The city above was dying — slowly, loudly.
Sirens groaned across the skyline as drones swept through the night, their red eyes slicing through smoke and ash. Beneath them, hidden in the skeleton of old subway tunnels, two figures moved through the dark.
24 led the way, the pale glow of a cracked emergency strip light flickering along his coat. The girl followed close behind, her small hands clutching the strap of a half-torn backpack. Every few seconds, her eyes darted to the two blades at his sides — one long, one short — the edges still dark from the blood of EGI soldiers.
The tunnels smelled of rust, mold, and death. The walls were lined with collapsed support beams and graffiti half-eaten by moisture. The floor was a patchwork of puddles and old bullet casings.
"How deep do these go?" she whispered.
"Farther than the Corporations ever cared to look," he said. His voice echoed softly, swallowed by the dark.
A faint hum pulsed through the ground — rhythmic, mechanical. He stopped, raising a hand for silence. The girl froze.
A moment later, a drone floated past the tunnel mouth behind them — smaller than the ones above, shaped like a spider of polished chrome. It paused, scanning the entrance with a flicker of red light.
24 didn't move. His eyes narrowed, and the faint shimmer of distortion began to ripple across his form.
The drone hesitated, its sensors twitching. Then it drifted away, legs scraping against the concrete, lost in the distance.
Only then did 24 breathe again. "They're extending the sweep underground now," he said. "Means we're close to something they don't want found."
The girl frowned. "Close to what?"
He didn't answer — but she saw the faintest shift in his expression. Not fear. Recognition.
They kept walking until the tunnel opened into a wide chamber — the ruins of an old control station. The walls were lined with broken monitors and faded maps of the subway network. But what drew 24's eye was the light.
A faint, pulsing blue glow seeped from a half-collapsed hatch in the far wall.
He approached slowly, brushing aside cables and debris. Beneath it was a door — heavy, sealed, marked with a sigil he hadn't seen since the war: a black triangle wrapped in a circle.
EGI Research Node 07. Restricted Access.
24 stared at it for a long time. His heartbeat slowed.
The girl stepped closer. "What is it?"
He ran a gloved hand across the rusted metal. "Where they made people like me."
Her eyes widened. "You mean…"
He looked at her, the faint light from the door reflecting in his gray irises. "The Black Division. We were bred in places like this."
A silence hung between them — heavy, cold. Then 24 drew his shorter blade and jammed it between the door seals. Metal screeched, sparks flying.
The hatch gave way with a hiss of stale air. A hallway stretched beyond — dark, lined with shattered glass panels and the faint glow of dead terminals.
The smell hit them first. Not rot. Chemicals. Preservatives.
They stepped inside.
Rows of empty pods lined the corridor, each large enough to hold a human. Labels flickered on cracked displays — Subject 15, Subject 17, Subject 19.
The girl's breath caught. "You said there were others…"
24's gaze hardened. "There were."
He stopped before one pod that still functioned — faint light flickering inside. The label read Subject 26.
Inside, suspended in pale fluid, was a body. A man — or what was left of one — pale, almost translucent, wires threaded through his spine. His eyes were open but unfocused.
The girl covered her mouth. "Oh God…"
24's jaw tightened. "Not God," he said. "EGI."
The terminal beside the pod flickered to life as he brushed his hand against it. A distorted recording played — a voice clipped and calm.
"Project Black Division — classified. Telekinetic displacement subjects show severe neural decay after multiple spatial jumps. Recommendation: terminate after twelve cycles. Reassign genetic material for Phase Two under Elite Government directive."
The voice cut out. The hum of the dying systems filled the silence.
24 stared at the pod for a long time. The blue light reflected across his face, revealing the faint scars that ran along his jawline — thin, deliberate, surgical.
The girl looked up at him. "You're not like them," she said. "You're still… human."
He didn't answer. His eyes lingered on the dead man inside. "Not for long."
Then the lights flickered again — this time, red.
A sharp, mechanical voice echoed through the chamber:
"Unauthorized presence detected. Sector lockdown initiated."
The walls began to shift. Steel shutters slammed down one by one, sealing exits. The girl screamed.
24 turned toward the sound, both blades flashing free — silver under red light.
"Stay behind me."
As the final door sealed, shadows rippled across the far wall — and from them, something stepped through.
It wasn't human.