The cold stung her skin as Myst slipped into the underground corridor, shadows licking at the edges of her light.
She moved in silence—silent steps, breath measured, systems humming low.
The stolen coordinates had led her here: beneath a decommissioned sector that wasn't supposed to exist anymore. But the deeper she went, the more the air changed—charged, humming, almost like it recognized her.
Blue Rose pulsed faintly within her. She didn't speak, but Myst felt her stirring… sensing something.
The deeper tunnels had layers, not just structurally, but digitally. She'd cracked the first level easily enough, but now her scans were returning anomalies. File trails that looped in on themselves. Encrypted logs encoded with old Blue Rose protocols.
And then... an echo.
Not literal sound, but something deeper. A recognition. Like her systems brushing up against a familiar blueprint and flinching.
Myst paused at a sealed terminal embedded in the wall.
Her fingers hovered, then locked in. She pulled the fragments apart, unraveled lines of decayed security… until she hit something raw.
PROJECT: MIDNIGHT
The name blinked on the screen like a warning. She tapped again. The screen glitched.
Then her breath hitched.
Schematics.
Not of a weapon. Of a being. And worse… it mirrored her.
Not entirely. Different energy matrix, different command signature—but the DNA was unmistakable. Flux's digital framework. Modified, corrupted, bound into something new.
Myst recoiled slightly. She wasn't just looking at traces of the past. She was staring at what came after.
Arkadia-7's exposition hall gleamed with sharp edges and hollow applause.
Cipher adjusted his jacket collar, murmuring updates into his comm while Blaze scanned the perimeter like a predator locked in a cage. Shade stood by the railing above, eyes narrowed at the government presentation down below. Echo blended with the press, casually adjusting his camera lens.
Their sources had delivered another intel of this particular event. The Government has come to the borders to announce 'something new' to the citizens. Something about a live demonstration.
So, they infiltrated the summit like smoke. Badges forged, faces blurred by smart tech, nerves tight beneath calm exteriors.
"Don't draw attention," Razor said as they moved through the crowd. "We get in. We see what we need to. We move."
The room buzzed with diplomats and military personnel, media figures, tech partners. Everything was too pristine. At the center of it all, a tall figure stood on the main platform, partially concealed by refracted glass.
"Something's coming," Cipher murmured. "This isn't just some R&D. It's a launch."
A hushed energy spread across the hall as a woman in a pristine white suit stepped onto the stage. She spoke of innovation, of peace, of building the future from the remnants of war.
"Our future in peace and defense," the speaker declared, "anchored by the brilliance of what came before."
Echo scoffed quietly. Razor didn't move. His jaw clenched once. The crowd is yet to be manipulated by the Government's sugarcoated words again.
Then the figure stepped forward.
Covered in plain, black clothing as if being hidden, laced with blue veins of energy glowing under the fabric. The silhouette was unmistakable.
The crowd erupted in awe.
But the Clan… froze.
"Arkadia-7, we present to you... Purple Thorn!"
He moved like Flux. Stood like Flux. Even that subject name is unmistakably Flux's. But his eyes—
Vacant. Controlled. A shell only glowing neon purple now.
The figure paused, gaze scanning the room, then turning slightly as if recognizing something in the crowd. His head tilted the way he used to. He moved the way he used to.
Blaze took a step forward before Razor's arm blocked him.
"We don't know yet," Razor muttered, voice low but taut.
Cipher stared in disbelief. "I can't hack into it. It's a black box, running on old Blue Rose encryptions. But heavily warped. It's either him, or something made from him."
Shade's voice cut through. "My source disappeared the moment this was deployed. It was planned."
No one spoke between them again as the applause carried on.
But for the Clan, it felt like standing at the edge of a grave they never buried.
Back at Myst, she stood alone beneath flickering tunnel lights, watching the last of the files purge themselves.
Whatever had been stored there—records, truth, Flux's—was being scrubbed in real time. Not a trace left behind.
Except one thing. A sliver of corrupted code, like a heartbeat cut in half.
She copied it.
At the same time, high above in the public dome, Razor's team stared across the distance at a being that shouldn't exist—couldn't exist.
And yet…
Flux's shadow stood before them.
Alive. Rewritten. Branded as something new. And the worst part?
They didn't know what was worse—believing it was Flux, or believing it wasn't.