Location: Jerkin Residence - Grand Hall
Time: Evening - The Aftermath
---
The sounds started small.
Irina was the first. Her head twitched—a sharp, birdlike motion—and then her shoulders rolled, loose and wrong, as if her spine had forgotten how to hold her upright. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened.
"Hey there," she said, to no one in particular. Her voice was flat. Pleasant. Empty.
Jax's head turned toward her, slow and mechanical. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm fine. I'm fine."
Ilya's hands rose, and she examined them—turning them over, flexing the fingers, the way Corvin had done minutes before. "I feel livelier than I have in years," she said. "Isn't that strange?"
Ivan and Jenna and Jace followed, one by one, their bodies moving in that same loose, boneless rhythm. They greeted each other. They complimented each other. They spoke about how well they felt.
Across the hall, the crowd moved the same way. Servants. Off-duty cadets. Strangers. All of them, every single one, wearing borrowed faces and borrowed voices.
Timo Moriah watched from the edge of the hall. His smirk was gone. His glasses caught the light, and the circuitry within them pulsed in steady, recording rhythm.
Leo's world tilted.
His voice came out small. Broken.
"Why?" He turned toward Vaela. Toward Rhen. Toward the eight shriveled things wearing human bodies like dead men's coats. "Why? Why?"
His voice cracked on the last word. Tears slid down his face—unbidden, unstoppable.
"They were flesh and blood. They were innocent. Unlike you. Unlike the Pyre. They were just—they were just people." His voice rose, raw and shaking. "Why did they have to be disposed too? Why? That's genocide!"
Corvin's dry mouth twitched. He looked almost patient.
"For the greater good of the Master," he said. "Sacrifice is needed. If the Master's foes can raise humans to be used, then why can't the Master Himself flip their board against them? Turn them into His own pieces?"
Leo shook his head. His voice broke again. "But that isn't right. It just isn't. That's what makes him better than them. If he does the same thing—then what's the difference between him and them? What's the difference?"
The eight exchanged glances. Somewhere in the crowd—in the borrowed faces of Irina and Jax and all the rest—faint light pulsed at the edges of their silhouettes. Low. Uneven. A hum that didn't sound human, layered under a second hum that didn't sound human either. Weave, woven wrong. Weave, woven twice.
Rhen stepped forward. He kicked Leo in the chest.
Leo hit the floor.
Before he could move, Vaela's boot pressed against his sternum, pinning him in place. She leaned over him, her dried face close to his, her breath like old paper.
"Who do you think you are," she said softly, "to question the Master's judgment? He has a great destiny. One your puny mind can't comprehend. Even we don't fully know what power He wields. But we sense it. He senses it. Endless potential."
Her eyes widened, glossy and bright. "And through our bond with Him, we know. His attempt worked. Whatever He was trying to do—it took. That means, whether you like it or not, you're still needed in His plan."
Leo's voice was a thread. "I'll kill myself."
Vaela's grin widened. "You do know you're easily disposable. The Master can find another sorry sucker like you." She tilted her head. "You humans are all the same. My processing shows it. Attachments. Cages. You cling, and you call it love, and it holds you back from what you could become."
---
Caspian
A voice cut through the hall.
"Hey! Leave my brother alone!"
Caspian stood at the far end of the room, fists clenched, chest heaving. His eyes were wild.
Corvin turned toward him. "What's this? You were actually hiding, you bug. Don't tell me—you're aware of what's going on?"
Caspian's face was blank. Not brave. Not defiant. Blank. He didn't understand.
Timo Moriah appeared beside him, moving fast and quiet. His voice was a whisper. "Kid. Roll away. Fast."
Leo looked at Caspian. His brother—soft, foolish, cowardly, innocent Caspian.
"Leave him alone," Leo said. "Please. Leave my brother alone. He doesn't—he doesn't know anything—"
Vaela's face softened into something grotesque. "Oh, how sweet. Must be nice. Still holding onto attachments like that." She straightened, looking down at Leo with amusement. "But you humans call these emotions 'lovely.' They're cages. They hold you from fully realizing your Sol. And you'll always be within the confines of the heavens—a slave to liabilities. That's not what the Master wants for His chosen foot soldiers."
Her eyes flicked toward Caspian.
"Perhaps a wrecking awakening is needed. For you. And for him."
Something stirred in Leo's chest.
Something flowed out of him—not his will, not his weave—something inside his chip. He felt it leave. He felt it cross the room.
Caspian's face changed.
His hand flew to his chest. His mouth opened—but no sound came out. His eyes went wide. Confused. Afraid.
I don't know what's happening, his look said. I don't know what's happening—
Leo screamed. "NO! PLEASE! DON'T DO THIS!"
Caspian reached toward him. His hand trembled. His voice was a whisper, thin and failing.
"Brother... I don't feel so good..."
Then his face changed again.
The fear drained out of it. The confusion smoothed away. And something else settled into his features—a smile. Wide. Wrong. Pleasant.
"Brother," said the thing wearing Caspian's face. "Are you alright?"
Leo's voice broke into pieces. "No. No. No—"
Vaela lowered her face until it was inches from his. Her grin was almost warm.
"You look delightful. But if you're thinking about erasing yourself—don't. The Master left a contingency in you. You can't. Not ever."
She turned her head toward the corner of the room.
Timo Moriah yelped. He scrambled backward, his feet slipping on the polished floor, and landed hard on his backside.
"As for you," Vaela said to him, "thank your days. We felt the sensational transmission from one of our companions inside you. That's the only reason you're still breathing."
Timo swallowed. His smirk was long gone. His internal voice was quiet and very, very honest.
Just what kind of monster is Elijah Isley? Because something tells me he isn't someone to ever mess with. Not right now. Not ever.
Vaela picked a phone up off the floor—someone's abandoned device, still glowing with a VidFlash stream.
"Is this what humans call a social media tool? Used for interactions?" She turned it over, curious.
"More like an essential asset for the Master's design," Rhen said.
She tucked it into her ruined jacket, and her eyes returned to Leo—lying on the floor, tears drying on his face, looking at his brother's borrowed smile.
"Now this is much better," Vaela said. "Be honest, human. Why cry for someone you never actually had a bond with? The Master's performance—the one you mistook for your own capability—was the only reason he started interacting with you. Just like the others."
She crouched beside him, her voice low and patient, like a teacher explaining something simple to a slow student.
"Let's face it. If you'd never met the Master, you'd still be the ignored one. The neglected one. The nobody with the silver spoon in his mouth—the young master of the base who never got any respect. You'd have died of heartbreak. Or your old man would have disposed of you. A Jerkins, discarded. That's your real path."
Her grin widened.
"So wake up."
---
The hall was quiet.
Not the quiet of peace. The quiet of a room where every person—except one—had stopped being who they were.
Leo lay on the floor. His brother smiled down at him with someone else's eyes.
And the night outside was very, very quiet.