The elevator doors slid open without a sound. No alarms. No red lights. Just silence.
Theron stepped out first, Seris close behind, her hand hovering near her gun. Hale followed, his posture rigid, scanning the dim hallway like he expected something to lunge at them.
Sector Zero didn't feel like the rest of Division Grey. The walls weren't reinforced steel; they were glass, black and gleaming, lined with flickering runes that pulsed softly like a heartbeat. The floor was so polished it reflected the dim overhead lights, giving the entire corridor a mirror-like effect.
It was quiet—too quiet.
"This sector isn't on any of the maps," Seris whispered.
"Wasn't supposed to be," Hale said, his voice low. "This is where Nine was born."
Theron flinched as Nine's whisper coiled through his skull, a voice that felt like it came from the walls themselves:
"Born…? No. I was built."
He stumbled, bracing himself against the cold glass. For a heartbeat, the reflection staring back at him wasn't his. Glitching, static-filled images flickered over his face—a pale figure strapped to a table, tubes running into its spine, eyes glowing like molten silver.
Seris caught his arm. "Theron. Focus."
"I'm fine," he lied through clenched teeth.
The mist had followed them, but here it moved differently—slower, deliberate, like it recognized this place.
Hale swiped his badge across a scanner at the end of the hall. The door didn't open. Instead, the screen blinked once, then cracked, a spiderweb of fractures spreading across the glass.
Nine's laughter filled Theron's head. "You think your keys mean anything here?"
The door hissed open on its own.
Inside, the room was massive—an underground cathedral of steel and glass. Pod-like chambers lined the walls, each one cracked or shattered. Some were empty. Others still held withered shapes, their faces obscured by frost and shattered glass.
"This…" Seris breathed. "This is a graveyard."
"No," Hale said grimly. "It's a warning."
Theron's gaze locked on the central platform. A single containment pod stood intact, frost coating its surface. The mist thickened as they approached, curling around the pod like it was guarding it.
"Subject Twelve," Hale muttered, reading the tag etched into the metal.
Nine's voice slithered into Theron's ears, closer than ever: "They made more. They thought they could perfect me. But there is only one."
Theron's breath fogged in the icy air. He placed a hand against the pod's glass, and for a moment the frost cleared—revealing a figure inside.
It wasn't human. Its eyes opened, glowing faintly through the frost.
"Step back!" Hale barked.
The pod cracked, a sharp, splintering sound that echoed like a gunshot. The runes across the walls flickered violently.
"Too late," Nine whispered.
The pod exploded outward, shards of glass flying like shrapnel. A shape launched itself from the wreckage, slamming into the floor hard enough to leave cracks. The creature that stood up was wrong—limbs too long, skin pale and veined with glowing lines, eyes empty but hungry.
"Not another Shade," Seris whispered.
"No," Hale said grimly. "Worse. This one's a prototype."
The creature's head tilted, and it let out a guttural hiss that reverberated through the chamber.
Nine chuckled in Theron's head. "Let's see if you survive my siblings."
The thing lunged.