The static hadn't faded when Seris's vision cleared. Sparks rained from the ceiling, alarms shrieking one by one before sputtering into silence. The mist clung to her skin, metallic and heavy, as if the air itself were alive and breathing against her.
And Theron—no, what wore his body—stood at the center of Sector Zero. He was motionless, blade loose in his grip, shoulders too still. His eyes weren't his. White static crawled across them, fractal lines of code and shadow flickering like broken glass.
"Theron?" Seris's voice cracked in the silence.
He didn't answer. His head tilted, not toward her, but as if listening to something deeper in the walls.
Then he moved.
It wasn't the boy she'd dragged bleeding from an alley, nor the half-broken soldier who fought in Grey's chambers. This was something other. His steps were soundless, fluid, predatory—too smooth for a human frame. Each movement radiated intent without hesitation, like he was being played by invisible strings.
The Brother prototype roared, the sound reverberating through the chamber. Its body was monstrous—streaked veins of faint blue light pulsing under pale, stretched skin, runes seared directly into its chest like scars. It lunged, claws tearing through the air with enough force to splinter reinforced glass.
Theron met it halfway. His blade curved upward in a clean, merciless line, sparks blooming as steel tore across bone. The strike wasn't desperate—it was commanding. The monster staggered, not from damage but from shock, as if recognizing something older staring back at it.
Seris's breath caught.
"That's not him," Hale muttered behind her. His voice was steady, pistol raised, unwavering as the sight locked on Theron's skull. "That's Nine."
Seris's stomach twisted. She didn't look back, eyes locked on Theron. "He's still in there. I know it."
"Look closer." Hale's tone cut like a blade. "Tell me whose eyes you see."
The Brother struck again, arms crashing like hammers. Theron didn't dodge—he bent with it, twisting around the force in impossible arcs. His blade drew geometric patterns midair, too precise, too deliberate. His mouth moved, whispering words in a voice that wasn't his.
Nine's voice.
They buried us here. They thought we'd rot. They thought silence meant death.
The Brother shrieked, striking wildly. Theron's body blurred, weaving between claw strikes, his sword carving lines too fast to follow. He wasn't fighting to survive—he was dismantling. Each motion calculated to break the monster piece by piece.
Seris's chest tightened as she saw something impossible: his shadow wasn't his own. Behind him stretched a tall, faceless outline stitched from static and mist. It mirrored his movements half a beat late, hand resting on his shoulder like a master guiding its puppet.
"Stand down!" Hale barked, his voice commanding, sharp enough to cut the static. The pistol cocked. "Or I put him down now."
Seris spun, stepping in front of the barrel before she even thought. "Shoot him and you'll lose more than Theron. You'll lose control of Nine."
Hale's jaw tightened. His eyes didn't blink. "We've already lost it."
The Brother lunged again, claws screaming against the mirrored floor. Theron twisted under the strike, blade flashing bright as he buried it deep into the monster's chest. The impact shook the chamber. Runes along the walls flickered, pulsed, then went dark, plunging the sector into half-shadow.
The Brother staggered, shrieking as static veins burned along its body. Theron's expression didn't shift. He tore the blade free, stepping back, and for a moment—just a heartbeat—his gaze snapped to Seris.
And she saw him.
Fear. Recognition. A plea, smothered beneath static.
"Seris…" His lips formed her name. His voice cracked, fragile, human.
Her breath hitched. "I'm here—"
Then it fractured. His tone warped, distorted into something older, darker.
Let me show you what freedom looks like.
The mist surged with his words, pressing against the glass of other pods. Shapes writhed inside—broken silhouettes, twitching limbs stirring for the first time. Alarms wailed weakly, then cut out again, as if smothered by Nine's presence.
Seris's heart pounded. "No, no, no—"
More pods hissed, steam spilling into the chamber. The sound was unbearable, a chorus of beginnings.
Hale swore under his breath. "If he wakes the rest, this entire facility falls." His gun pressed harder against her shoulder, warning her to move.
Seris refused. Her hand lifted toward Theron despite herself, despite the danger. "Fight it. Don't let him take you."
Theron's body froze mid-stride. His blade hung low, twitching slightly, as though he were caught between two masters. His breath came ragged, static crawling across his veins like fire under skin.
"Don't…" he rasped. Then louder, his voice cracking into Nine's: Don't fight. Become.
The mist erupted, slamming into the chamber walls. Lights blew out, glass shattering, the sound drowning Seris's heartbeat. The Brother collapsed at Theron's feet, twitching once before going still.
And Theron—eyes burning with static—turned back toward her and Hale.
The world held its breath.