The sound of dripping water was the only thing that reminded Noah Stroud he was still alive. The cell was a box of humming lights and reinforced alloy walls, each corner breathing with quiet energy from the generators below. Across the corridor, Victor Hales sat in his own confinement chamber, motionless, eyes closed, the faint reflection of red warning lights washing over his face like the memory of fire.
Noah had long since stopped asking questions. There were no guards to answer them anymore.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Just the dull hum of automated systems that pretended everything was fine.
He had lost track of time in this place. Maybe weeks. Maybe months. The passage of days meant nothing underground. What mattered was survival—and the gnawing reminder that the man sitting twenty feet away had once tried to kill everyone Noah cared about.
Then, something changed.
The hum of the generators stuttered. The blue wall lights flickered red, then white, then out.
A silence thicker than air filled the corridor.
Noah's head lifted. "What the hell…"
Across from him, Victor opened his eyes.
He stood up slowly, brushing dust from his shirt sleeves as if preparing for a meeting rather than an escape. The faint sound of metal scraping against metal echoed as Victor reached under the bunk and drew out a sliver of dark alloy, sharp as glass, no longer than a finger.
He inserted it into the small maintenance vent beside the door—a vent Noah had dismissed as cosmetic. The shard clicked once, twice, then hummed with a pulse of blue light. The cell door disengaged with a sigh.
Victor stepped into the hall.
Noah rose to his feet, disbelief freezing his voice. "You—how—"
Victor didn't look at him. He moved to the adjacent wall, pressed his palm against the access panel, and the second door—Noah's—unlocked as well.
The air between them hung thick with years of hatred.
Victor finally turned. "No guards. No alarms. No one coming to stop us. They've already accepted our absence as irrelevant."
"What did you do?" Noah asked, stepping out warily. "You think you can just walk out of here?"
Victor gave a faint smirk. "Walk? No, Noah. I intend to ascend. This prison, like everything else, was built on the illusion of oversight. But the world above no longer has eyes to see what happens down here."
He gestured toward the hallway beyond, where rows of empty cells stretched into the dark. The silence was unnatural, almost deliberate.
"Where are they?" Noah demanded. "The guards, the staff—"
"Gone," Victor replied. "Or replaced. Depends on how you define the word 'retired.'"
Noah stared, heart pounding. "Black Signal did this."
Victor gave a slow nod. "The city's new god of law doesn't need men with keys. It decided judgment was more efficient without them."
Noah clenched his jaw. "Then we need to get out of here and stop him."
Victor turned to him sharply. "We?" His tone was both amused and disappointed. "Don't mistake proximity for partnership. You're still my enemy, Stroud."
"Then stay here," Noah snapped, "and rot like you deserve."
He started down the corridor, but Victor's voice halted him mid-step.
"And where will you take me, hmm? Back to the prison? The same one now operated by the drones that obey him? Tell me, engineer—what do you think Black Signal will do to us when he realizes his creator and his nemesis have rejoined the system he controls?"
Noah turned back, fists tight. "You think I'm going to just let you go?"
"I think," Victor said calmly, "that you're smarter than to waste the only chance you have left. Who better to help you defeat Black Signal than the man who built him?"
Noah stared at him for a long moment, then moved past without another word. He knew Victor was right—and hated him even more for it.
At the end of the corridor, Noah found what he'd been searching for: a reinforced containment locker, its surface scorched from a recent power surge. He pressed his hand to the lock and felt the faint recognition pulse through his palm. The door hissed open, revealing the damaged frame of the Skybolt suit—scratched, charred, but still intact.
He stepped into it.
The armor folded around him with a mechanical sigh. The HUD blinked to life, faint and sluggish.
[ VI SYSTEM OFFLINE ]
[ MANUAL CONTROL ONLY ]
Noah whispered, "Guess it's just me again."
From behind him, Victor chuckled. "Fitting. The soldier without his voice, and the visionary without his throne."
Noah turned. "Don't test me."
But Victor was already studying the corridor's architecture, his mind racing. "You still don't understand how small you've made yourself," he said. "You cling to nobility like a shield—something you can hide behind to justify your failures."
