Iron Pulse

The tunnel ended in silence.

No fans. No hums. No guards.

Only a faint pulse in the air—deep, steady, almost like a heartbeat.

West stepped into the chamber, eyes scanning. Lem followed, slow and wheezing, gaze fixed on the light ahead.

It wasn't a control room.

It was a womb.

Glowing fiber lines twisted through the walls. Screens pulsed softly, half-organic. The air was warm, alive, and wrong.

At the center floated her.

A girl.

Midair. Limbs loose. Black hair drifting like ink. She wore a gray suit—half hospital, half armor—fused to her skin. Tubes ran from her back into the floor.

She looked sixteen.

SUBJECT A-01STATUS: ACTIVEDNA CORRELATION: 94.3%MATCH: SUBJECT W-13

Lem whispered, "That's her. Aria."

West didn't speak. Just stared.

Same bone structure. Same pulse rhythm. Same quiet, locked tension.

His clone. His sister.

Then the light dropped.

She fell fast—no scream, no breath.

But she landed like a predator. Knees bent. Balanced.

Her eyes snapped open—pure white, glowing.

No hesitation.

She lunged.

West blocked the first strike.

It felt like catching a steel beam with bare hands.

He grunted, turned with the force, ducked a second blow, tried to counter.

Too slow.

She was already behind him, elbow driving for his spine.

He twisted. Her strike glanced off his shoulder.

Pain, but manageable.

She kept coming—rapid jabs, low sweeps, surgical blows. She fought like a machine that had studied him frame by frame.

"Reflexes are AI-enhanced," Lem called. "She's in neural override!"

West dodged high, rolled low, tried to get space.

No good.

She stayed close, inside his range.

No rage. No breathing.

Just programming.

Then—one moment.

A pause.

West dropped his stance.

He stared her in the eye.

"Aria."

Her hand froze mid-strike.

Her eyes flickered—white to gray.

She staggered back a step.

"...Why do I know that name?" she whispered.

Lem's voice was tight. "Her memory threads are waking up. You're triggering imprint data."

Then came the voice.

"Exactly as intended."

The walls lit up with Rhys's face.

Dozens of screens. Dozens of angles. All him.

Smiling. Watching.

"Nice, West. Emotional trauma. Perfect trigger."

"But let's not confuse things. She's not your sister. She's a backup protocol."

Aria clutched her head.

"No. No, that's not—"

"You're a design," Rhys said flatly. "Just like him. And design obeys."

West stepped in front of her.

"Shut up."

"Touchy."

"You were discarded, West. She wasn't."

"You're outdated code. She's the evolution."

Aria flinched at the word.

Her hands trembled.

"He's not real," Rhys said calmly. "He's just a memory file."

"Liar," Aria snapped.

Her voice echoed.

Something inside her snapped.

A blast of energy surged through the room.

Two screens shattered. Rhys's image glitched.

Aria's eyes shifted again—white to silver, then soft blue.

Real.

Human.

She looked at West.

Tears forming.

"I remember... your voice."

He stepped closer. "Then remember this: you don't belong to them."

Sirens flared.

Red light washed across the chamber.

Lem cursed. "Swarm signal incoming. 40 seconds. From above."

West grabbed a rusted pipe off the wall.

Aria turned toward the hatch.

Her stance changed—centered, ready.

"You in?" West asked.

Aria looked at him.

Nodded once.

"No more control."

"No more cages."

Dozens of red eyes lit up in the dark tunnel ahead.

Spiders. Drones. Crawlers. Hybrids.

All coming.

West and Aria stood shoulder to shoulder.

And this time—they weren't running.