The morning came without color.
Gray sky, gray light, gray air — like the world itself was holding its breath.
24 woke before the alarms, already dressed. The hum of generators carried faintly through the walls of Outpost Nine, blending with the echo of drills in the courtyard.
Lu was still sitting near the cot, sharpening her blade in slow, careful motions.
The sound was rhythmic — a quiet rasp of metal on stone.
Then the knock came.
Hard. Deliberate.
24 didn't move at first.
He already knew who it was.
The same gray-haired lieutenant waited at the door, face unreadable.
"Commander wants you," she said.
"Alone."
24 nodded once. No questions.
He slipped his scarf tighter around his neck, shadowing the brand beneath it.
Lu rose slightly, voice low.
"You want me to come?"
"No," he said. "Keep your head down. Listen. Watch."
She hesitated, then gave a small nod — trusting him, though her grip on the blade didn't ease.
The walk through the base was long and silent.
24 caught glimpses of the soldiers drilling outside — their eyes tracking him with that same half-curious, half-wary suspicion.
They whispered as he passed, though never loud enough to make out words.
The Commander's quarters sat deep in the old control bunker — a room once meant for war councils, now cluttered with maps, datapads, and stacks of scavenged reports.
The door shut behind 24 with a hiss of pneumatic locks.
The Commander stood by a table scattered with files, his cybernetic eye dimly glowing red as it flicked across screens.
He didn't look up at first.
"You've got a quiet way about you, Kane," he said. "Most men who can move like that tend to talk louder."
"Talking gets in the way," 24 replied evenly.
"That it does."
The Commander finally looked up, studying him — that steady, unblinking stare of someone who'd seen enough men lie to know when one wasn't telling the whole truth.
"You and the girl," the Commander began, voice low, controlled.
"You fight too clean. Too trained. Not scavengers, not settlers.
You don't move like soldiers, either. You move like something else."
24's face didn't shift. His voice stayed flat, calm.
"We've had to survive. Survival teaches better than any army."
The Commander's brow twitched — almost a smirk, but not quite.
"Maybe. But survival doesn't teach tactics like that. You saw the canyon before I even told you the map coordinates were bad terrain.
You saw through the ambush before it happened. Hell, you let it happen, didn't you?"
Silence.
24 didn't answer, and that silence filled the space like a threat.
"You've got a scar on your neck," the Commander said finally, gesturing vaguely. "Old brand. You've kept it covered since you got here. What's it mean?"
"It means I don't belong to anyone," 24 said, tone almost too calm.
The Commander's cybernetic eye flickered brighter, scanning.
"You sure about that?"
24 met his gaze — gray eyes cold, still, unreadable.
"If I wasn't," he said quietly, "you wouldn't still be talking."
For a long moment, neither moved.
The only sound was the low hum of the monitors and the distant rumble of generators underground.
The Commander's jaw tightened, and he leaned forward just slightly.
"You threatening me, Kane?"
24's voice didn't rise. It didn't need to.
"No. Just reminding you that I'm not your enemy.
But if you push hard enough to make me one—"
He let the silence finish the sentence for him.
The Commander didn't blink. The glow in his cybernetic eye dimmed a shade — not fear exactly, but calculation.
He was smart enough to recognize danger when it was speaking calmly to him.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair.
"All right," he said slowly. "You're not my enemy. Not yet.
But I'll be damned if I know what you are."
24 looked down at the table — at the map showing the wastelands and the twisted ruins beyond. His voice came quiet, almost a whisper.
"You don't want to know what I am, Commander.
You just want me to stay pointed in the right direction."
"And what direction's that?"
24's eyes lifted, a flicker of something cold behind them.
"Away from you."
The Commander gave a small, sharp laugh — but it sounded more nervous than amused.
"You've got a hell of a way of making people uneasy, Kane."
"Keeps them honest."
24 turned toward the door. The Commander didn't stop him.
But just before leaving, 24 paused, looking back over his shoulder — his face half in shadow.
"If you're smart, Commander," he said softly,
"you'll stop testing people you don't understand."
Then he was gone.
When the door closed, the Commander sat back in his chair, staring at the empty space where 24 had stood.
The hum of his cybernetic eye filled the silence.
He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out.
"Who the hell are you," he muttered under his breath,
"and what did we just let inside these walls?"