When I woke, I was in a poorly lit room.
Metal walls.
And a single chair in the middle.
I pushed myself up, every muscle aching, throat burning where his fingers had left their mark.
My voice rasped when I tried to speak — a hoarse whisper that didn't sound like mine.
He'd choked me until I blacked out. With one hand.
I paced the small room, testing my balance.
The silence pressed in from every direction — no vents, no hum, no echo beyond my own breathing.
It was too calm. Too deliberate.
He'd left me here on purpose — to wait. To see what I'd do.
My pulse spiked.
I grabbed the chair and hurled it against the wall.
The impact splintered through the quiet like a gunshot.
The chair bounced, splintered, fell sideways. I kicked it once for good measure, then went to the door and slammed my fists against it.
"Coward!"
My voice tore in my throat.
"Come on! You don't like losing control, do you?"
Nothing.
Just that same faint hum in the walls.
I pressed my forehead against the metal, breathing hard as the edges of panic began to creep back in.
Then I saw the wrecked chair.
The leg had snapped halfway, jagged at the end.
I could've used that. A good strike to the back — maybe the neck — and someone would've gone down long enough for me to run.
Instead, I'd wasted it on a wall.
Brilliant.
I slid down with my back against the cold metal, the broken chair leg still in my hand.
At least it was something — primitive, but a weapon all the same.
I pulled my knees to my chest, forcing my breathing to slow.
The ache in my throat pulsed with every heartbeat.
I rubbed at it absently, then stopped when my fingers brushed bruised skin.
That was when the laughter started.
Soft at first — more an exhale than a sound.
Then sharper, louder, echoing off the walls.
I couldn't stop.
My favorite character had choked me. But not in a good way.
The absurdity cracked something open inside me — a brittle, manic edge that dissolved into laughter until it hurt.
How the hell is this happening?
When it finally faded, I was left hollow and trembling, my forehead pressed to my knees.
I closed my eyes.
Think.
I was weaker than Sylus. That much was obvious.
Weaker than anyone with an Evol, probably.
But this was a world built on rules — coded ones, maybe. Systems.
If this was a game… then I should have one too, right?
An Evol.
Did that mean I had potential — something buried, waiting?
Maybe that was the only chance I had.
I had to get stronger.
In games, you trained to level up.
And training started with movement.
"Fine," I muttered to the empty room. "Let's see if this counts."
I pushed to my feet and started stretching.
Slow at first — rolling my shoulders, neck, working the stiffness from my limbs.
My throat throbbed with every breath, but that only made me dig in harder.
Warm-up, then stance.
I shifted my weight between my feet, testing balance, then snapped my knee up into an invisible target.
The impact reverberated through my body.
I followed with elbows, hooks, blocks, pivots — strikes meant for close range and survival.
My fists cut through the still air, each movement sharp, deliberate.
The rhythm took over.
Step, strike, guard.
Breathe. Again.
Sweat slicked down my temples, soaking into the collar of my shirt.
It wasn't elegant, but it was something.
Minutes bled together until my lungs burned and my arms felt heavy.
I leaned forward, palms on my knees, trying to catch my breath.
That was when I felt it.
A pulse.
Not from my heart — but around me.
Like ripples moving through the air, faint waves brushing against my skin.
I straightened slowly. The sensation followed.
Not sound. Not vibration — awareness.
Of signals, faint and fractured, like data trying to organize itself in the dark.
"What the hell…" I whispered.
My gaze dropped to my clothes — standard Hunter uniform.
I didn't remember putting it on.
And on my wrist —
A Hunter's watch. Sleek, black, standard-issue.
Of course, there was no signal.
But the weird part was that I didn't have to lift my arm to check.
I knew. I could feel the absence of connection — a dead static hum where the network should've been.
Was that it?
My Evol?
Something to do with tech. With sensing networks, signals — maybe even manipulating them?
I took a step forward, testing the air again.
The pulses shifted slightly, trailing the motion of my body — like the room itself had become part of a grid I could sense.
Excitement sparked through the exhaustion.
If I could feel it, maybe I could learn to use it.
I wiped the sweat from my brow, squared my stance, and started again — kicks, elbows, knees — rhythm folding into breath, breath folding into something deeper.
