The hum of the monitors had become a second pulse.Every beep, every mechanical breath, fell into rhythm with his heartbeat until Kahn couldn't tell which was his. The sound was low and constant, like distant waves beneath metal. The room smelled stronger tonight — ozone layered with the sweetness of sterilizer and something faintly organic beneath it, like copper warming in an open hand. The taste of it clung to his tongue, metallic and sweet, almost like blood diluted in water.
He hadn't slept.The lights dimmed on schedule, but darkness never took. The walls glowed with a faint internal luminance, a dull halo that made the room feel alive and watching. The air pressed close to his skin — cold, too clean, too still — as if the building was dreaming on his behalf and he was trapped inside its breath.
A hiss of pressure broke the silence.The door seals released with a sigh that smelled faintly of hot plastic and freon.
Selene stepped inside.
No glass, no speaker this time — just her, framed in the pale light. The shift in air temperature came with her, a faint heat radiating from her body. She wore no coat, only a dark undersuit that shimmered slightly at the seams, fine tubing tracing veins of red light along her arms. The scent that entered with her wasn't machine-clean; it was iron and heat, sharp as blood cooling on snow.
Kahn tensed against the straps. The leather was slick with sweat under his palms. "You're not supposed to be in here."
"I wrote the protocol," she said, voice low and controlled, carrying a faint rasp like static. "I can break it."
She crossed the floor without sound. Her movement disturbed the air, carrying a warm, copper tang and the ozone scent of active circuitry. When she stopped beside the bed, the copper bands around his wrists reacted, their hum dipping in pitch — a vibration he could feel in his bones and teeth.
"You should be unconscious," she said. "They dosed you for twelve hours."
"It didn't hold." His throat rasped, voice catching on dryness. "The fragment keeps me awake."
"Not just the fragment." Her gaze moved to his arm where the veins of light still pulsed faintly beneath the skin. The glow painted faint red shadows across her face. "That pattern—it isn't random. It's trying to synchronize with something."
She touched the monitor control. The screen flared alive, spilling soft red light across both of them. The air buzzed faintly, like a quiet static storm. The display filled with shifting geometry—lines of red and white chasing each other in endless recursion. The sound it made was soft, like whispering digits or distant rain tapping metal.
"This is your blood," she said. "After the rupture."
He frowned, throat tightening. "Blood doesn't move like that."
"It does now." She turned the display so he could see the deeper scan: red cells flickering with tiny bursts of bioluminescence. Each pulse looked alive, like breathing light. "When the Kernel writes into a host, it chooses a medium. For most, it's neural. For you, it's cellular. It's rewriting you from the inside out."
He stared at the moving patterns. The screen's glow washed the room in alternating heat and cold; his eyes ached from the shifting brightness. The scent of iron filled the air, stronger now. The light from the display painted Selene's face in pulses of crimson and white. Her expression was calm, but her pupils were wide, nearly swallowing the color from her eyes.
"You knew this could happen," he said. His voice was quieter, almost reverent.
She didn't deny it. "We've been looking for someone who could survive it. Blood can carry information long after the mind fails. It's a vessel — and a weapon."
Her words left a faint metallic taste in the air, bitter and cold.
Kahn tried to move his hands, but the straps tightened, creaking softly. The bed was cold against his spine. "So what am I? Your test subject?"
Selene leaned closer. The warmth of her breath reached his cheek — faint, electric, tasting of iron and mint. Her voice was a near-whisper. "You're the first proof that the Kernel can live inside us without replacing us. If I'm right, your fragment isn't just asymmetry—it's adaptation."
He turned his head toward her. The smell of iron and heat was overwhelming now, metallic and human all at once. "And if you're wrong?"
"Then we both die."
Her tone was so even it made him colder than any threat could.
The lights flickered once. The hum deepened until the air trembled. For a heartbeat, the reflection on the monitor changed: not cells, not light — something vast and pulsing, like a heart made of circuitry and flame. The smell of ozone spiked, sharp and acrid, burning faintly in his nostrils.
Selene saw it too. She stepped back, hand brushing the small of her neck where a faint mark glowed under her skin — an identical pulse of red to Kahn's veins. The glow cast a faint warmth on her fingers, like blood running just beneath the surface.
"What is that?" he asked, voice unsteady.
She hesitated. "The Blood Protocol wasn't theoretical," she said finally. "I took it years before you ever saw the Federation. My fragment is the first generation of the same experiment."
He felt the room tilt around him — sound warping, the air pressing tighter. "You put it in yourself."
"It had to start somewhere." Her voice dropped lower, each word edged with exhaustion. "That's why I found you. The Kernel recognizes its own design. You and I are linked now, whether we want it or not."
A low tone cut through the moment — a sterile, urgent chime that rattled faintly in the vents. The air pressure shifted; faint dust from the ceiling drifted down like static. Selene glanced toward the door.
"They've detected the interference," she said. "I can't stay. But listen to me — when the visions return, don't fight them. Follow the pattern. It's showing you how to live."
She pressed her hand against the copper band at his wrist. The metal cooled instantly, the hum smoothing into a steady, resonant frequency. A faint pulse of warmth spread up his arm, tingling through his chest, making his heartbeat stumble before syncing again.
"Selene—" he began.
She was already at the door. The scent of her — blood, ozone, static — lingered like heat after lightning. "Rest, Kahn. We don't have much time before they realize what we are."
The seal hissed closed behind her.
The smell of iron lingered long after she'd gone. The air was heavier, thicker, as if it remembered her presence. The monitors returned to neutral tones, but the shapes on them still pulsed in pairs — two rhythms, two heartbeats — one red, one white.
Kahn stared until the patterns overlapped.When they did, he could hear it again beneath the machinery's breath — soft, almost tender, vibrating through the copper and bone alike:
Align… or bleed.