The Orientation Hall emptied in silence. No applause, no dismissal—just recruits funneling into the cold corridors beyond. The suppressor hum followed them like an invisible leash. Kahn's steps carried him downward, into stone and copper, until the air grew sharper, colder.
The training arena was colder than the halls that led to it—an artificial chill that clung to skin and lungs like the breath of underground stone. The air tasted faintly of copper and antiseptic, the same sterilized flavor as a hospital, but layered with something sharper: ozone, like air scorched by lightning. It prickled the inside of Kahn's nose and carried a faint bitterness he could almost taste on the back of his tongue.
The space itself was cavernous, built from obsidian panels latticed with copper veins that glimmered faintly under the ceiling lights. The floor stretched out in a perfect circle, polished to a mirror sheen that reflected every movement back with unnerving clarity. When Kahn walked, he saw not just his shadow trailing him, but his double beneath him—pale, trembling, flickering half a step behind. The reflection smelled faintly of damp stone and left an aftertaste of ash in his mouth every time his eyes lingered on it too long.
The suppressors here hummed louder than in the Orientation Hall. The sound was low, constant, a vibration that thrummed through his ribs and bones like an invisible current. It pressed against his fragment, coaxing it, testing it, and the fragment twitched in answer like a muscle under a surgeon's scalpel. His arm tingled, veins burning with a faint static itch. The urge to use it clawed at him—not out of desire, but necessity, as if the fragment itself couldn't stand the weight of being ignored.
Selene stood at the far edge of the arena, her obsidian eyes cutting through the sterile glow. A faint smell of iron followed her presence, sharp and unmistakable. Her red hair bled color into the monochrome chamber like a wound in reality. Voss lingered at her side, cigarette unlit but clenched between his fingers, the bitter scent of old smoke still clinging to his coat. He was the only warm detail in the cold geometry of the room.
"Begin the assessment," Selene said, her voice carrying like a blade across stone.
The floor shuddered. From the copper veins in the panels, light flared upward, spiraling into a lattice of shifting geometry. At first it was abstract—lines, angles, fragments of mirrored patterns—but then the shapes folded inward, curving until they formed something half-familiar, half-impossible.
A body.
No—an echo. It resembled a man, but the proportions were slightly off, as if memory had been copied and smeared. Its limbs bent at the wrong joints, its skin the color of wet paper. The smell of mildew and rust bled from it as though it had been dragged through centuries of decay. Each breath it took rasped like sandpaper, dry and unnatural, filling the air with a faint dust that tasted of stone ground to powder.
Kahn's stomach tightened. His fragment throbbed once, hard, as if recognizing prey.
"This is not an Aberrant," Selene said, her voice calm, almost bored. "It is a simulation. A mirror construct. A safe introduction to resonance combat. It will mimic an obsession, but it does not possess a kernel. Treat it as a test, not an enemy."
Safe. The word landed hollow. Kahn could smell the creature's breath—metallic, like iron filings soaked in stagnant water. The sound of its shifting joints grated like nails dragged across glass. The sight of its eyes—empty, colorless spheres that reflected only the copper veins of the arena—made his pulse falter.
The echo moved. Its footsteps landed with a hollow clap, perfectly in time with Kahn's heartbeat. The sound looped in his skull, each impact echoing twice, like reality itself was mocking him.
The fragment surged. Whispers slid through his head, velvet and sharp, tempting him: Break it. Bend it. Show it the cracks.
His hands shook. He clenched them until his nails bit skin, grounding himself in the pain. The copper tang of blood filled his mouth even though he hadn't bitten his tongue. He could taste it anyway—phantom, invasive, a promise of what the fragment wanted.
The echo lunged. Its limbs bent wrong but struck fast, leaving a faint trail of static in the air. Kahn ducked instinctively, the sound of displaced air rushing over his head like tearing canvas. The smell of ozone flared as its fist hit the arena floor—stone and copper cracked, releasing a burnt, metallic scent that scalded his nostrils.
Kahn stumbled back. The fragment throbbed harder, a rhythm building inside him. His vision bent at the edges—angles tilting, walls bowing inward. The world smelled of rust and tasted of ash. His skin burned with the pressure of something straining to be unleashed.
"Control it," Selene's voice snapped across the arena. Cold, exact. "It will not obey unless you force it into shape."
Kahn's breath shuddered. He forced his focus outward, onto the echo's crooked body. Its ribs bulged unevenly beneath pale skin. Its arms were too long, joints creaking as it reset. Every flaw was a fracture line.
He reached for the fragment—not fully, but enough. Pain surged through his veins like molten glass. The air warped. The reflection on the arena floor twisted, his double beneath him convulsing into jagged, uneven shapes. The smell of burning metal filled his throat. A sound like paper tearing exploded in his ears.
The echo faltered. One of its arms bent sideways, elbow snapping inward as though reality had forgotten how joints worked. It let out a hollow scream, a sound with no air, only vibration—a noise that clawed the inside of Kahn's skull.
The fragment roared in triumph, whispering: More. Take more. Unmake.
Kahn staggered, every nerve alight with distortion. The floor beneath him rippled like water; the copper veins writhed in his peripheral vision. His reflection twisted again—this time smiling when he wasn't.
"No," Kahn hissed through clenched teeth. "Mine."
He forced the fragment down, choking it with sheer will. Pain stabbed behind his eyes, hot and white. The echo spasmed once more, its body crumpling inward like wet parchment. Then it collapsed into dust, leaving only the faint stink of mildew and scorched metal behind.
The arena went still. The suppressors hummed their endless note. Kahn's reflection lay sprawled beneath him on the polished floor, twitching once before snapping back into place.
Selene's heels clicked across the stone as she approached. The sound was precise, deliberate, every step echoing in perfect rhythm. She stopped a few paces away, her eyes unreadable pools of obsidian.
"You contained it," she said. No praise. No warmth. Only fact. "Barely."
Voss flicked his unlit cigarette between two fingers, his mouth twitching in something that wasn't quite a smile. "And you didn't puke. Better than average."
Kahn's lungs burned. His mouth tasted of copper and smoke, his skin slick with cold sweat. The fragment inside him pulsed once, slow and patient—like a predator settling back down, waiting for the next chance.
He looked at the dust where the echo had fallen. The faint smell of mildew still hung in the air. It hadn't been real. But it had been close enough.
And in the hollow space of his skull, the whispers curled like smoke, promising more.