The strange pulse moved with me now, resonant, alive.
If this world ran on power, I was going to find mine.
Minutes passed.
My lungs burned, my shoulders ached, but I kept moving — step, strike, guard, breathe, reset.
Sweat traced lines down my spine, pooling at the waistband of the gear.
Then it came again. Another wave. Not just around me this time — through me.
It was sharper, clearer — like the faint hum of static that precedes a signal.
It wasn't sound, but instinct told me it was information — and something in that information told me: look up.
I froze mid-step and followed the pull.
There, high in the corner of the room, a tiny black dome gleamed against the metal wall.
Inside it, a small red light blinked once.
Then again.
A camera.
I was being watched the whole time. That was expected.
I stared at that faint pulse of red until my eyes burned.
The light blinked again — steady, patient, unblinking.
I didn't move.
I didn't speak.
I just kept staring, willing it to stop working, to melt, to break.
It didn't.
But I didn't look away.
—
The feed stuttered once.
Just for a moment — one frame lost, half a second of static.
Enough to catch Sylus's attention.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the monitor.
The footage stabilized: the woman — Diana — was standing in the middle of the containment room, drenched in sweat, her gaze locked on the camera.
Unblinking.
The red indicator light reflected in her eyes like a crosshair.
"She's looking straight into the sensor," said a voice from behind him.
Kieran, sharp and measured as ever, stood by the console, scrolling through readings. "Her pulse rate spiked, but there's no sign of panic. Adrenal response is steady."
"She's not panicking," Sylus said quietly.
He didn't look away from the screen.
The shadows on the monitor shifted subtly, as though the room itself were holding its breath.
The faint distortion in the feed made it seem like static pulsed around her — tiny disruptions that shouldn't have been there.
Luke leaned against the wall, arms folded. "Looks like she's trying to kill the camera with her eyes."
Kieran's lips curved faintly. "You think it's working?"
Sylus's gaze narrowed. "For half a second, yes."
He gestured to the playback control, and Kieran rewound the footage.
The image jumped back to the moment before the flicker. Frame by frame, they watched as the camera's red light dimmed — just slightly — and then recovered.
No external interference.
No signal loss from the main hub.
Just her.
"She's interacting with the frequency," Kieran said after a moment, brow furrowing. "The field around her shifted right before the distortion. We logged the same flux when she was moving earlier. Resonance spike."
"Unregistered pattern," Luke added. "Not psychic. Not elemental. And it's definitely not mechanical."
"No," Sylus murmured. "It's… interpretive."
The word hung in the air.
He replayed the clip again. Her movements, the precision of her strikes, the rhythm of her breathing — it was deliberate.
She'd been testing something. "She's aware," he said.
"Of the cameras?" Luke asked.
"Of the system," Sylus corrected. "She's learning how to feel it."
Kieran straightened. "You think she's adapting?"
Sylus didn't answer immediately.
His gaze lingered on the faint bruises circling her throat — the mark of his own hand.
"I think," he said finally, "she's not done fighting."
Silence followed.
"You want us to sedate her again?" Kieran asked.
Sylus shook his head slowly. "No. Let her think she's alone. The more she moves, the more we learn."
Luke smirked. "I think Boss is enjoying this."
He ignored the comment. His attention was still fixed on the screen, on the woman staring at the camera like she could see him through it.
He almost believed she could.
The corner of his mouth twitched — a shadow of something not quite amusement. "Let's see how long it takes before she realizes she's the one running the test," he said.
The feed crackled faintly — one last flicker, quick enough to miss if you blinked.
Sylus didn't blink.
After a while, he turned to the twins. "Check if Elara is conscious yet. If she is, prepare her for another test."
Both nodded once and left without a word.
When they were gone, the room fell quiet again.
The only sound was the hum of the monitors.
Sylus's attention returned to the feed.
Diana sat in the center of the containment room now, cross-legged on the floor.
Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and even.
It looked almost like meditation, but he could tell it wasn't passive.
The pattern of her vitals — heart rate, respiration, micro-muscle tension — showed deliberate control.
She wasn't resting — she was regulating.
He leaned forward slightly, studying her through the static grain of the feed.
Elara's reactions had been fragile — too easily overwhelmed to sustain a proper resonance.
