The deeper I went, the colder the library felt.
Ross stood beside me, silent. Not because he had nothing to say—because he couldn't find the words.
The Berlin mansion's library, once a haven of childhood warmth, Sunday chess games, and the scent of old encyclopedias, now pulsed with something else—something mechanical and ancient, like it was remembering what it was built to contain. Dust floated in the narrow beams of golden light cutting through the stained-glass windows, but even that light looked sterile now, cold. Every shelf of books, every framed photo, every polished mahogany panel felt like a stage prop. A distraction. A mask.
This room wasn't for learning.
It was for hiding secrets.
My fingers hovered over the trackpad of the old embedded terminal—its screen flickering with life as if awakened from a coma.
Ross leaned in, breath shallow, as encrypted folders unraveled before us like forbidden fruit.
HYBRIS: TWIN PROTOCOLS
Classified | Tier-4 Clearance | Prague Division
And there it was—her name.
Dr. Meera Vyas.
Not as a contributor. Not as a test subject.
As a lead architect.
My mouth dried. Ross glanced at me, waiting for some denial. Some explanation. I had none.
"These aren't just medical trials…" I murmured.
Ross tilted his head. "What are they?"
"Neurological war games."
File after file exposed a research methodology that read more like a dystopian manifesto:
Objective: Induce cognitive divergence in genetically identical subjects under environmental and chemical stressors.Method: Separate twin siblings at birth. Expose one to LUMEX-series compounds. Immerse the other in high-impact trauma environments.Expected Outcome: Identity drift. Personality fragmentation. Isolation of gene markers responsible for psychological resilience and instability.
"Jesus…" Ross whispered. "They turned twins into rats in a maze."
But I wasn't listening anymore. My eyes had locked onto a subfolder deeper in the tree:
HYBRIS_MNEMOS9
The Memory Transfer Files.
A chill traced my spine. My finger clicked the file open.
Title: Mnemosyne Draught (Compound: ND-X4)
Purpose: Transfer of neural data between deceased and living brains.
"Neural lattice integrity persists for 60–90 minutes postmortem. With enzyme ND-X4 suspension, lattice echo can be preserved and decoded."
"Initial trials successful in partial memory imprint: language, spatial orientation, motor function."
"Side effects: identity bleed, episodic flashbacks, dissociative fugue states."
My stomach flipped.
"They're injecting memories," I whispered. "From dead people… into the living."
Ross stepped back like the words physically hit him. "That's not science. That's necromancy."
But it didn't stop there.
Another folder. More encrypted strings. I bypassed them with the same override key I found earlier—a master access buried in metadata, almost like someone wanted me to find it.
Compound: LUMEX-9
Effect: Extreme neural acceleration. Zero emotional latency.
Outcome: Heightened intelligence, pattern recognition, and executive decision-making.
Fatality Rate: 100% within 24 hours.
"Temporary genius. Permanent death."
"Subjects exhibit total cognitive dominance—until neural collapse."
"Warning: Highly addictive. Terminal clarity achieved."
Ross stared, shaking his head. "So it makes you a genius… and then it kills you?"
I turned to him, voice hollow.
"No, Ross. It makes you a weapon."
And then—something even darker.
A red-ink note, handwritten in the margin:
"Too clinical. Needs recreational vector. Let the streets distribute our chaos."
– V
My blood turned to ice.
Ross read it. Then blinked. "They… they wanted this on the streets?"
I didn't answer. I was already opening the next file:
Urban Test Zones – Phase I
Compound: LUMEX-HR (street name: Valkyrie Dust)Formula: LUMEX-9 + Balkan-cut heroinResult: Euphoria + cognitive spike + hyper-aggressionMortality Rate: 98.2%Status: DeployedLocation: Eastern Europe + BerlinUnits: 500 vialsObjective: Monitor psychic disintegration and memory echo transference
I nearly dropped the terminal.
"They're not selling it. They're testing it," I said.
Ross whispered, "And Mr. Clark—he wasn't running away with a stolen vial…"
I closed my eyes. "He was monitoring us. Me."
The computer buzzed—and went black.
A red banner blinked across the screen:
ACCESS BREACH DETECTED
PHASE IV INITIATED
Then the siren began.
Low at first. Like a foghorn buried beneath stone.
The lights flickered. The air turned metallic. And from beneath the floor, a low mechanical hum started to rise—too deep to be electrical. It was biological. Surgical.
Ross's face drained of color.
"Where is that coming from?"
"The lab," I whispered.
His head snapped to me. "We don't have a lab."
I turned toward the far wall of the library—the one with the replica 18th-century texts no one ever touched.
"Yes… we do."
I moved to the back and pulled at the shelf.
With a hiss, the false bookshelf rotated away, revealing a steel door, matte black, smooth as obsidian. At its center: a fingerprint scanner.
I pressed my thumb.
It blinked green.
The door opened with a pneumatic hiss.
Behind it—a narrow elevator. Surgical steel walls. No buttons. Just a biometric pad and keycard slot.
Ross hesitated. "Do we want to go down there?"
I stared into the steel coffin waiting to swallow us.
"We have to."
We stepped in.
The doors shut silently. No hum of motion. No indication of descent. Just a pressure—like gravity was folding in on itself. The air inside the elevator was sterile, recycled, laced faintly with antiseptic and blood.
After what felt like minutes, Ross broke the silence.
"Do you think your mom's still alive?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Because the real question wasn't if she was alive.
It was this:
What if she never died… because she was never human to begin with?
The floor shifted.
The lights inside the elevator changed—soft red, pulsing like a heartbeat.
And then the doors slid open.
We stepped into a place that shouldn't exist under a house.
Polished black tile. Surgical lights overhead. Vats of chemical compounds glowing with soft blue light.
Monitors everywhere—some showing EEG spikes, others… surveillance footage.
Of us.
And there, in the center of it all… a glass chamber.
Inside it: a suspended body.
Wires in the skull. IV tubes in the veins. Breathing slow.
It was her.
Dr. Meera Vyas.
Ross gasped.
But I already knew. I had known since the files.
She wasn't just a scientist.
She was the first prototype.
And now, Phase IV… had begun.