The stairs grew colder as Noel moved down, her footsteps echoing off the damp stone. The air was thick—like it hadn't moved in years. A dim emergency strip-light flickered overhead—still running, somehow, off some forgotten subgrid,
casting her shadow along the walls.
Jack's presence pressed closer now, not oppressive, but alert. Tense.
"You feel that?" she whispered.
"Yeah," he said. "Like we're stepping into something that forgot how to live."
The deeper she went, the more the mist thickened—not just air now, but something particulate. Not dust. Not moisture. Memory residue, Jack called it once. The afterimage of events burned too deeply into a place to fade.
The stairwell opened into a huge underground space—round and empty, lined with old metal walkways and blank screens. A low ceiling curved overhead, stained with time and moisture.
She swept her wristlight across the room.
The walls were lined with old machines, half-covered in cables and dust. A few red status lights blinked slowly, like heartbeats in hibernation.
A low thrum vibrated through the floor.
There—at the far end—was a door, large and rounded like the inside of a shell. Strange markings lined its surface, most faded, but some still faintly glowing. They reminded her of the patterns on the sync key. At its center pulsed a single glass node—dormant, but responsive.
Noel walked slowly toward it, heart ticking faster. As she got closer, the satchel at her side grew warmer, the sync key inside responding.
She reached into her satchel, drawing out the sync key. The crystal responded at once—glowing gently as it resonated with the symbols on the door.
She held it forward, slow and steady.
Jack's voice was soft. "Don't force it. Let it recognize you."
She didn't try to jam it in or twist it like a key. Just stepped close enough for the two to respond.
A low sound rumbled through the floor. The fog pulled back like it was being drawn away.
> Access Request Registered.
Sequence Echo Detected.
Initiating Wake Protocol.
The door didn't open.
It unfolded, like petals pulling back in slow, smooth layers.
Behind it, a hallway stretched down into the dark. Long. Narrow. Lit by a row of dim blue lights that blinked on one by one.
Noel exhaled. "This isn't just a vault."
Jack answered quietly. "It's a cradle."
The air here was heavy. Not cold from weather, but from memory. It pressed in like a deep breath held too long.
Noel stepped forward. "This place wasn't just sealed," she said. "It was meant to be forgotten."
Jack agreed. "Not abandoned. Contained."
The hallway was narrow, lined with rusted panels and blackout glass. As she walked, old holo-logs from years ago blinked to life in fragments:
> "Containment stable. Subject link down."
"Failed sync. Memory bridge collapsed."
"We're losing the anchor—seal the room. If it wakes again—"
[CORRUPTED]
The corridor ended at a plain door—round, untouched by tech. No keypads. No ports. Just old metal, with smeared glyphs scrawled across it in red.
Not carved. Drawn.
"is that...." Noel asked as she looked at the red markings.
"Yes...it is." Jack slowly replied.
Jack's voice dipped lower, "That's not Spectra protocol. That's someone trying to keep something in."
Noel studied the markings. They were rough. Rushed. Like someone had tried to seal the room by hand. Maybe in fear.
She hesitated, the weight of the sync key growing in her grip. Then she stepped forward and placed it against the final lock.
There was no click. No sound.
The door simply vanished.
Behind it was a small chamber.
And in the center were six glass pods.
Five were shattered. The inside of each pod scarred with cracks and dried fluid. Tubes hung loose. Panels dark.
Only one remained whole.
A man floated inside. Late twenties, maybe. Pale, still, suspended in some kind of translucent gel. His eyes were closed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, artificial rhythm.
And embedded in the base of his throat was a glowing shard. Soft, faint, steady.
Noel didn't speak. She couldn't. The sync key in her hand was pulsing now—alive.
She turned slightly, eyes narrowed. "Jack…"
He didn't answer at first. When he did, his voice was distant.
"That's a prototype."
"A prototype of what?"
He exhaled.
"Of me."