Every attempt to reach her ended the same way: a surge of connection followed by collapse.
Her Aether flared bright, then broke, leaving her unconscious before he could finish the link.
It was as if she couldn't bear the pressure of his presence. That's why he needed to try again as soon as possible.
She had to remember.
Diana was the opposite.
Where Elara yielded too easily, Diana didn't yield at all.
She absorbed the pressure, contained it, and looked back at him like he was the one being dissected.
Even when he'd tightened his hand around her throat, she hadn't begged.
She'd fought — but without panic.
Composure instead of surrender.
Stillness instead of collapse.
He couldn't read her.
And that, more than defiance, made her dangerous.
He switched to the biometric overlay.
Her neural signature was stable, consistent with mild meditative training.
He keyed a command into the terminal.
One of the monitors shifted from live feed to file data — lines of text and biometric schematics flickering across the dark glass.
He wanted data to explain what instinct refused to.
He grabbed the tablet with her file.
[CLASSIFIED FILE // ONYCHINUS INTERNAL ARCHIVE]
SUBJECT: Diana Vale
Known aliases: NullKey, Meg, Black Chiffon
Status: Contained — N109 Facility, Observation Chamber 4
Origin: Human (Pre-Chronorift Catastrophe, Earth)
Affiliation: Hunters Association, Team UNICORN (Data Security Division)
Occupation (prior): Cybersecurity Analyst / Former Independent Contractor
Known Associations: Government black programs / criminal syndicates (contractual, non-aligned)
Evolutionary Status: Unregistered Evolver
Designation: Technosensory Resonance — passive and instinctive perception of digital and electromagnetic systems.
Classification: Unstable / Undefined
Observed Behavior: Unable to be synchronized through standard Evol linkage protocols.
PHYSICAL SUMMARY:
Height: 171 cm
Build: Athletic; functional musculature with balanced adipose retention.
Conditioning: Combat-capable; close-quarters specialization.
Visual markers: Black eyes. Dark hair, shoulder length. Partial sleeve tattoos (upper arms). Deep scar across the back, from left ribs to right hip.
COMBAT READINESS:
Primary discipline: Mixed Martial Arts.
Secondary: Firearm competency — Level 2, civilian tactical.
Behavioral markers: Focus increases under duress; maintains logic during high-threat scenarios.
Notable: Exhibits anti-flight reflex — chooses confrontation over retreat, regardless of probability. Has been repeatedly restrained from field assignments after placing herself in unnecessary danger.
CRIMINAL RECORD:
Conviction: [REDACTED]
Sentence: [REDACTED] (early release for cooperation).
Additional notes: File redactions authorized by UNICORN Directorate. Access restricted to Tier A clearance.
Sylus's eyes paused at the black bars where her crime and sentence should have been.
He let out a quiet laugh.
"Of course," he murmured, lips curling faintly. "They always redact the interesting parts."
It wasn't judgment. It was recognition.
He scrolled down, thumb pressing harder than necessary — as if the file might yield something under pressure.
PSYCHOLOGICAL SUMMARY:
Cognitive profile: Controlled. Adaptive. Displays detached humor under threat.
Emotional response pattern: Fear converted to analysis.
Moral alignment: Personal-code adherence; rejects imposed authority.
Anomaly: Demonstrates calm escalation under pressure rather than breakdown.
Risk assessment: Medium physical threat / High information threat.
When he finished reading, he leaned back in the chair, eyes on her image once more.
To anyone else, she'd be a problem to solve.
To him, she was a question that shouldn't exist — and one he couldn't stop asking.
The feed zoomed closer.
The hum of machinery filled the air.
Her head tilted slightly, as if she'd heard something.
He frowned.
Then the camera caught it — her lips parted, her breath slowed, and for a split second, the feed stuttered again.
A soft crackle.
A frame skip.
Then she opened her eyes.
Sylus straightened, gaze fixed on the screen.
Diana stared into the camera again, unblinking.
Not defiant this time. Just… aware.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Then, almost imperceptibly, the corner of her mouth twitched — a half-smirk.
The lights in the observation room flickered once.
Sylus's reflection shimmered faintly across the glass as the monitors stabilized.
He exhaled slowly — not calm, just deliberate.
"What are you," he murmured.