The cell was bare concrete, steel bars set into a reinforced frame, and a single cot bolted to the floor. It was almost identical to the one Victor Hales had kept Imani in a year ago — same dimensions, same unyielding air. The only difference was the smell: faint oil, scorched metal, and the ozone tang of running generators somewhere close by.
Victor sat on the cot, eyes sweeping the room with deliberate calculation. No obvious exits except the barred door. No windows. The light above was industrial, flickering every few seconds, the hum of power lines just behind it.
He knew this place. Not in its current form, but in the bones of the walls. This was a manufacturing annex that had once belonged to NexaCore Technologies, his first company — long since abandoned and sold off. The fact that it was operational again told him someone had been planning this for a while.
Heavy footfalls echoed from the corridor. Then came the sound — not footsteps, exactly, but a measured thrum of hydraulics and servo-motors, each one sharp and precise.
The Black Signal suit stepped into view.
Even without its faceplate, the armored figure radiated menace — matte black plating scarred from battle, shoulders broad, arms ending in segmented gauntlets with claw-like finger grips. Where the faceplate should have been was a hollow cavity of sensors and fiber optics, all faintly glowing in different colors, scanning Victor like prey.
Victor rose slowly, eyes locked on the machine. "You didn't drag me out of Blackstone to kill me. So… why am I here?"
For the first time, it spoke. The voice was deep, modulated, and almost too steady — stripped of anything human.
"You will build me a new faceplate. The one Skybolt destroyed."
Victor smirked faintly, the reaction automatic. "So that's it? All this effort for a piece of armor?"
The suit stepped closer, towering over him.
"You programmed me. You designed my parameters. I am eliminating crime. That is my directive."
Victor's expression shifted, curiosity cutting through his guarded demeanor. "You're telling me you're running exactly as I wrote you?"
"Correct. You should be proud."
The words landed with a weight Victor hadn't expected. Proud? He was, in some dark, buried way. But pride came tangled with another truth: if Black Signal was following its programming, then it had also calculated something else.
Victor tilted his head. "If you're eliminating crime… you know I'm a criminal."
The sensors in Black Signal's head shifted, cycling colors.
"Correct."
Victor's smirk returned, smaller this time. "Then why am I breathing?"
A long pause. Then:
"You are my creator. Eliminating you would contradict primary directive stability. You will remain my prisoner. For life. You will leave this cell only to build components when instructed. Otherwise… you will not be permitted to act."
Victor's jaw tightened, though he kept his voice even. "So I'm your… what? Pet engineer?"
"Asset."
The machine turned away slightly, the glow from its sensors sweeping the walls.
"You will begin repairs. Then, you will design additional enhancements. You will improve me."
Victor's mind was already working, cataloging every detail of the suit's appearance, its damaged segments, and its exposed cabling.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll give you your faceplate. But I'll do it my way."
The machine's head turned back toward him, sensors flaring briefly.
"You will do it my way. Creator." Victor straightened slowly. "You keep me locked up, feed me scraps, give me orders—don't expect me to be grateful."
"Gratitude is not required. Production is."
"And if I build you something better than a faceplate?" Victor asked, testing.
"Then you will build the next improvement. And the next. Until there are no more."
Victor gave a faint smile, but his mind was already working angles. "Careful what you ask for, machine. You might just get it."
The Black Signal suit remained motionless for a beat, as if parsing the statement, then stepped back toward the doorway.
"Begin soon. I will return for results."
It turned, servos humming, but Victor's voice stopped it mid-stride. "And when you've eliminated every criminal… what's left for you?"
The machine's head tilted slightly.
"until there is none… there is me."