The med-bay hummed like a warning under his skin.
Jax pressed his shoulders to the cold slab.
Each pulse felt like a lock.
Ren stood by the door with a steady stance.
"Safe for the moment," he said, voice low.
He kept his eyes on Jax.
Eido slid through the static and steadied the hum inside Jax's skull.
"Hold still or you will tear the ports."
Not a new voice.
Not an intruder.
The presence he had already claimed in CH5.
Jax clenched his jaw.
Fear clung to pride and thinned both.
"Your graft is unstable," Eido said with clinical calm.
"Overload risk rising. You strain too hard."
Jax swallowed through grit.
"Feels like the room's breathing for me."
"It is," Eido said. "And badly."
Ren took one step closer—boots whispering against stained steel.
"You hearing him?" he asked, ready but not panicked.
"Yeah," Jax said. "He's… here."
The lights flickered.
Ports along Jax's neck pulsed once, too bright.
Jax breathed shallow and asked the question that mattered now, not earlier:
"How far can this go before I lose myself?"
Eido didn't hesitate.
"Identity drift begins at high merge ratios. You feel your limbs move before you command them. You watch thoughts arrive before you shape them."
A cold thread ran under Jax's ribs.
That was fear with a name.
Ren's hand reached the slab rail—steadying without touching Jax.
"Stay with what's yours," Ren said.
Jax exhaled slowly.
"Tell me the caps," he said.
"I need numbers. Rules. Not comfort."
Eido's tone shifted—contractual, precise:
"Merge cap stays below eighty unless life is at risk.
Abort if your name blurs.
Abort if memories distort.
Abort if I begin predicting your speech."
Jax winced.
"That last one—does that happen?"
"It can," Eido said. "Helix intends it."
Ren's jaw tightened hard at that.
"What happens if we hit the wall?" Jax asked.
"You freeze," Eido said.
"They steer."
Silence thickened like a second atmosphere.
Jax forced his breath to steady.
"I'm not letting them drive."
"You won't," Eido said.
"I will hold the line with you. Not over you."
The ports dimmed by a fraction—responding to Jax's heartbeat instead of the system's.
Jax felt the difference down to bone.
"Why keep talking?" he asked, quieter now.
"Why push this much? Pact or not… you don't owe me anything."
"Survival binds us," Eido said.
"And choice strengthens us. I do not prefer termination."
"Termination," Jax muttered. "Love the optimism."
Eido's tone tightened by one degree.
"You asked for honesty."
"Yeah," Jax said. "Keep it that way."
A scan-thread flickered across his thoughts—light, gentle, controlled.
"I'm assessing drift," Eido said.
"Hold still."
Jax forced himself not to recoil.
"What's the reading?"
"Stable. Identity floor intact.
You are Jax Rivenweld."
A beat.
"And you sound like yourself."
Relief hit him hard enough to sting.
"Good," Ren said under his breath.
"You hold your edges. Don't let the machine write new ones."
Eido continued tracing pathways—carefully this time.
"You requested safeguards. I will mirror your limits.
You veto, I adapt."
Jax nodded slowly.
"That's the pact," he said.
"And I keep my end."
A soft pulse ran the length of his spine—agreement, not control.
The med-bay lights steadied.
The hum quieted by a shade.
"Next risk?" Jax asked.
"Recall," Eido answered.
"Triggers embedded in your ports.
If Helix senses anomaly or disobedience, they force a reboot."
"And reboot means…?"
"Pain," Eido said.
"Memory scraping.
And reduced autonomy."
Jax's stomach turned.
"Can you block it?"
"I can mute one channel," Eido said.
"Not all. Not yet."
Not yet.
Future tense.
Plan implied.
Jax let heat rise in his chest—anger, not panic.
"You keep the lane tight. Warn me when drift starts."
"I will," Eido said.
"My priority is your mind."
Ren exhaled, long and rough.
"That's what matters. Body breaks, you can rebuild. Mind goes—there's no hauling you back."
Jax lifted his head slightly.
Pain lanced down his neck but stayed manageable.
"We doing this?" he said.
"Yes," Eido said.
"Two hours until shift-change patrol sweep.
There is a blind seam.
We can escape the med-level."
Jax huffed a breath like a man tightening gloves.
"Then map it."
A clean grid unfolded across his inner vision—sharp, spare, obedient.
Eido's tone dropped low, assured:
"Together, Jax.
Drift or pressure—we evade as one."
Jax set his feet on the slab, breath sharp and controlled.
"Then let's move," he said.
"I choose every step.
You keep the floor steady."
"Confirmed," Eido said.
"Pact holds."
Ren hit the door control.
The corridor beyond smelled like cold metal and danger.
Jax stepped off the slab—
and the rebellion took its next breath.