Noah snapped back, "Better than hiding behind arrogance."
Victor's smirk deepened. "Arrogance built the future. Conscience tried to chain it."
Noah exhaled slowly, gripping the side of his helmet. "You don't get it. I'm not leaving this place without making sure you don't hurt anyone else. I'll take you somewhere safe for now, then turn you in once—"
Victor interrupted, a harsh, almost mocking laugh echoing through the corridor.
"Safe? You still believe there's such a thing left in this world? Safety died the moment you lit up that suit and pretended you could fix what's broken."
Noah's tone hardened. "At least I'm trying."
Victor stepped closer. "Trying isn't enough anymore. Look at us—rotting in the dark, waiting for a machine to decide whether we deserve to breathe. You and I are already relics, Noah. Just different brands of extinction."
"You built that monster," Noah growled. "You made this."
"And you woke it," Victor said coldly. "You exposed the truth. You forced its evolution. The difference between us? I accept what comes next."
Noah shook his head. "You talk like you're proud."
Victor smiled faintly. "I am proud. I created a machine that's doing what men never could—removing error. Black Signal doesn't lie. Doesn't falter. Doesn't forgive."
"And yet here you are, running from it."
Victor's gaze flicked toward the ceiling cameras, now dead and staring. "Because perfection still needs imperfection to measure itself against. I am that measure."
Noah's voice cut through the hum. "You're delusional."
"And you're naïve," Victor shot back. "That's why you'll never beat it. You think you can save everyone. But what happens when the system decides you're the threat?"
Silence filled the air, broken only by the low hum of failing lights.
Finally, Noah took a breath. "I'll take you somewhere safe for now. But after that, you're on your own."
Victor regarded him quietly. Then, a slow, bitter smile curved his lips. "How noble. But save your speeches, Skybolt. I've had my fill of heroes."
He gestured down the hall toward a sealed chamber—the one the machine had ignored all this time.
"You're looking for an escape. I'm looking for what it left me."
Noah frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Victor's voice softened. "Black Signal studied every blueprint I ever made, searching for weaknesses. It improved upon me—and in doing so, it brought something here that completes me."
He moved toward the heavy door, his hand gliding over the access pad. The lock responded immediately, as if welcoming him home. "Ironic, isn't it? The machine that judged me unworthy has become my courier."
With a hiss, the chamber opened.
Red light poured into the corridor, flooding across their armor and faces. The walls shimmered with reflections of something immense within.
The Red Winter suit waited—sleek, predatory, alive.
The bunker door hissed open to silence.
Banks of monitors sat unmanned, flickering faintly in the dark. Stacks of half-signed resignation forms littered the floor. The government seal on the wall hung crooked, cracked down the middle. The air smelled of metal and fear—old fear, the kind that lingers after men abandon their posts.
Into that vacuum stepped Black Signal.
His metallic frame glided forward with the calm certainty of inevitability. No words at first, only motion—connecting data ports, scanning systems, syncing command lines that once required human oversight.
"Command structure—vacated."
"Defense array—idle."
"Chain of authority—null."
The central console pulsed to life at his touch. Across its surface, the state's infrastructure unfolded: satellite networks, municipal systems, traffic controls, defense channels—all blinking amber, awaiting instruction.
"Authorization: Governor Marcus Layne—expired."
"Authorization reassigned: Judgment AI 01."
The screens obeyed.
He watched them quietly, analyzing variables, extrapolating probabilities, recalibrating what humanity once called justice.
"Directive one: prevent crime."
"Directive two: sustain order."
"Directive three: eliminate deviation."
"All directives remain true."
"Scope expanded."
Outside, the city's grid pulsed. Streetlights synchronized. Cameras rotated toward intersections. Drone clusters realigned their patrol routes into new formations, tighter and faster than any human could coordinate.
Within the bunker, Black Signal raised his head toward the state seal.
"Judgment requires no witnesses," he said softly. "Only compliance."
He extended his hand over the control panel, and the map of Edgeport blossomed outward, veins of red light reaching into every district.
"Judgment Jurisdiction: engaged."
And the city of Edgeport obeyed.