Iron Pulse

The floor trembled.

Behind them, something groaned—a deep, mechanical growl rising from the broken chamber.

West turned.

The containment glass—once housing the twisted fusion subject—shattered with a sharp, wet crack.

A body dropped to the floor.

Metal. Flesh. Something in between.

The creature slowly rose, taller than a man, covered in black bio-armor streaked with blue pulse lines. Its joints hissed. Its spine glowed. Half of its face was human.

The other half was a machine's skull—wired, exposed, and twitching.

It lifted its head.

Its eye—white, artificial—locked onto West.

And it charged.

West moved on instinct.

He dove aside as the creature slammed into the wall, ripping through steel like paper. Sparks flew.

Before he could recover, it came again—faster.

West blocked the first strike with his forearm. Pain exploded. Bone met alloy. He ducked the second blow and countered with a jab to the creature's ribs.

No effect.

The thing didn't react. It fought like it couldn't feel pain. Couldn't stop.

Lem screamed from the side.

"Move! It's a self-learning combat unit! Every second you wait—it adapts!"

West rolled to avoid a sweeping kick, then kicked upward, striking the thing's chin.

Its head snapped back.

For one second, it paused.

West took the opening.

He grabbed a broken floor pipe and jammed it into the joint behind its knee. The creature dropped slightly—but didn't fall.

Instead, it twisted violently and flung him across the chamber.

West crashed into a wall. His ribs howled. Something cracked.

But he stood.

He always stood.

The fusion creature advanced again.

Its pulse core glowed brighter with every step. It was evolving—analyzing West's style, adjusting.

Then it lunged.

This time, West didn't dodge.

He stepped into the blow, blocked with both arms, and slammed the pipe into its exposed collar port.

Blue liquid burst.

The creature hissed.

It struck again—but Lem was ready.

He pulled a capacitor module from his belt and hurled it at the creature's feet.

"Back!"

West dropped.

The module exploded with a surge of white-hot current.

The creature convulsed.

It dropped to one knee, twitching. Temporarily disabled.

West coughed, blood on his lips. He looked at Lem.

"Nice throw."

Lem grinned, breathless. "Still got it. But not for long. That won't kill it."

West wiped blood from his mouth.

"Wasn't planning on killing it."

They moved fast.

Deeper into the corridor—away from the creature, toward a sealed maintenance hatch.

As they ran, Lem spoke quickly, like every second mattered.

"That thing—it was never in the original design. It's what happens when the Core keeps building, keeps fusing."

West glanced at him.

"You said I was a seed."

Lem nodded grimly.

"You were the only viable host. We ran thousands of simulations. No subject survived full synchronization—except you."

He looked down.

"The others... mutated. Broke. Became like that thing."

West's jaw clenched.

"So you built monsters in my name."

"We tried to build survivors," Lem said quietly. "You were supposed to lead them. Not fight them."

They reached the hatch.

West forced it open with a grunt of effort.

A tunnel beyond—dark, unpowered, sloping downward into what looked like an organic structure grown from tech. The walls pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.

Lem hesitated.

"That leads to the Inner Cradle."

"What's in it?"

"Old code. First-gen test subjects. Maybe... maybe Subject A-01."

West narrowed his eyes.

"The girl?"

Lem nodded.

"She was made from your genome. But modified. Smarter. More... obedient."

He paused.

"She called you brother."

Behind them, a deep rumble echoed.

The fusion creature wasn't dead.

It had stood.

And it had begun calling.

A pulse—inaudible to human ears—rippled through the walls.

West and Lem both turned.

The lights around them flickered.

From vents. From ceiling gaps. From cracks in the wall—movement.

Dozens of smaller units began to crawl out.

Metal legs. Glowing optics. Evolving forms.

The swarm was coming.

West gripped his pipe, eyes sharp.

"Time to move."

Lem climbed in first.

West followed.

As he closed the hatch behind him, he took one last glance at the creature.

It stared back.

It wasn't just hunting.

It was learning.

They dropped into the dark.

Just ahead, at the tunnel's curve, soft light bloomed—a pale blue glow.

A heartbeat.

And maybe a voice.