Broken lights hummed faintly overhead, their flicker reflecting off cracked glass and dust-coated stone. The air smelled like metal and old smoke. Somewhere far below, something had fallen and never come back up, but the echo of it had long since faded, and ZE210 stood alone in the hallway.
He hadn't moved since it ended, his hands were shaking. He clenched them, unclenched them. The tremor wouldn't stop. His breathing came shallow, and controlled like he was afraid of letting it slip even an inch.
"Weak."
The word crawled back into his mind uninvited.
He stared down at the thin steel knife Scrag had thrown him earlier. It lay where it had fallen, untouched, catching the dim light. ZE210 nudged it with his foot.
All that time.
All those years.
Just abbreviations of your real names.
His jaw tightened.
So even the name they gave him, ZE210, wasn't really his. Just another thing CORE had carved away, labeled, and filed down until he fit where they wanted him.
A mascot, a tool.
He swallowed, chest tightening.
Why did winning feel like this?
Scrag was gone. The threat was over. He should've felt relief, pride, something.
Instead, all he felt was that same hollow space in his chest, like he'd never really left that camp at all.
Like he was still that kid on the ground, staring up at the sky, wondering why it hurt to exist. His shoulders slumped.
"…Pathetic," he muttered, though he didn't know who he was talking to anymore.
Footsteps echoed down the hallway.
ZE210 stiffened instantly, body reacting before his mind caught up. His head snapped up, muscles tensing,
"WOAH, EASY THERE, KILLER."
Tucker stumbled into view first, hands raised. "It's just us. No murder children. I promise."
Shirley stepped in beside him, cleavers still at his sides, eyes sharp until they locked onto ZE210.
"…You okay?" Shirley asked quietly.
ZE210 didn't answer.
Then Micheal pushed past both of them.
He froze when he saw ZE210's face. Then Micheal crossed the distance in three steps and pulled ZE210 into a tight hug, arms locking around him like he was afraid to let go.
"I'm sorry," Micheal said, voice rough. "I should've been there. I should've protected you."
ZE210 stood stiff in his grip, then slowly, hesitantly, his hands came up and clenched into Micheal's embrace.
"…I won," he said quietly.
Micheal nodded. "I know."
Shirley let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Tucker wiped his face with his sleeve.
"Man," Tucker muttered, "this place really needs less trauma and more exit signs."
Footsteps echoed again, this time louder, messier.
"Hey guys! What's up!"
Every head snapped around.
Madison emerged from the smoke first, flanked by a sea of rebels spilling into the hallway behind her. Roughly a hundred, maybe more. Most of them were scuffed, bruised, and breathing hard, but none looked seriously injured. They stood tall anyway, weapons ready, eyes alert.
Micheal let out a low breath. "Looks like you all got lucky."
Madison shot him a smug grin. "Please. Nothing I can't handle." She brushed dust off her sleeve like it was nothing.
Micheal smiled back, then immediately looked away, a faint blush creeping up his face.
Shirley leaned toward Tucker. "A little old for her, isn't he?"
Tucker snorted. "I dunno. Maybe she's into older guys. Micheal's gotta be, what, forty?"
Shirley stifled a laugh. "Nah, remember? Time travel. He's like five hundred."
"Seven hundred."
"A thousand."
Tucker nodded seriously. "Yeah that checks out."
He paused, then frowned. "Wait… what comes after a thousand?"
Shirley shrugged. "No clue."
Tucker patted his pockets. "Dang it. I lost my phone back at the mall. I could've searched it up."
Shirley cracked up.
Madison turned around, squinting at them. "What are you two giggling about back there?"
"Nothing," they said in perfect unison.
She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but let it slide. "Anyway, we need to move. Now. The rest of the rebels can find their own way up, but staying here isn't an option."
The hallway filled with murmurs. Doubt crept into the voices. Questions stacked on top of each other.
How do we get out?
The lower floors are crawling with guards.
The stairs are compromised.
Shirley cleared his throat.
"Up."
He pointed straight toward the ceiling.
The murmurs died instantly.
Every eye turned to him.
Silence stretched.
"…What?" Shirley asked.
Tucker craned his neck, hands planted on his hips as he stared straight up at the ceiling.
"…Looks possible to me," he said finally. "Blast a hole through it, find something to climb through."
The reaction was immediate.
Whispers rippled through the crowd of rebels like a disturbed nest.
Are they insane?
That's exactly where CORE would be waiting.
This feels like a trap.
They're trying to set us up!
A few heads shook. Others stepped back instinctively.
ZE210 broke the noise.
"It doesn't sound that crazy," he said, eyes still scanning above them. "If CORE wanted us dead, we wouldn't be standing here."
Madison crossed her arms, unimpressed. "If you're going to do something that stupid," she said flatly, "you're going first. We're not risking more casualties."
Before Tucker could reply, Micheal stepped forward sharply.
"No." His voice cracked. "I can't let them be put in danger again. Not after, what if something happens? What if—"
"Micheal."
Madison cut him off gently this time.
She looked him dead in the eyes. "They've survived worse than this. You know that. Have some faith."
Micheal hesitated. Then he turned and pulled Shirley and Tucker into a tight hug, arms locked like he was afraid they'd vanish again.
"Be careful," he muttered. "From here on out, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Signal us the second you see anything. If it's unsafe, you come right back down."
Shirley nodded. Tucker gave a crooked grin. "Relax. What's the worst that could happen?"
Everyone backed away.
Tucker rolled his shoulders once, then clenched his fist.
"Red."
Strength Presence flared to life, a violent crimson glow wrapping his arm. He leapt upward and swung.
The ceiling exploded.
Stone shattered. Dust rained down. A clean circular hole tore open above them, revealing darkness beyond.
Shirley was already moving, leaping up and catching the ledge. "Clear!" he called.
One by one, they climbed.
The floor beneath their shoes was a black-and-white checkered pattern, polished to a mirror sheen. The walls were smooth and blank, pale gray with no seams, no cracks, no decoration, no windows, no doors, just pure space.
The ceiling lights glowed evenly, casting no shadows, like the room itself refused to let anything hide.
"Why do I feel like I just walked into a chessboard," Tucker muttered.
Shirley stepped forward slowly. "This isn't a battlefield."
At the far end of the room stood two glass cases.
Inside them, scrolls.
Ancient, yellowed, wrapped carefully in translucent seals etched with unfamiliar symbols. They hummed faintly, almost imperceptibly, like something alive breathing through paper.
Madison approached, eyes wide. "These aren't ordinary."
"They're ancient," ZE210 said quietly. "They're records. Or… weapons."
Micheal turned back toward the opening. "We need to tell the others."
That's when Shirley froze.
"…Guys."
He tilted his head upward.
Tiny black lenses dotted the corners of the ceiling, Cameras, then came the soft click of a speaker activating, microphones. Every single one of them.
Tucker's grin faded. "Ah."
The room went silent.
Deep within the castle, CORE stood alone in a secluded part of his chamber.
The walls there were dark, polished stone. Monitors flickered softly around him, displaying the checkered office from multiple angles.
He stepped forward.
Placed one hand gently on the microphone mounted before him.
His voice echoed through the room above, smooth, calm, he sounded slightly amused.
"Well," CORE said, a smile curling slowly across his face, the feed lingered on the rebels, frozen beneath his gaze.
"Hello there," he continued softly,
"Genius."