The sky over New York Arcology burned orange, reflecting off the sleek towers like fire trapped in glass. Somewhere above the smog and neon haze, a sonic boom echoed—low, deep, and unmistakably human.
Alix Venn dropped to a crouch on the rooftop of an old tech-hub shell, her black visor pulsing as it scanned the horizon. Below her, the Magistrate Tower stood like a monolith—cold, silver, and humming with secrets. And at the very top, standing perfectly still as drones swarmed below him, was Zenith.
The hero.
The legend.
The traitor.
"You're seeing this, Kiran?" Alix whispered, fingers brushing her throat mic.
"Crystal clear," came the reply in her ear, crackling slightly through the static. "That's really him."
Zenith had been missing for months. No public statements, no sightings. Only classified whispers and scrambled files. Now he was back—alone, unarmed, and staring directly at a building where the world's most powerful government stored its darkest experiments.
And then he moved.
It wasn't dramatic. It was quiet. He stepped forward—slow, deliberate—and raised one hand.
The sky cracked open.
A beam of light surged downward, striking the heart of the tower like the wrath of a god. The building didn't explode—it crumpled, folding in on itself in stages like paper soaked with water.
Alix's HUD went red.
"Abort," Kiran shouted. "ABORT!"
But it was too late.
The shockwave hit.
Alix's feet left the roof as her world turned upside down. She activated her stabilizers mid-air, twisted, and crash-landed through a ventilation panel two floors below the blast. Metal shrieked around her as fire licked the edges of her suit. She hit the ground rolling, came up gasping, and slammed her back to a half-melted wall.
Smoke. Sirens. Screaming.
And then—silence.
"Kiran," she coughed. "Talk to me. What the hell just happened?"
"I don't know. Feeds are dark. Mainline servers went offline the second the blast hit. It's surgical—like someone killed the building, not just attacked it."
Alix stood, limbs aching, and scanned the corridor. Bodies were scattered everywhere—some burnt, others whole, frozen in shock. A few still clutched tools, datapads, or coffee cups.
No signs of a struggle. No gunfire. Just... erasure.
She pushed forward. Somewhere in her gut, instinct twisted tight.
This wasn't war.
This was cleanup.
She turned a corner and froze.
In the middle of a half-destroyed lab, standing barefoot among the wreckage, was a girl.
White hospital gown. Long, tangled hair. Pale skin that shimmered faintly in the dark. She was maybe twelve—maybe less. But her eyes... her eyes were wrong. One was violet. The other glowed faintly blue.
Alix raised her hands slowly.
"Hey. You okay? I'm not here to hurt you."
The girl didn't move.
"They all say that," she said, voice soft, almost distant.
Alix took a cautious step forward. "I'm not 'they.' What's your name?"
The girl tilted her head. "They called me Subject Nine."
That stopped Alix cold.
She remembered that file. Redacted in every language. Rumors of a weapon disguised as a child. The final phase of the Roe Initiative.
"You're not a subject," Alix said gently. "You're a person."
The girl blinked—and suddenly, her eyes flared bright. Her body lifted off the ground, hovering inches above the cracked floor.
"You need to leave," she whispered. "I can't hold it."
Before Alix could react, the room collapsed inward.
The floor cracked beneath her boots. Lights burst. Gravity twisted. For a moment, it felt like reality itself had folded.
Alix lunged, tackled the girl, and jammed a suppression collar onto her neck. The glow vanished. The pressure lifted.
The girl crumpled into her arms.
"My name's Lyra," she whispered.
And then she passed out.
Alix's breath shook as she stood up again, now carrying Lyra. Her mind raced. If the Roe Initiative was still active, if this girl really was the last product of that black lab…
Then this wasn't just an attack.
It was a cover-up.
And Zenith… what had he come back for?
The floor beneath her vibrated again, subtle but sharp. Alix spun, blades ready, but no threat came.
Instead, a high-pitched drone whined overhead. She looked up through a shattered ceiling.
Aerials.
Three black VTOLs with no visible markings hovered above the ruins, scanners sweeping low.
Alix dropped, shielding Lyra with her body.
"Magistrate?" she muttered.
"No," said a familiar voice in her earpiece.
Kiran was back.
"They're not Magistrate. No signature matches. No protocols. They're off-grid."
"Private contractors?"
"Worse. I think they're here for the girl."
Alix clenched her jaw.
"Well, they'll have to go through me."
She ran toward the lower levels, praying to whatever gods still watched over broken cities that Zenith was not the enemy they all thought he was.
But in the deepest part of her mind, she wondered:
What if he wasn't the villain?
What if he was trying to save them from someone far worse?