Sublevel 4, Retention Room — Boston Underground Vault
The air between them was razor-thin.
Lira's fingers hovered near her coat—close to whatever weapon she had tucked away. Sevryx stood still, current coiled in his palm like a serpent, barely restrained.
No words. Just silence thick enough to shatter.
Then—
> "INCOMING."
The warning flared across Sevryx's HUD. Red. Urgent.
Too late.
The wall behind them exploded inward—not with fire, but force. A blur of silver and white ripped through the dust cloud. Lights strobed. Ceiling panels crashed down like dead weight.
Iris-7 had arrived.
It stood unnervingly still—humanoid, symmetrical, yet wrong. Its eyes were vacant glass. Limbs jointed too perfectly. Movements too calculated. It wasn't built to intimidate.
It was built to replace.
And worst of all—it tilted its head the way Sevryx did when scanning for a weakness. Exact. Imitative. A mockery.
Lira dove aside, yanking twin shock blades from her coat. "That's not mine—someone sent it in!"
Sevryx didn't respond.
He lunged.
Electricity arced through his arm as he drove a lightning punch to center mass. Precision. Brutality. The blow landed—but Iris-7 didn't move. No recoil. No shift in stance.
It caught his wrist like a reflex.
Then turned—and hurled him across the room.
Metal screamed as he crashed through a support beam. Sparks cascaded. He hit the floor in a roll, pain flaring down his spine.
But he wasn't panicking.
He was processing.
Sevryx kicked off the ground, current flowing into his legs, and launched forward. Mid-run, he flung a disruptor blade toward Iris-7's right eye.
It caught it—without looking.
The machine's head tilted again. Same angle. Same mannerism.
Lira, ducking behind a collapsed console, stared. "It's watching you. Learning."
Sevryx's tone dropped colder.
"No. It's studying me."
---
Beacon Hill — Black Gambit Group HQ
Dr. Voss's office glowed with pale monitor light. One screen tracked Sevryx's biometrics—spiking. Another streamed live combat footage—static flickering at the edges.
"Neural mimicry holding at ninety-six percent," her aide reported.
Voss didn't look up. "Excellent."
"Do we want Iris-7 to finish him?"
"No," she said. Then tapped a new command.
> OBSERVER PROTOCOL: OFFLINE
COGNITIVE STRESS TEST: ACTIVE
"I want to see what breaks first—his body, or his memory."
---
Vault, Retention Level
A punch cratered the wall where Sevryx's head had just been. He ducked low and spun, crackling with stored current.
Lira struck from behind—blades aimed for a neural junction near Iris-7's spine.
It spun, parried her with backhand force, and kicked her across the room. She hit hard. Groaned.
Iris-7 stepped toward her—blades humming to life from its arms.
Sevryx moved without thinking.
He stepped in its path. Shielding her.
"Don't," he muttered, eyes locked on Iris-7. "You're not built for this."
Lira blinked, breath ragged. "Why do you care now?"
Sevryx didn't answer.
But something inside staggered.
> Why did I protect her?
A glitch shimmered in his vision. Not red static—a memory fragment. Her voice, quieter. In a hallway. "You said I mattered once."
His focus sharpened.
The air snapped as he launched into Iris-7—faster, harder, angrier. Two strikes—one high, one low. Feint left, sweep leg, and jab a charged fist into its joint.
The machine recoiled.
Lira stared in awe. "It's adapting to you... but you're adapting faster."
Sevryx didn't respond. Not right away.
Iris-7 shifted into a mirrored stance. His stance. Weight centered. Hands loose. Calculated violence behind stillness.
A memory flickered—himself, in training, facing a mirror. Alone.
He lowered his voice.
"It's not just mimicking me."
Beat.
"It is me."
---
TO BE CONTINUED...