The silence after the gunshots rang louder than the shots themselves.
Zuekh stood frozen between the fallen bodies of his guards. Blood pooled around their feet, slick and crimson. He blinked, calculating, trying to reform whatever plan had just shattered.
Matt didn't hesitate.
He stepped forward, still shielding Isla behind him, fists clenched, knuckles pale.
Behind them, Brendon lay unconscious on the cold metal floor, shallow breaths visible under the harsh fluorescent lights. His body twitched — either from lingering gas effects or a primal instinct clawing back to life.
Christopher, perched in the upper lab walkway with his rifle drawn, spoke calmly but firmly.
> "Drop whatever you're hiding under that coat, Zuekh. I will not miss again."
Zuekh smiled, but it was thin, laced with fury. "It's touching how the gutter rejects come together. But you're still too late. She's already marked. This one—" he gestured at Isla, "—she was the first to respond. The key."
But Matt didn't care.
He stepped forward again, but Isla held his wrist.
"Matt," she whispered, breath unsteady. "He's telling the truth. They did something… to me. I feel it."
Her eyes shimmered with heat, pain, and something else — something wrong. Something humming under her skin.
Zuekh grinned wider now. "Ah, see? The bond's still live. The serum's neurological matrix is growing. That's why I let her wake. She's adapting. Too fast."
Christopher cocked the rifle. "One more word and I'll let the bullet adapt to your spine."
Zuekh took a slow step back. "You think this ends with killing me?"
Matt stepped forward again and threw a punch before anyone could speak.
His fist connected with Zuekh's jaw.
The detective crumpled backward, coat flaring behind him, crashing into a gurney. Vials clattered to the floor. Zuekh groaned, reaching for his pocket.
Matt was on him again. Elbow to temple. Knee to gut. It wasn't just a fight — it was a purge.
Of guilt.
Of fear.
Of months spent powerless.
And then—
Brendon stirred.
He groaned low, hand scraping against the ground, claws beginning to extend again. Fur sprouted along his jawline.
He was slipping back.
But not fully.
Just enough.
Enough to move.
Enough to rise.
---
Control Room – Upper Floor
Christopher watched the chaos unfolding below, finger still on the trigger.
He was watching for a shadow.
And there it was.
Movement — from the side corridor.
Not a guard.
Another figure.
Tall. Deliberate. Uniformed.
> "Council security…"
Christopher's jaw clenched. The insignia on the lapel confirmed it — black serpent over white. Not city PD. Not recovery unit.
Private enforcement.
Military-grade cleanup crew.
Another stepped in behind the first. Then a third. The one in the rear held a containment disruptor — its red coil glowing, humming.
They weren't here for backup.
They were here to erase the witnesses.
Christopher exhaled slowly, pressing his comm.
> "Matt. Council muscle just arrived. Three. Armed. They're not here to rescue anyone."
Matt blinked toward the sound, blood drying on his shirt.
He was still cradling Isla, shielding her without thinking.
> "Can you stall them?"
Christopher's response came like stone:
> "That's what I am gonna do."
He shifted silently from his perch, moving across the upper platform. Each footstep measured. He moved like someone who'd already accepted death once — and wasn't afraid to borrow its silence again.
Below, the first enforcer entered the lab proper, scanning with trained efficiency.
Then his eyes landed on Isla.
> "Subject 07 is conscious. Authorization confirmed. Begin recovery."
He raised the red-coil disruptor—
CRACK.
A single shot from above tore through his shoulder.
The weapon flew. Blood sprayed. He screamed.
The other two split instantly — one pulling a smoke charge, the other circling wide.
Too slow.
Brendon exploded from the shadows, mid-transformation, golden eyes aflame. A low snarl like burning gravel tore from his throat.
The second enforcer aimed a sidearm—
Didn't matter.
Brendon's claws collided with his chest. Armor shattered. Flesh caved. He hit the wall, a sack of fractured bones.
Smoke bloomed — too late.
The third enforcer loosed a shot, catching Christopher in the ribs.
He staggered. Grunted. But stayed standing.
He fired back — three rounds.
All hit.
The last man folded to the floor, bubbling red from his mouth.
But the fight wasn't over.
Zuekh had moved.
Blood on his lip, wrists bound in Matt's grip — yet smirking.
> "You won't leave this place alive."
