his face. He leaned in, voice low, urgent. "Don't give them Marcus. Don't give them what they came for."
But the floodlights burned hotter, the rifles stayed steady, and Jack could feel Marcus pushing, whispering from every shadow in the tunnel.
<
Jack took a single step forward. The nearest soldier twitched, rifle clicking off safe.
Victor's hand shot out, catching Jack's arm. His voice cracked, raw this time. "If you start, I can't stop you."
Jack looked at him then — really looked. The fear wasn't for himself. It was for Jack. And that almost broke him.
Almost.
The floodlights wavered as the drones shifted closer, scanning lenses whirring. The soldier repeated the command:
"On your knees."
Jack's blade flashed up.
Not at the soldier. Not yet.
At the drone overhead — a single, clean strike. Sparks rained, smoke curling down. The machine crashed hard onto the tracks.
The tunnel exploded in gunfire.
Victor yanked Jack behind a concrete column as bullets chewed through tile and steel. Shards of glass rained from a broken signal light, scattering like stars. The smell of ozone and dust filled their lungs.
"Goddamn it, Jack!" Victor shouted over the gunfire, slamming a fresh mag into his rifle. "Now they won't stop!"
Jack wiped blood from his cheek where debris cut him. His grin was sharp, feral, but his voice was low. "Good."
He broke cover before Victor could grab him, darting forward in a blur. His blade carved through an enforcer's chestplate, sparks bursting. Another swung his rifle down — Jack caught the barrel, wrenched it sideways, and drove his knee into the man's gut. The scream was cut short.
Victor fired from behind, keeping the line from collapsing on Jack, but his aim was frantic now. Not just fighting them — fighting the thought of Jack slipping further with every kill.
"Jack, fall back!"
Jack didn't even look back. His movements were too smooth, too brutal, like someone else was guiding the blade. Marcus's laugh rippled through the chaos, impossible to tell if it was in Jack's head or the tunnel itself.
Then came the rupture.
Jack pinned an Authority soldier against the wall, blade pressed to the man's visor. The soldier was trembling, whispering fast through the helmet. Pleading.
For a heartbeat, Jack froze. The reflection in the visor showed him grinning — not his grin. Marcus's.
Victor saw it. And for the first time, he didn't just shout. He aimed.
"Jack," he warned, voice shaking, rifle sight locked on him. "Step away. Now."
The word hung between them heavier than the gunfire.
Jack's hand trembled. The blade pressed deeper. His pulse thundered.
Would it be Marcus's choice, or his?
The soldier whimpered. Victor's finger tightened on the trigger.
Jack finally ripped the blade free — not through the man's throat, but sideways, carving sparks into the wall. The soldier collapsed, scrambling away on hands and knees.
Victor lowered his rifle an inch, breath unsteady. Relief mixed with dread.
Jack turned to him slowly, face shadowed in the tunnel's smoke. "See? Still me."
But his voice cracked on the last word.
The Authority regrouped, shouting orders. More boots thundered in from deeper tunnels. The fight wasn't over — not by a long shot.
Victor swallowed hard, eyes locked on Jack. For the first time, he didn't know if saving him was the same thing as following him.