The mission file felt heavier than it should.
I sat on my narrow cot, staring at the photograph clipped to the inside cover. Marcus Reeves, age sixteen. Mixed-blood heritage—Steel family father, human mother. Crime: theft of classified family documents and attempted sale to Crimson family competitors.
Sentence: immediate termination.
He looked like a kid. Messy brown hair, serious dark eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. The kind of face you'd see in a university library, not on a kill order.
But mixed-bloods were always trouble. Everyone knew that. Pure bloodlines were stable, predictable, valuable. Mixed genetics created unpredictable abilities, unstable loyalties, dangerous variables. The families tolerated them for breeding programs and cannon fodder, but trust?
Never.
I flipped through the intelligence reports. Marcus lived in Sector 7 with his younger sister, Maya, age twelve. Father deceased—killed in a Steel family internal purge two years ago. Mother deceased—natural causes. No other living relatives.
Two orphans, scraping by on the edges of society.
My chest tightened reading that. The same strange pressure I'd felt in the hotel corridor, in Kane's lab, every time I tried to sleep. Like something was trying to break free from inside my ribcage.
I closed the file and checked my gear. Silver-loaded pistol. Combat knife. Lockpicks. Surveillance equipment. Emergency medkit. Everything I needed to end a sixteen-year-old boy's life and disappear without a trace.
The transport tunnel to Sector 7 stretched dark and empty ahead of me, lit by occasional maintenance lights that cast everything in sickly yellow. My footsteps echoed off damp concrete walls, keeping time with the distant hum of the underground city's power grid.
Sector 7 was one of the middle levels—not rich enough for real security, not poor enough to be completely lawless. Mixed-bloods clustered here alongside humans who'd fallen from the upper levels and pure-bloods who'd lost family favor. Everyone desperate. Everyone dangerous in their own small ways.
The residential blocks looked like prison cells stacked on top of each other. Gray concrete, tiny windows, minimal utilities. I counted floors and apartment numbers until I found the right one: Building C, Apartment 247.
Intel said the boy would be alone tonight. His sister was in the hospital—some kind of blood disorder common in mixed genetics. He'd be vulnerable, distracted, easy prey.
I scaled the fire escape on the building's exterior, boots silent on the metal grating. The lock on the apartment's back window was cheap, designed to keep out casual thieves rather than professional killers. It yielded to my tools in seconds.
The apartment was smaller than my quarters at Genesis Labs. A combined living room and kitchen, one bedroom, a bathroom so narrow you could touch both walls at once. Secondhand furniture held together with tape and hope. The air smelled like instant noodles and desperation.
But it was clean. Someone had swept the floors, organized the few books on makeshift shelves, arranged cushions on the couch to hide the worn patches. Someone cared about this place, tried to make it home.
I heard voices from the bedroom. Quiet conversation, gentle and familiar.
"It's okay, Maya. The medicine will help."
"It tastes awful."
"I know. But you have to take it. Doctor's orders."
I moved closer, keeping to the shadows. The bedroom door was cracked open, letting me see inside.
Marcus sat on the edge of a narrow bed, holding a glass of water and a handful of pills. The girl—Maya—was propped up against pillows, pale and thin under a patched quilt. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, and her breathing sounded labored.
She looked nothing like her brother. Light brown hair where his was dark, delicate features where his were angular. But when she smiled at him, the family resemblance was unmistakable. The same determined set to their jaws, the same fierce loyalty in their eyes.
"Tell me the story again," Maya said after swallowing the pills with obvious effort. "About Dad."
Marcus set the water glass on a crate that served as a nightstand. "Which story?"
"The one where he saved you from the bullies."
Marcus smiled—genuine warmth that transformed his serious face into something younger, more vulnerable. "You've heard it a hundred times."
"Tell it again."
So he did. Voice soft, hands gentle as he adjusted her blankets, he told her about their father standing up to three older boys who'd been picking on Marcus for his mixed heritage. How he'd taught Marcus that strength wasn't about blood purity, but about protecting the people you loved.
"He wasn't afraid of anything," Maya whispered.
"No," Marcus agreed. "He wasn't."
But I could see fear in his eyes now. Fear for her, for their uncertain future, for the pills running low and the medical bills piling up. Fear that showed in the way his hands shook when he thought she wasn't looking.
I raised my pistol.
Standard operating procedure was simple. Double-tap to the center mass, one to the head for confirmation. Quick, efficient, painless. The girl would likely die anyway without someone to care for her. I'd be doing them both a favor.
The pressure in my chest exploded into full-blown pain.
My vision blurred. The pistol felt impossibly heavy in my hands. Every breath was a struggle, like someone had wrapped steel cables around my lungs and pulled tight.
"Your real name is—"
The memory fragment hit without warning. That woman's voice, desperate and loving. Her tears falling on my face as she held me close.
"You are not what they made you. You are more than the sum of your parts."
I blinked hard, forcing the memory away. Mission parameters were clear. Target was confirmed. I had authorization from the highest levels.
But Marcus was reading to his sister now. Some story about brave knights and distant kingdoms, his voice painting pictures of hope in a world that had given them so little reason for it. Maya's eyes were bright with fever and imagination, completely focused on her brother's words.
They loved each other.
