Rachel stared at the red dot pulsing on her chest—a quiet, blinking threat painted in laser light. The mark of a hunted girl.
She looked up. Drones circled like steel vultures, their wings whirring, blue searchlights combing the courtyard. She staggered back a step, her balance faltering as the poison coiled deeper into her system. Her skin prickled. Her breath came in gasps. Each inhale scraped her lungs raw.
There was no doors. No shadows. No way out.
She was trappe, the system had left her no way out.
"What do you want?!" she screamed, fury and fear tangling in her throat. Her voice echoed uselessly against the cold walls. The HUD flickered again. The timer in her peripheral vision counted down mercilessly.
01:19:34…
Then the system answered.
A hologram flashed in front of her, clear and imposing.
[STAND DOWN TO INITIATE FRIEND UNIT PRESERVATION PROTOCOL]
[DEFY = ESCALATED TOXIN RESPONSE]
Her vision blurred with fresh panic as the image morphed into a live video feed. Skye. And the others.
They were huddled inside the tunnel, collapsed against the curved stone. Their bodies convulsed. Sweat drenched their clothes. The poison had bloomed inside them faster than expected—thick green liquid oozed from the corners of their lips, staining their skin.
"No… no…" Rachel whispered, her voice cracking. Her hand trembled as she looked down at the antidote.
It pulsed—then burned.
A sudden heat shot up her arm.
She gasped and nearly dropped the vial. The liquid inside was glowing now—white hot, like a star compressed into glass. Her fingers blistered. Steam hissed into the air.
The system was killing it.
Her heart thudded in horror. "Stop it," she choked. "Please, stop it. You can kill me but please let them go."
But the system was unrelenting.
[WARNING: NON-COMPLIANCE DETECTED]
[EXECUTING PROTOCOL: NEUTRALIZE RECOVERY OPTIONS]
Tears streamed down Rachel's cheeks, scalding hot. Her legs gave way and she collapsed to the ground. The vial pulsed once more—then cracked.
"No—!"
But it was too late.
The antidote exploded in her hands.
A sharp bang echoed through the empty courtyard. Fire burst across her fingers. Ash blew into the wind like dust from a shattered future. Rachel stared, wide-eyed, as glowing embers drifted up past her face like dying fireflies.
All that hope, gone.
Her vision swam. The red dot on her chest blinked faster now. Her breath hitched. Her fingers twitched over air.
She whispered one last time, "I'm sorry…"
Then the world tilted sideways, and everything went black.
**********
Rachel awoke with a soft gasp, the darkness lifting slowly from her vision like a veil. For a heartbeat, she felt weightless—no pain, no sound, just the muffled thrum of her pulse in her ears.
Then came the sensation.
Warmth. Comfort. A… cushion?
Her eyes snapped open.
She was seated—no, cradled—in a chair. Luxuriously padded, wrapped in fine leather that practically molded around her. The room was dimly lit, the overhead lights casting a golden hue across the walls. A sharp contrast to the cold metal and concrete she'd expected.
She blinked, bewildered. "What the hell…?"
Cautiously, she looked down at herself. No chains. No shackles. Her wrists were free. Ankles too.
Nothing was binding her.
A spark of hope flared in her chest—flickering, fragile. She rose abruptly, legs shaky beneath her, but functioning.
She bolted to the nearest door, a sleek metal frame embedded into the wall. Her fingers were just inches away when—
WHAM!
An invisible wall slammed her backward with a bone-rattling thud. She hit the floor hard, breath knocked from her lungs, the chair scraping behind her.
Her vision spun. "Damn it…"
Rachel dragged herself up again, fury bubbling. She tried the opposite side of the room. Nothing. A window? Sealed. The force field curved across the wall like a dome, invisible but absolute.
Trapped. Again.
She clenched her fists, breath ragged. "Of course," she muttered bitterly. "They give me a throne just to lock me in a cage."
Then a voice sliced through the silence—cold and clinical.
"When are you going to give up?"
Rachel spun around. Her breath caught in her throat.
Marcus.
He was seated behind her, casually reclined on another couch, legs crossed, fingers loosely steepled. As if he had been there the entire time, watching.
She stared at him, stunned. "How did I…?"
How had she not seen him? The room wasn't that large.
