The rebel city never slept. From the highest steel arches to the lowest torch-lit tunnels, there was always the rumble of machinery, the shuffle of boots, the whispers of watchmen. Kieran had been inside for only a handful of days, yet the rhythms already pressed against him like a tide he didn't belong to. Wherever he went, eyes followed him—suspicious, hostile, or worse, curious.
He couldn't decide which was more dangerous.
Lira walked beside him as they passed through the market corridor, where children darted between makeshift stalls and guards leaned on their rifles like coiled springs. She kept her head down, shoulders tense, as if willing herself to be invisible. It was hard when half the city stared openly at the chrome plating that caught the light from Kieran's frame.
"You should stop walking like that," Lira muttered.
"Like what?"
"Like you own the place. People already think you're dangerous. No need to prove them right."
Kieran's red optics flickered faintly. He slowed his stride, but the weight of his new body always made him feel like each step announced itself. "Maybe they should be afraid," he said, quieter than he intended.
"Maybe," Lira replied, her eyes flashing toward him. "But if you want to survive here, fear isn't the card to play. Trust is. And you don't have any."
Before he could answer, the corridor widened into the central atrium. Dozens of rebels milled about, armed and restless. At the far end, Helen stood on the raised platform where the old metro station's ticket booths had been converted into command posts. Her silver-streaked hair caught the dim light, but her eyes were sharper than ever, scanning the crowd with a soldier's precision.
When she saw Kieran, her gaze lingered.
"Subject-09," she called out, her voice carrying like steel drawn from a sheath.
Kieran hated that name, but he stepped forward anyway. The rebels parted around him reluctantly, some muttering under their breath. He caught words like "machine," "risk," and "time bomb."
Helen gestured him closer. "Walk with me."
They moved into the command chamber, its walls plastered with old maps and flickering monitors scavenged from forgotten tech. A tactical table displayed a holographic layout of a tower surrounded by scarlet indicators. Kieran recognized the structure instantly—he'd seen it looming beyond the ruins when he first arrived.
"The Dominion has fortified the old relay spire," Helen began. Her tone was clipped, efficient. "It's no ordinary tower. It's a control node. From there, they coordinate drone swarms, track resistance cells, and choke supply lines. If it falls, the city breathes again. If it stands, we choke."
She looked at him then, and the weight of her gaze made even his synthetic frame feel heavy. "We're going to take it."
Kieran studied the projection. The tower bristled with defenses: aerial drones, perimeter cannons, layered barricades. A siege, she'd called it—and she wasn't wrong.
"You want me on the front line." It wasn't a question.
Helen didn't flinch. "I want to see what you really are."
Around the table, several rebel officers exchanged uneasy glances. One slammed his fist against the metal. "Commander, with respect—this thing isn't one of us! How do we know it won't turn mid-fight and gut us from behind?"
"Because if it wanted us dead," Helen said coldly, "we'd already be corpses."
Silence stretched. Kieran felt the hostility like heat against his sensors.
"I don't need their trust," he said, his voice steady but tinged with static. "Just point me where to go."
Helen stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "Understand something, Subject-09. This mission is not only about victory. It's about you. If you fight with us, maybe they'll begin to see you as more than a weapon. If you don't…" Her eyes narrowed. "I won't protect you from what comes after."
Kieran's optics dimmed briefly. He thought of the voice he had been hearing in the quiet hours, the one that whispered from the shadows of his own mind. A voice not quite his, not quite machine. Sometimes it urged him to fight. Sometimes it urged him to destroy.
What if it spoke louder during battle?
He clenched his chrome fists, feeling servomotors strain. "Then we'd better win."
Helen nodded once. "Good. You leave at dawn."
Lira stepped out from the shadows of the chamber, arms folded tightly. "You're sending him with me?" she asked sharply.
"Yes," Helen said. "You know the terrain. And he needs someone who won't hesitate to put a bullet in him if he falters."
Lira's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. She only glanced at Kieran, eyes unreadable.
The meeting dissolved into preparations. Maps shifted, weapons were distributed, orders barked. Kieran remained still, staring at the glowing tower projection. It pulsed red like a beating heart.
Later that night, as the city dimmed into restless half-sleep, Kieran sat alone on a balcony overlooking the underground streets. He flexed his mechanical hands, listening to the faint whir of gears. In the darkness behind his thoughts, the voice stirred again.
You don't belong with them.
Kieran froze.
They will never trust you. They fear you. You know why? Because you are not theirs. You were built for something greater.
He pressed his hands against his head, optics flickering. "Shut up."
The voice only chuckled—his own laugh, distorted.
Tomorrow, in the fire and blood, you'll see. You're not one of them. You're not Kieran. You're me.
He didn't sleep that night, though his body didn't need rest. At dawn, the rebels gathered at the city's outer gates, armored and armed, the tension in the air sharp enough to cut. Helen addressed them briefly, her words efficient, a spark to ignite soldiers already burning with anger.
When she finished, all eyes fell on Kieran. Some glared. Some spat. Others looked away entirely.
Lira approached, rifle slung across her shoulder, expression grim. "Stay close to me. If you get any ideas, remember—I won't hesitate."
Kieran met her stare. "If I lose control, you won't have time."
Her lips thinned, but she didn't argue.
The gates groaned open. The ruined world beyond stretched into storm-lit skies and shattered highways. In the distance, the tower rose like a spear against the horizon, its defenses already humming with power.
Helen's voice cut through the air, steady and sharp. "Rebels, move out."
And with that, the march to the siege began.