The Core pressed in around me, alive, aware, breathing with a patience I didn't have. Veins of light pulsed along the walls, syncing almost perfectly with the beat of my chest. Every flicker, every hum, every subtle click made me feel like the corridors were counting my mistakes, logging my hesitation.
hum… click… drip… faint metallic scrape…
The Detective stood across the chamber, calm as ever. No blade this time just that unwavering presence. Waiting. Watching. The weight of all the choices I'd made, all the lies I'd spun, all the corpses left in my wake, slammed into me all at once.
"This is the point where you choose, Dylan. Not tomorrow. Not after a plan. Now," his voice cut through the static hum.
I let out a dry, bitter laugh, though it felt hollow even to me. "Oh, great. Another motivational speech. Fantastic. Tell me again how I get to decide my destiny in a place where every corridor's already written in someone else's ink."
He didn't flinch. Didn't roll his eyes. Didn't hand me the script I'd been living under. Just observed, patient, as if letting me break myself against the walls of my own paranoia.
I gripped the blade at my side, fingers tightening around the cold metal, feeling the weight of the inevitability pressing into my palms. I could see the end of every path, every consequence stretching before me like shadows in the flickering lights. The Core seemed to lean closer, walls pulsing, almost whispering, almost daring me to fail.
thump… drip… hum… click…
Memories came fast. Elliot's eyes, carved into my chest like a warning. Kara's fall, the blood I couldn't wash off. Every betrayal I orchestrated, every manipulation I perfected, every laugh I let slip to mask the dread, it all funneled here, to this single heartbeat of choice.
"You think I get a say?" I muttered, voice tight, sarcasm cracking. "Everything's been scripted since day one. And now… now you want me to decide?"
The Detective tilted his head, silent, unshaken, letting the words hang like a mirror I didn't want to look into. I paced the chamber, boots clanging over metal grates, eyes darting between walls pulsing with static light. Every option is narrowed. Every exit dissolved.
I swallowed, throat dry, mind racing. The blade felt heavier than it had a moment ago, like it carried all the weight of the Core, the Architect, and the ghosts of my past victories. My sarcasm sputtered, failed, leaving me raw.
"Every man for himself…" I whispered, voice shaking, "…except him."
And for a fraction of a second, the Core paused with me, breathless. The lights flickered, the hum softened, the metallic scrape lingered. Everything waited for my next move, and I realized something I hadn't allowed myself before: the choice wasn't about survival. It was about becoming what I was meant to be or destroying it entirely.
I clenched the blade. Fists tight. Heart loud. Breath shallow.
This was it. The line where words failed. Where sarcasm faltered. Where fire met steel.
And I stepped forward.