Sleep wasn't an option. The hum of the walls was louder than his heartbeat, and every time Theron closed his eyes, the System flickered behind his eyelids.
[ERROR: Override Detected.]
[Notice: █████ Watching.]
[Alert: Containment Risk.]
He sat on the edge of the narrow cot, elbows on his knees, trying to focus on his breathing. The glitches weren't fading—they were multiplying. Whoever "█████" was, it wasn't the Guild or Division Grey. Someone—or something—was peering in.
The door hissed open.
"On your feet," Hale's voice commanded.
Theron glanced up, jaw tight. "What now?"
"Orientation," Hale said coolly. "You've seen the Kennel. Now you'll see why it exists."
The elevator descended lower than Theron thought possible. The sterile white walls gave way to reinforced black plating and layers of glowing seals. The air grew colder with each passing floor, carrying a metallic tang that made the back of his throat itch.
Hale stood motionless beside him, hands clasped behind his back, his reflection faint in the elevator's black glass walls.
"Downstairs," Hale said, almost conversationally, "is where we keep the failures."
"Failures?" Theron asked.
"The ones who couldn't adapt," Hale said simply. "Or refused."
The doors opened with a soft chime.
The hallway beyond was darker than any part of Division Grey Theron had seen. Runes pulsed faintly along the floor, and cameras tracked his every step with unsettling precision.
They passed cell after cell—thick glass walls reinforced with sigils that hummed quietly. Inside, hunters sat slumped or pacing like caged predators. Some stared blankly at the floor. Others pressed against the glass, eyes glowing faintly with unstable mana.
One man's face was pale and gaunt, veins blackened like ink beneath his skin. Another woman sat cross-legged in the corner of her cell, whispering to herself, her voice too low to make out.
"Mana poisoning," Hale said, his voice flat. "Soul Strain collapse. System corruption. The Guild calls them 'retired.' We don't retire weapons."
Theron's stomach churned. The scent of metal and ozone clung to the air.
Then he froze.
One of the prisoners—a boy no older than sixteen—pressed a hand to the glass as Theron passed. His eyes flickered with the same fractured light as Theron's System glitches.
"You hear it too," the boy whispered. His voice was sharp, cutting through the low hum of the hall.
[Notice: LINK ESTABLISHED.]
Theron stumbled, his vision fracturing for a heartbeat.
"Subject Nine," Hale said sharply. The boy recoiled from the glass, retreating into the corner of his cell.
Theron's jaw clenched. "What's wrong with him?"
Hale didn't answer. He simply kept walking.
They stopped at a reinforced observation deck overlooking a massive chamber below. Hunters in grey uniforms moved carefully around a writhing mass of black mist bound in glowing chains. Its whispers clawed at the edge of Theron's hearing, unintelligible but suffocating.
"This," Hale said calmly, "is why we exist. Division Grey isn't here to protect cities. We're here to contain what happens when hunters like you lose control."
Theron's pulse quickened. The mist pulsed, and for a split second, he thought he saw a face inside it—a warped reflection of his own.
[ERROR: Undefined Parameter.]
[Notice: Watching.]
He stumbled back, his breath ragged.
"Your reaction is normal," Hale said, not looking at him. "You've seen enough for today."
The ride back up was silent, but Theron couldn't shake the boy's voice.
You hear it too.
The words echoed in sync with the System flickering across his vision.
When the elevator doors opened, Seris was waiting. Her eyes swept over him, sharp with concern.
"What did they show you?" she asked quietly.
"Nightmares," Theron muttered.
Seris's expression tightened. "You're not the first."
He looked at her sharply. "The first what?"
"To hear it," she said softly. "And if Hale knows…" She trailed off, glancing at the cameras overhead. "Be careful."
As Hale walked away, Seris leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper.
"Don't let them see the glitches," she murmured. "That's how they decide who gets sent downstairs."
Back in his quarters, Theron sat on the edge of the cot again, running his hands over his face.
The hum of the walls was louder now.
[Notice: LINK ACTIVE.]
[Message: You are not alone.]
The text burned bright in his vision, sharper than ever before.