The realization hit me like a physical blow. This wasn't duty or obligation or genetic programming. This was choice. Marcus could abandon his sick sister, disappear into the underground city's criminal networks, maybe even buy passage to the surface. Instead, he stayed. He cared for her, told her stories, made their tiny apartment into a sanctuary.
He chose love over survival.
Something cracked inside my chest. Not breaking—opening. Like a door I'd never known existed suddenly swinging wide.
I lowered the gun.
Marcus looked up, finally noticing the shadow in his doorway. His face went white, but he didn't move away from his sister. Instead, he shifted slightly, putting himself between Maya and me.
"Please," he whispered. "She's just a kid."
The smart play was to eliminate them both. No witnesses, no complications. Clean and simple.
Instead, I holstered my weapon.
"Get dressed," I said. "Both of you. You have maybe five minutes."
Marcus stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language. "What?"
"The families know where you are. If you're still here when backup arrives, we're all dead." I moved to the window, checking sight lines and escape routes. "Can she walk?"
"I... yes, but..." Marcus helped Maya sit up, his movements automatic even as his brain struggled to process what was happening. "Who are you?"
"Someone making a very stupid choice." I turned back to them. "Where did you hide the documents?"
His eyes went wide. "How did you—"
"Answer the question."
Marcus glanced at Maya, then made some internal decision. He reached under the bed and pulled out a sealed envelope, thick with papers and data chips.
"Why?" he asked. "Why help us?"
I didn't have an answer for that. Couldn't explain the pain in my chest, the memories fighting their way through Kane's mental barriers, the way Maya's trust in her brother reminded me of something I'd lost before I'd ever known I had it.
"Because you're not the real threat," I said finally. "And she doesn't deserve to pay for your mistakes."
Maya coughed, the sound wet and painful. Marcus was at her side instantly, helping her to her feet. She leaned heavily against him, but managed to stay upright.
"The roof," I said. "Fire escape goes all the way up. From there, you can reach the maintenance tunnels."
"And go where?" Marcus asked.
Good question. Mixed-bloods had limited options in New Los Angeles. The surface was controlled by corporations that didn't care about bloodlines but demanded skills these kids didn't have. The deep levels were ruled by gangs that would eat them alive.
"Elena Cross," I said, surprising myself. "Blood Rose bar, Level 19. Tell her Null sent you."
I had no idea if Elena would help them. But she'd looked at me like I was more than a weapon, spoken to me like I had choices. Maybe she'd extend that courtesy to two scared kids.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer.
"Go," I said. "Now."
Marcus gathered a small bag of clothes and medicine while Maya wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. They moved slowly but steadily toward the window, trust and desperation overriding their fear of me.
At the fire escape, Marcus paused.
"Thank you," he said.
I watched them climb toward the roof, Maya's breathing labored but determined, Marcus's protective arm never leaving her shoulders. When they disappeared over the edge, I allowed myself thirty seconds to wonder what I'd just done.
Then the apartment door exploded inward.
Five Steel family enforcers poured through the entrance, weapons drawn, tactical gear gleaming under the apartment's cheap lights. Their leader—a pure-blood with the family's characteristic silver hair and gray eyes—surveyed the empty room with obvious frustration.
"Where are they?" he demanded.
I stood in the center of the living room, hands visible and empty. "Gone."
"Gone where?"
"Does it matter? Your targets escaped. Mission failed." I met his gaze steadily. "Again."
His gray eyes narrowed. "You were supposed to eliminate them, not help them run."
"I was supposed to follow orders. My orders were to terminate Marcus Reeves." I gestured at the empty apartment. "He's not here."
"Don't play word games with me, Genesis. We have surveillance footage from the building exterior. Two figures climbing to the roof. One of them matched the target's profile."
Shit. I'd forgotten about external monitoring.
"Your surveillance, your problem," I said. "I completed my assignment parameters as specified."
The enforcer stepped closer, his weapon trained on my chest. "Dr. Kane is going to be very interested in this conversation."
"I'm sure he will be."
Two more enforcers moved to flank me while the others searched the apartment. They found nothing—Marcus had taken the stolen documents, and there was nothing else here worth fighting over.
"Secure the Genesis unit," the leader ordered. "Transport her back to the labs."
They zip-tied my hands behind my back and activated a neural dampener that made my thoughts feel sluggish and distant. Standard procedure for containing a malfunctioning asset.
But as they marched me toward the transport, I felt something I'd never experienced before.
I felt proud.
Two kids were alive tonight because I'd chosen mercy over mission parameters. Because I'd decided their lives mattered more than following orders.
Because for the first time in my existence, I'd acted like a human being instead of a weapon.
The pain in my chest was still there, but it felt different now. Not like something breaking, but like something growing. Like a seed finally finding soil and sunlight after being buried too long in darkness.
Kane was going to be furious. The families would demand explanations. There would be consequences, punishments, perhaps even termination.
But Maya would live another day. And Marcus would be there to take care of her.
That had to count for something.
The transport rumbled through the underground tunnels, carrying me back to Genesis Labs and whatever waited there. I closed my eyes and tried to hold onto the image of Maya's smile when Marcus finished his story.
Some things were worth protecting. Some choices were worth the price.
Even if I didn't fully understand what I'd become, or what these strange feelings meant, or why the memory of that woman's lullaby made me want to fight against everything I'd been designed to accept.
All I knew was that tomorrow, when Kane asked me to explain my actions, I wouldn't apologize.
I'd ask for another assignment.
End of Chapter 3