The "Second Junseo" stepped out of the shadows, the rusted metallic bolt clutched in its pale, bloodless hand. It didn't walk; it glided, its movements echoing the jerky framerate of a corrupted video file.
"Hyung," the double whispered, its voice a hollow distortion of the boy Seol-wol loved.
"You dropped this. You shouldn't be so careless with your heart."
"Stay back!" Seol-wol roared, shielding the unconscious Junseo with his body. He raised the plasma-cutter, but his hand was shaking. How could he strike something that wore his brother's face?
Kyla scrambled to her feet, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and scientific curiosity.
"It's a neural projection... it's the data from the Cold Box given form by the facility's localized hard-light emitters. Seol-wol, if we can just—"
She never finished her sentence.
The double moved with a speed that defied physics. In a flash of violet light, it was standing behind Kyla. It didn't use a weapon.
It simply pressed the rusted bolt against the back of her neck—where her neural port was exposed.
"Data belongs to the Architect," the double whispered.
A horrific screech of static tore through the air. Kyla didn't even have time to scream.
Her eyes turned solid white, and a stream of violet light erupted from her mouth and ears as her entire consciousness was forcibly "uploaded" into the facility's dying grid. She collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut, her body hitting the scrap metal with a sickening, hollow thud.
She was dead before she hit the ground.
"KYLA!" Seol-wol shrieked. He lunged forward, but the double vanished into a cloud of digital pixels, leaving only the rusted bolt spinning on the floor.
Seol-wol fell to his knees beside Kyla's body, his breath coming in ragged, frantic gasps.
The grief hit him like a physical weight, but it was quickly replaced by something else:
The Noise. With Kyla gone, the facility's screams rushed into his head. He clutched his skull, a cry of agony tearing from his throat as the violet light began to leak from his own eyes.
"She's gone, Seol-wol. She was a flicker in a thunderstorm. Forget her."
Miran was there. He didn't look at Kyla's corpse. He only looked at Seol-wol, who was vibrating with enough neural energy to level the room. Miran stepped over the body and knelt in front of Seol-wol, his presence dark and dominating.
"Get away from me," Seol-wol wheezed, his skin beginning to glow with a dangerous heat. "I'll kill you... I'll burn this whole place down..."
"You'll burn yourself out first," Miran said. His voice wasn't cold anymore; it was low, possessive, and thick with an egoistic hunger.
Miran reached out and grabbed Seol-wol's face with both hands, forcing the thief to look at him. The contact was like an electric shock. The violet light in Seol-wol's eyes flared, then suddenly began to drain into Miran.
Seol-wol's breath hitched. For the first time since the 95% sync, the noise stopped. The silence was absolute. The only thing he could feel was the heat of Miran's palms and the terrifying, magnetic pull of the man's gaze.
"You are my Key," Miran whispered, his thumbs brushing over Seol-wol's cheekbones, wiping away a stray tear and a streak of blood. "Not Borislav's. Not the Architect's. Mine. If you're going to break, you'll break for me."
Seol-wol hated him. He hated the way Miran looked at him like a prize. But as he looked up into Miran's dark, bottomless eyes, he felt a treacherous surge of safety. He grabbed Miran's wrists—not to push him away, but to hold on. He was drowning, and the monster was the only thing that could float.
"I'm going to kill you for this," Seol-wol whispered, his forehead leaning against Miran's.
"I know," Miran smirked, his grip tightening.
"But first, you're going to help me open that vault. And then, little thief... we'll see who survives whom."
Behind them, the Reapers began to howl in the darkness. But for a moment, in the middle of a scrap-yard graveyard, the world was reduced to the two of them—and the dead girl between them.