Her gaze swept across him—neat, composed, the very image of someone in control. The shadows stretched across his face in strange ways, softening the hardness of his jaw but not the sharpness in his eyes. This time, he was really in there.
"Marcus?" Her voice was hoarse. Suspicion laced every syllable. "What is this? Why are you here?"
He didn't blink.
"Does it matter?" he asked flatly.
Rachel narrowed her eyes. "You're with it now, aren't you?"
A pause. Not denial. Not affirmation. Just silence.
It was worse than a yes.
Something inside her twisted. "After everything—Skye, the Residuals—you've just… folded?"
Harris stood slowly, hands in his pockets as he approached her. "You think this is about folding? About sides?" He stopped just short of the invisible wall. "You don't get it, Rachel. This was never a war you could win."
Her lips curled into a grim smile. "Then why trap me? Why pretend? Why not kill me like it did the others?"
"You're not like the others."
He said it too quickly. Too deliberately.
Her eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
But Marcus was already turning away. "Rest, Rachel. You'll need it. It gets worse from here."
"Oh," Marcus said, his voice dipped in casual cruelty. "And have you checked your timer?"
Rachel's heart skipped. His tone was calm—almost amused—but his gaze burned with something colder.
Her breath hitched as she instinctively pulled her vision to the corner of her eye. The timer blinked there, steadily counting down.
1:24:53. 1:24:52. 1:24:51.
Her brow furrowed. "What…?"
That couldn't be right. It should've hit zero. She should be dead. Or unconscious. Or in agony. But here she was—poisoned, yes—but still breathing.
Her eyes snapped up to Harris.
"How?" she demanded. "What did you do?"
He tilted his head slightly, the arch of his eyebrows sculpted with infuriating perfection. "The Residuals' timer was... malfunctioning," he said smoothly, like he was talking about a broken coffee machine. "So we replaced it."
Rachel stiffened.
"But don't worry," he added, his mouth curling into something between a smile and a sneer. "The changes weren't that drastic."
Rachel's vision flickered—and then something clicked.
The script. The font. The faded red pulse around the numbers.
She knew that design.
Feedback.
She staggered back a step as the realization struck her like a slap to the face.
Her hands rose, fingers twitching in the air. She tried to summon the Residual interface. She reached for it, mentally triggering the shortcut—
Nothing.
No flicker. No data stream. No error code.
Just silence.
Her heart dropped.
The system was gone. Or worse—blocked.
"You bastards," she whispered, fists clenching.
"What did..."
"You're running out of time, Rachel," Harris cut her off, his tone sharpening just enough to silence her.
He turned away, calm and unaffected, his steps slow and deliberate. The room's sensor field parted effortlessly for him, the invisible barrier melting like mist.
Rachel lunged toward the exit. The force field met her again—unseen, immovable, unyielding.
She pounded her fists against it.
Harris didn't look back. "Make up your mind while you still can."
Then he was gone.
The door hissed shut.
Rachel stood frozen, chest heaving, eyes locked on the still-bleeding countdown.
1:23:46.
Her reflection in the glass wall looked like someone else—a girl caught between poison and code, freedom and control, truth and manipulation.
The system had made its move. And it had the upper hand. Again!
But there was no her or her friends. Not really. If they died, she died. Not physically maybe—not right away—but something essential in her would be extinguished. Whatever the system had done, it had tethered them together. One unit. One punishment.
The voice slithered back in, light as a breath yet sharp as a blade.
"If you continue to resist, your friends will surely die. But we both know the system won't kill you, Rachel. It wants you alive."
She snapped her head up, scanning the room. There was no speaker. No source. Just her, the red countdown, and the screams in the feed.
"Why?" Her voice cracked. "Why me? What does it want from me?"
It didn't make sense. Why give her access, authority, power—just to strip it all away when she tried to think for herself? Why elevate her, only to break her when she disobeyed?
The voice was quiet for a beat. Then:
"I don't know. Why don't you find out?"
Rachel's fists clenched. Her knuckles whitened. "How?" she spat. Her voice cracked like ice.
"I can help you."
She laughed—empty, bitter, broken. "There's no one left to help me."
The timer ticked on, indifferent.
The screams continued, a cruel reminder.
And yet… the voice remained. Not gone. Not fading. Waiting.