Christopher dropped down beside them, breathing heavily, gun raised.
> "You're coming with us."
Zuekh spat blood. "And what — I'm your exit strategy?"
Matt's voice was tight, but clear.
> "You're a piece of shit. A crap of a police. For this one instance in your life, be useful."
Christopher yanked a zipcord from his belt and cuffed Zuekh tighter, hoisting him partially upright.
Brendon, claws twitching, loomed over Zuekh's shoulder.
"Try something funny and I will tear something important."
Zuekh didn't respond. He knew he was checkmated.
For now.
---
Meanwhile — Inside Isla's Mind
Corridors.
But not ones built by hands.
They pulsed with light — pure data running like veins.
Each strand echoed with voices, memory fragments, ghost-pain.
Isla walked barefoot, her body still slumped in Matt's arms outside.
She searched for something deep. Beneath layers of trauma and synthetic noise.
A whisper slid through her mind.
> "You have to wake up."
She turned.
Zuekh — or a version of him — waited in the stream.
> "You weren't supposed to stabilize. The others degraded. You're the anomaly. The crown jewel."
She didn't flinch. "You're not real."
> "Real enough to warn you. You're more than a human now. The serum re-coded your synaptic identity. You don't know what you're becoming."
She raised her hand.
The light pulses paused.
Then cracked.
Then shattered.
Zuekh's voice distorted.
> "You think you've won. But the truth is none of us has clenched victory. They are the victors—"
Gone.
The mental world collapsed around her.
And she woke.
---
Back in the Lab
Isla's eyes snapped open.
Clarity returned. Not dazed. Not broken.
Matt saw it first. He eased her down to sit.
> "Isla? Are you alright?"
She nodded slowly. "He's gone. Whatever he had to me… I severed it."
Matt exhaled in disbelief — part relief, part awe.
Christopher was already at the console.
> "We've got a problem. The council rigged this place. Controlled demolition, buried under medical clearance files."
He glanced at Brendon.
> "Failsafe. If it ever leaked out."
Brendon's eyes burned. "Can you trigger it?"
Christopher nodded. "But we've only got one way out."
He looked down at Zuekh.
> "He's our passcode. Bio-ID on the clearance."
Matt didn't hesitate. "Do it."
Christopher slid his card, then jammed Zuekh's thumb onto the scanner.
[Emergency Cleanse Protocol: Initiated — 90 seconds to collapse]
Sirens screamed to life.
Lights went blood red.
Matt hoisted Isla again.
Brendon pushed forward, muscles already shifting. He gives out a loud roar.
---
The team sprinted through the corridors, Zuekh's limp body dragged by Christopher.
Doors slammed. Alarms wailed.
A support beam cracked and fell—
Brendon caught it with one arm and flung it aside.
> "MOVE!"
They reached the main sewer duct.
Climbed fast — each second a countdown to death.
Thirty seconds.
Smoke and steam curled around them.
They breached the surface —
Cool night air hit them like resurrection.
Then — BOOM.
The lab imploded. The tremor shook the streets.
Fire licked the sky.
A plume of dust shot upward like a dying scream.
Zuekh lay unconscious on the ground. For once, silent.
---
Later – Rooftop Hideout, Outskirts of the City
They sat in silence for a while, wind howling across broken concrete.
Isla, wrapped in a thermal blanket, sipped slowly from a cup.
Matt sat beside her — no longer a man chasing revenge. Now just… a brother.
Brendon stood near the ledge, looking out. Smoke trails from the lab still rising on the horizon.
Christopher crouched by the comms unit, Zuekh cuffed beside him.
He flicked open a data drive.
> "I copied what I could. It's all here. Subjects. Donor IDs. Approval chains."
Matt stared at his sister. "And him?"
Christopher shrugged. "No body in the wreck. We brought the only one that matters."
Brendon approached. "We'll need to bring all this to Mrs. Renneté. I think we have finally figured all out. These two cases were all connected. I have theory that can prove it."
Isla's voice came quiet, but resolute.
> "There are others. Still in stasis. I felt them. Before I cut the link."
Christopher narrowed his eyes. "You sure?"
She nodded. "Not where. Not how many. But I can find them."
Matt didn't speak. Just held her hand.
Then Brendon said what no one wanted to, but all believed:
> "Then we need to burn the next site. But we need some support. I think Mrs. Renneté will help on that matter."