The stolen datachip glowed faintly in the portable decrypter Lyssa had rigged from old hardware and military salvage. Sparks flew as she hotwired the encryption bypass.
"It's not clean," she muttered. "There's some kind of embedded security daemon—if I break it wrong, we'll trigger a trace."
Ikris leaned over her shoulder. "Can you stop it?"
She exhaled. "I can try. But if they're monitoring this signal, we'll have company in minutes."
Sevik stood by the boarded window, watching traffic drone by outside. "We've got five escape plans. Worst case? I shoot out a utility tunnel, and we ride sewer gas to freedom."
"Poetic," Ikris said dryly.
The screen flashed green. Lyssa's grin was wolfish. "We're in."
Lines of code scrolled, followed by internal memos, asset transfer logs, and—most chillingly—dossiers labeled "Emberseed Phase II."
Ikris scrolled until he found it: IGN-0001 – IKRIS IGAN.
His file listed surgical procedures, nanite injections, and cognitive inhibitors. His entire childhood laid out like a science experiment.
He swallowed hard and scrolled again.
IGN-0002 – DARIAN IGAN. His younger brother.
The notes beneath his file were far worse. Darian had suffered partial neural collapse after exposure to a modified serum. The file listed him as "unusable," but "a critical fallback if Subject 0001 becomes uncontrollable."
"They were going to kill him," Ikris said hoarsely. "Then changed their minds when I survived."
Lyssa's voice was gentle. "They never saw him as a person. Just insurance."
He stood, katana across his back, rage simmering. "They don't get to use my brother as a tool. I'll bring them down from the inside."
Sevik nodded. "Then we hit the Tower."
Plans came together fast. A former security guard turned mole owed Sevik a favor. Through him, they secured blueprints to the Igan executive wing—heavily shielded, guarded, but not impenetrable.
"In three nights," Sevik said, "the board hosts its quarterly silent summit. They shut down outside comms and pull everyone into the Tower."
Lyssa looked up. "So we walk in while everyone's distracted?"
Ikris smirked. "No. We walk in while everyone's watching. I want them to see me. I want my father to see me."
The fire in his chest wasn't just rage anymore.
It was purpose.
Before the infiltration, they gave themselves one quiet evening. Just one.
Ikris cooked this time, fumbling his way through a stir-fry that was mostly edible. Lyssa laughed when he added too much ginger. "You cook like you fight—big swings, no patience."
Sevik lounged in a hoodie, sipping a cold soda. "Better than you two. Remember when Lyssa tried to make pancakes with protein powder?"
"They looked like concrete pucks," Ikris grinned.
"And they tasted like regret," Sevik added.
It felt… normal. Too normal.
After dinner, they found an old karaoke machine in the apartment storage room. It was dusty and outdated, but Sevik insisted they set it up.
Lyssa refused to sing at first. "I don't embarrass myself."
But two songs later, she was belting out an off-key pop ballad with full dramatic flair. Ikris recorded the whole thing, just in case she ever needed blackmailing.
Sevik picked a cheesy rock anthem and added air guitar with his fork. Ikris chose a mellow old hit his brother used to hum on car rides.
For just one night, the world didn't feel broken.
Later, the three of them lay on the roof under a hazy city sky. Neon signs blinked across glass towers. Drones floated lazily overhead, scanning traffic.
"You guys ever wonder what we'd be doing if none of this had happened?" Lyssa asked.
Sevik shrugged. "Probably doing the same thing. Just with more pay and fewer bullets."
"I'd probably still be locked up in luxury," Ikris said. "Pretending I was a real person."
Lyssa rolled onto her side to face him. "You are a real person."
He looked at her—softened by the moment, her usually sharp eyes calm. "So are you."
She smiled. Not her usual smirk, but something gentler. "Thanks… hothead."
Back inside, Ikris took one last look at the files. They'd be walking into the lion's den. But they had the truth. They had each other.
He glanced at the wall where he'd pinned a photo of Darian—the one taken before the experiments. A bright-eyed kid with a crooked smile.
"I'm coming, little brother," he whispered. "They won't break you. Not while I'm alive."
Outside, thunder rumbled, and for a moment, it felt like the city itself held its breath.