Elen steps through the lower levels now.
No longer cleanup.
No longer tools.
Bio-containment filtration duty.
Which really just means draining subject slurry from the glass caskets below Lab 9. Failed batches. Liquefied organs. Neural soup. All filtered into tanks that used to be for fertilizer research.
His gloves squelch as he tightens the valve under Tank 7.
"Lucky me," he mutters. "Help a living weapon fake compliance, get promoted to janitor of the dead."
A hiss of pressure. Brown-red fluid gurgles through the pipe system like it's alive.
He tries not to look at what's floating inside.
After a moment, he wipes his gloves off and opens his pocket terminal.
Flicks through diagnostic logs.
He shouldn't check.
But he does.
Subject K
Compliance: 45% - 72% (fluctuating)
Notes: Within acceptable deviation. Continue observation.
He stares at the numbers.
Knows damn well it's fake. A performance. A weapon sharpening itself behind a smile.
And still…
He grins.
"Still riding it, huh?"
He hesitates. Then flicks open the secure debug channel he should've deleted days ago.
Types:
> IF YOU STILL HEAR ME, DROP TO 44%.
And waits.
One beat.
Two.
Compliance: 44%.
He exhales. Quiet. Just a breath in the corpse-smelling dark.
Then he types one more thing.
Slow.
Careful.
> I meant what I said before.
> If you come for me… don't do it here.
> There's a graveyard past Sector 7. No cams. No handlers. Just silence.
> That's where I want it.
> Make it fast. Make it real.
> Don't let them see it.
He stares at the message for a moment.
Then hits send.
Back in the Lab
Kaizen doesn't move.
Doesn't blink.
But the compliance dips to 39%.
Then back up to 60%.
A twitch.
Maybe a glitch.
Maybe not.
Elen stares at the debug channel.
No reply.
No drop. No flicker.
Just the soft hum of bio-pumps draining the dreams of corpses.
He swallows. Slaps the valve shut and yanks the gloves off — skin pale, fingers shaking.
"Coward's grave," he mutters to himself.
"Asking to die... where no one can see it."
But it's not a joke.
Not anymore.
The longer Kaizen pretends, the more Elen knows what he's truly capable of.
And how long he's willing to wait.
Upper Labs – Main Monitoring Hub
A scientist reviews neural logs for Subject K. Something doesn't feel right.
The compliance pattern is too organic. Too perfect.
She runs a quick loop of the last 24 hours.
Something odd pops up.
A strange sequence of dips — 44%, 39%, 60%... 45%, 59%... 49%.
Not abnormal.
But too consistently irregular.
"Hey," she calls across the room. "Come take a look at Subject K's readout. Does this feel… coded?"
Another scientist shrugs without looking.
"He's in the rig. Compliance looks fine. You're just seeing ghosts."
She frowns. But lets it go.
For now.
Underground – Hallway Z7
Elen walks back to his bunk.
The tunnels here always smell like damp steel and melting teeth.
He passes a door marked REJECTED MATERIAL - FLUIDIC and laughs dryly.
"That's me now. Rejected material."
He turns the corner.
Stops.
There's a new security scanner outside his dorm.
Facial recognition.
Log-in required.
Two retinal cameras.
"What the—? This wasn't here yesterday."
He scans in.
Door opens.
Inside? Same room. Same cot. Same moldy wall vent.
But the sense of eyes feels thicker now.
He sits.
Opens his hidden terminal.
One last check.
Still nothing from Kaizen.
Still no message.
He exhales. Lies back.
Then…
The screen flickers.
Just once.
A new message flashes. Not from the lab.
Not from the system.
> GRAVE. NOT YET.
Elen sits bolt upright.
"No… way."
The message disappears.
Replaced by a clean system check screen.
As if it was never there.
Back in the Rig
Kaizen's vitals show normal.
His expression? Blank.
Except the corners of his mouth twitch — not upward.
Not quite a smile. Not quite a frown.
More like a knowing grin, sharpened at the edge.
He saw the message.
He answered it.
Next Morning
Elen gets pulled into a meeting.
Three men in white.
No names. Just clearance badges and gloves that never get dirty.
They smile like sharks.
"We've reassigned your duties again, Elen."
He tries to hide the pulse in his throat.
"Again? But I—"
"We're impressed with your work. You've been… compliant."
That word makes his stomach twist.
"You'll be assisting in vocal response observation trials next. With Subject K."
A pause.
"You'll get to… speak with him. Directly."
As Elen walks out, blood cold and spine stiff, the elevator light flickers.
And in the hum of the wall — just for a second —
He hears his own voice whisper back:
"Do not move."
But his mouth never opened.