The wall gave way.
Not all at once. Not dramatically.
A precise incision cut through reinforced concrete, glowing white at the edges as thermal blades completed their work. The slab slid inward and fell with a controlled crash.
[THUD]
Dust surged, then settled.
A.C.U. units stepped through the opening in formation. Three of them. Tall. Humanoid. White composite armor streaked with hazard markings. Their visors adjusted instantly, mapping heat, bioelectric signatures, stress hormones.
Their rifles did not point at us.
They pointed at the chamber.
"HELIX personnel," a synthetic voice announced. "Step away from the biological asset."
The fragment reacted before anyone moved.
Its membrane contracted sharply.
[fffwh]
The bioluminescent veins in the station flared in response, pulsing out of sync for the first time. The lattice stiffened, then softened, chasing the fragment's rhythm like a delayed echo.
I felt it in my teeth.
Resonance.
The HELIX figure raised both hands slowly. Calm. Measured.
"You are observing a communication event," they said. "Interrupting now will escalate the outcome."
The A.C.U. paused for exactly half a second.
Threat evaluation.
Risk tolerance recalculated.
"Communication is not recognized," the unit replied. "Only compliance."
The fragment pulsed again.
This time, the pattern sharpened.
Lines of light formed and collapsed, reforming in sequences that made my scalp prickle with recognition. It was crude. Inefficient. But unmistakable.
Binary.
"No," I whispered. "It's not copying us."
The HELIX figure glanced at me.
"It's converging," they said. "Toward the fastest language available."
One of the A.C.U. units took a step forward.
The fragment responded instantly.
The lattice warped.
Not outward.
Inward.
A pressure wave rippled through the chamber, silent but heavy. The A.C.U.'s forward unit staggered.
[grkk]
Its knee joint locked. Systems flared red across its armor.
The other two units raised their rifles.
"Containment breach confirmed," the voice announced. "Initiating forced apoptosis cascade."
I froze.
That phrase was not meant for machines.
The HELIX figure swore under their breath. "They are going to induce systemic cell death across the fragment."
"That will kill it," I said.
"No," they replied. "That will teach it."
The fragment flared bright.
Too bright.
The lattice screamed under the strain, microfractures racing across its surface like ice cracking on a frozen lake.
[KRSSHH]
The pressure dropped suddenly.
Every screen in the station went dark.
Silence.
Then my wrist display rebooted on its own.
A single line of text appeared. Not from HELIX. Not from the A.C.U.
From the fragment.
WHY IS OBEYING CALLED HEALTHY
No punctuation.
No hesitation.
Just intent.
The A.C.U. units froze.
Their rifles lowered by fractions of a degree, internal systems overwhelmed by conflicting directives. The fragment's signal was weak, incoherent by human standards.
But it had touched something foundational.
Control logic.
The HELIX figure stared at the display, face drained of color.
"It accessed the protocol definitions," they said. "It is not rejecting apoptosis."
They looked at me slowly.
"It is questioning the premise."
The lights returned.
Emergency red.
Alarms layered over each other in rising panic.
The fragment dimmed, its membrane sagging, drained by the effort. But it did not retract.
It waited.
I realized then what this chapter was.
Not an introduction.
An accusation.
Apoptosis Protocol was never about killing cells.
It was about deciding who was allowed to choose.
And something we built had just learned how to ask.