The cell was white.
Of course it was white. Everything the Architects built was white—sterile, empty, absolute. Superior-1 lay on the floor, her back against the cold surface, staring at the ceiling that seemed to go on forever. She'd lost track of time. Hours? Days? The lights never dimmed, never changed. Just that endless, humming brightness pressing down on her from all sides.
She wore white now. Simple clothes, soft fabric, no mask. Her face was bare for the first time in years—exposed, vulnerable, human. She hated it.
The memory played on repeat in her mind.
The rush to her room. Empty.
The halls. Empty.
The main chambers. Empty.
Then the guards. Black armor. Gold-trimmed masks. The Council's personal enforcers.
"Superior Architect 1, you are under arrest."
She hadn't fought. Hadn't run. What would have been the point? Jenny was gone. The bombs were launched. The damage was done. All that remained was the waiting.
The dark room had come next. A single light, blinding, focused on her face while shadowed figures watched from the edges. Simple masks. Gold masks. The Council themselves, judging her like she was nothing.
"You were manipulated by a simple hybrid."
The words still burned. A simple hybrid. Jenny Damber, who had wrapped herself around Superior-1's mind like a vine, who had whispered sweet words and false comforts, who had made her feel safe for the first time in decades—and then used her like a tool and thrown her away.
"You let yourself be used."
Yes. She had. Willingly. Eagerly. She'd knelt on that floor and cleaned blood from Jenny's boots and liked it because Jenny had smiled at her afterward. Because Jenny had called her "good girl" and "my little angry bird" and made her feel like she mattered.
"Treason. Stealing nuclear launch keys. Deploying an army without authorization."
Each charge was a nail in her coffin. She hadn't argued. Hadn't defended herself. What was there to say? It was all true.
"The Council finds you guilty."
"Sentence: death by solitary."
She hadn't understood at first. Death by solitary? That wasn't—they didn't—
Then they'd brought her here.
The white room.
No windows. No doors. No sound except her own breathing. No one to talk to. No one to see. Just white, and silence, and the slow unraveling of a mind left alone with itself.
She'd been here a while now. Hours? Days? She'd tried counting. Lost count at... she didn't remember. It didn't matter.
At first, she'd paced. Walked the perimeter of the cell, step by step, measuring its dimensions. Twelve feet by twelve feet. The same as every isolation cell in every Architect facility. They didn't even bother to be creative.
Then she'd screamed. Banged on the walls. Demanded to be heard. No answer. Nothing.
Then she'd cried.
The tears had surprised her. She hadn't cried in... she couldn't remember the last time. Maybe never. Architects didn't cry. Architects were above such weakness.
But Superior-1—she wasn't an Architect anymore, was she? They'd taken her mask. Taken her rank. Taken everything. All that was left was the woman underneath, and that woman was alone and scared and crying in a white room with no end.
Now she just lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, thinking.
About Jenny.
About the way Jenny's smile had made her feel warm inside. About the way Jenny's hands had touched her face, gentle, caring. About the way Jenny had whispered "my little angry bird" and made her feel like she belonged to something.
It was all lies. She knew that now. Jenny had used her, manipulated her, owned her. And the worst part was that if Jenny walked through that door right now, smiled at her, held out her hand—
Superior-1 would take it.
She would take it and follow her anywhere, do anything, be anything, just to feel that warmth again.
The realization made her sick.
She curled on her side, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to hold something—anything—together. The white walls pressed in. The silence screamed.
This is death, she thought. Not the body. The soul.
They're going to let me rot in here until there's nothing left.
A sound escaped her—not a sob, not a scream, something in between. It echoed off the white walls, came back to her, mocked her.
She closed her eyes.
The white remained.
It was always there, behind her eyelids, waiting for her. The white would always be there.
Somewhere, far away, Jenny Damber was probably laughing.
And Superior-1—no, not Superior-1 anymore. Just... a woman. A broken, used, discarded woman—lay in her white cell and waited for the end.
The silence screamed on.