Smoke curled from the remains of the command terminal, the smell of scorched electronics and blood thick in the air. Ethan stood over Mr. X's crumpled body, chest heaving, knuckles bruised. For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Lang broke the silence. "We need to leave. Now. This tower is still wired to the emergency purge systems. If Helix had a failsafe, this would be it."
Ethan stepped back, half-expecting Mr. X to rise again. But he didn't move. Blood pooled around his head, mixing with the shattered screen beneath him.
"Is he dead?" Kai asked, coughing.
Lang checked for a pulse, then shook her head. "Barely alive. Massive cranial trauma. But his clearance protocols may still be active—we can use them."
Ethan grabbed Mr. X's biometric ring and slid it from his finger. It was cold. Deceptively simple.
"Let's shut down whatever's left," he said.
Lang took the ring, syncing it with the control panel. The system hesitated—recognizing but questioning the authority. Then it blinked green.
"Full access granted," the screen read.
Lang's hands moved fast, disabling security subsystems, scrubbing facial recognition indexes, and cutting power to internal suppression grids. As the tower lights flickered out, a quiet tension lifted—like the building had finally exhaled.
"All restraints are offline," Lang confirmed. "Tracking systems too. No more overrides. No more Helix."
"Except the ones already made," Ethan said.
They all went quiet again.
Below them, the sounds of chaos ebbed. The uprising was slowing. Ethan glanced out the broken window.
Dozens of enhanced—freed from their limiters—moved through the courtyard, disoriented, wounded, and angry. Some stared up at the tower. Others were already tearing apart the walls, dragging guards from hiding spots. The forge had been reversed. The weapons were no longer caged.
And that terrified Ethan more than anything.
"Lang," he said slowly, "what happens now?"
She looked at him, tired but resolute. "We survive. Then we choose."
Ethan helped Kai to his feet. "We need to reach the comm center. There are survivors down there who'll follow us. If we don't lead, someone worse will."
Lang grabbed a medkit from a wall panel and began patching Kai's leg. "I can trigger a signal beacon. One shortwave burst to a secure frequency. My old lab partners—people who left before the Helix push—they might still be watching."
"You trust them?" Kai asked.
"I trust they hate this place more than I do."
Ethan nodded. "Do it. But we move fast. We're on borrowed time."
They descended into the lower levels. The chaos was thinning, but not gone. Ethan passed rooms that once housed surgical nightmares. Now they were wrecked—tables overturned, glass shattered, equipment stolen or destroyed. People staggered out of cells and labs, blinking against sudden light and freedom.
Some recognized him.
That was new.
"Is it over?" one of them asked—a young woman with shaved hair and burns across her arms.
Ethan hesitated. "Not yet. But it will be."
He turned to Kai. "We need to organize. Anyone with combat training, medical experience, or tech skills—we gather them. We need order before panic sets in."
"On it," Kai said, limping toward a small group of survivors.
Lang and Ethan reached the comm center. The beacon station was intact, untouched amid the surrounding destruction. Lang slid the biometric ring across the panel and keyed in her override.
A soft ping.
"Frequency locked. Broadcasting now."
She stepped back. "Now we wait."
Ethan slumped into a chair, head pounding. His body felt like it had been dragged through every corner of hell. He touched the limiter scar on his wrist. Faintly glowing. Still there.
"You think they'll come?" he asked.
Lang didn't answer at first. Then: "I think they'll try."
He closed his eyes. The facility had fallen, but the war wasn't over.
They still had to figure out what to do with the survivors—most of whom had never known anything beyond pain and control. Some were children. Others were killers. All were broken in different ways.
And Project Helix hadn't died with Mr. X. Copies of the genome likely existed elsewhere. Other sites. Other programs.
A soft buzz interrupted his thoughts. The comm screen flashed.
Incoming message.
Lang's eyes widened. "That was fast."
She tapped the console. A figure appeared on the screen—an older woman with dark skin and silver eyes, surrounded by technicians in what looked like an off-grid facility.
"This is Commander Nyla Okonjo. Lang… is that you?"
"Yes," Lang said, her voice cracking for the first time. "We've taken Facility Nine. The others are… gone. But we need evac. We have survivors. Dozens."
Okonjo frowned. "Are you saying Helix is down?"
"Partially," Lang said. "But the data was secured. We have the template."
Ethan stepped forward. "And we're not handing it over. Not unless we know what your people are going to do with it."
Nyla studied him. "You're A-17."
He nodded.
"Then you know what you are."
"I know what they tried to make me. That doesn't mean I have to let them succeed."
A pause.
Then Nyla nodded slowly. "Extraction team en route. Twelve hours."
The screen cut out.
Lang exhaled. "Twelve hours to secure this place and keep it from tearing itself apart."
"Plenty of time," Ethan muttered. "For a miracle."
Hours later, Ethan stood on the rooftop, watching the black shapes of dropships on the horizon. Below, the survivors were gathering in the old transport yard. Some sat on crates, holding each other. Others stood like soldiers waiting for orders.
Kai joined him, leaning on a crutch. "They'll follow you, you know."
Ethan looked down at the crowd. "I'm not sure they should."
"Doesn't matter. You gave them something. A reason to believe they're more than what they were made to be."
"And what about me?" Ethan asked. "What am I supposed to be?"
Kai smiled faintly. "The difference."
Behind them, Lang emerged with a datapad. "Before we leave… I need to show you something."
She handed the pad to Ethan.
On the screen: coordinates. Files. Archived images. A facility even older than this one.
"Project Genesis," she said. "Where it all began. Where you began."
Ethan stared at it.
The path wasn't over.
It was just beginning.