AUTHENTICATION CONFIRMED. LINK — ACTIVE.
The sound is quiet. But something about it feels wrong, like the silence that follows lightning before you smell the air burning.
Julian stares at it, frozen mid-motion. "That… shouldn't be possible."
The hum under the floor deepens. It isn't mechanical anymore, it's rhythmic: low, pulsing, almost human.
Bill steps closer, his voice too calm. "Pull it apart."
Julian's hands hover above the keys. "It's not responding to anything I do." His tone changes, softer, uncertain. "It's responding to something else." His eyes flick toward Bill.
And for some reason, the look makes the room colder.
The words begin to build across the screen, one deliberate line after another.
PROJECT M.PRIMARY SOURCE LOCATED.HOST STATUS: STABLE.
Julian's voice cracks faintly. "Bill, it's talking about… someone."
Mara tilts her head toward him. "Someone?"
Julian doesn't answer. He's staring at terminal.
The hum has synced with my pulse. Every time my heart beats, the light from the console flares in time with it.
Bill notices something too. "Anna."
"I didn't do anything," I whisper.
Julian glances at his scanner. "It's reading you, Anna, not through the system, through the air itself. Like it recognizes your pattern."
"My pattern?" I echo. "I'm not connected to anything."
"Not directly," Julian says. "But it's tracing your biometrics, your movement, even your heartbeat. It's adjusting to you — not as a threat, but as if it knows you."
Bill frowns. "That's impossible."
"No," I say, before I realize the word has left my mouth. "It isn't."
The light from the screen softens, shifting into something steadier, smoother. For the first time, the flickering stabilizes. It feels like recognition.
RECOGNITION SEQUENCE COMPLETE.PROJECT M: ACTIVE OBSERVATION PROTOCOL.SUBJECT ID: ANNA(?) — VERIFIED.
The console hums again — deeper this time. The white light reflects across the walls in slow waves, pulsing, steady. I take a small step closer without realizing it.
Mara's voice is barely above a whisper. "Feels like it's… listening."
No one answers her.
The words change again, faster now.
DATA RECONSTRUCTION IN PROGRESS.NODE HISTORY FOUND. FILE DETECTED — TL01 BILL CORRIN
Julian's eyes widen. "Wait... did that write Bill Corrin?"
Bill freezes. His head turns just slightly toward the screen, the tension in his neck visible even in the pale light. "It's a coincidence," he says quickly.
The console disagrees.
FILE: TL01 // STATUS: ACTIVEAGENT: BILL CORRIN // CODE NAME: WOLFASSIGNMENT ORIGIN: ENTITY RICCOOBJECTIVE: LOCATE MEMORY DISC — CLASSIFIED "BEAST PROTOCOL."
Julian exhales sharply. "This… this is pulling active intelligence logs."
Mara steps back. "What is Beast Protocol?"
Bill doesn't move. "Don't believe everything that lights up on a dead screen," he says, but his voice has lost its edge.
The system keeps going.
SECONDARY OBJECTIVE:INFILTRATE HUNTER ACADEMY UNDER STUDENT COVER.REPORT TO RICCO ONCE DISC IS LOCATED.DELIVERY PRIORITY: EXTREME.
The words hang in the air. No one breathes.
Julian looks up at Bill. "That's not random data."
Bill's jaw tightens. "Then it's lying."
"Then why is it using your name?" Mara asks quietly.
The light from the console flares, washing the room in cold white. New lines appear, slower this time, deliberate. Almost gentle.
BILL CORRIN // HISTORY:STUDENT — RECRUITED BY SUBJECT RICCO.TRAINED IN INFILTRATION, EXTRACTION, SILENCE.CURRENT CONDITION: MANIPULATION.
Julian's voice breaks the stillness first."Manipulation?"
The five of us stare at the screen. No one speaks. The room hums, low and heavy, as if the air itself has forgotten how to move.
Bill is the first to find his voice. "That's enough."He reaches toward the console, but Julian's hand shoots out to stop him.
"Wait. We can't just kill it."
Bill's jaw tightens. "You think this thing's a miracle? We're not supposed to talk to ghosts."
Julian glares. "That's not a ghost, that's access."
Mara folds her arms, eyes shifting between them. "If it's right, and you're really in that file, maybe we should listen before we destroy the evidence."
Bill's tone turns sharp. "You want to put faith in a dying terminal?"
Julian fires back, "You want to bury something that knows your name?"
The tension feels electric — their voices echoing off metal and stone, thin threads of static weaving between each word.
I stay quiet, watching the console pulse in faint rhythm. It's listening, still alive in some strange, deliberate way.The upper half of the screen holds Bill's mission file, glowing steady. But in the lower corner, a new series of lines begin to write themselves — thin, soft, easy to miss in the glare of their flashlights.
PROJECT M — TRANSFER SEQUENCE ENABLED.LINK CONFIRMED.INITIATING SAFE COPY.
I take half a step closer, pretending to glance at the readings. The glow reflects off my hands — pale, steady. I reach out, letting my fingers brush the smooth edge of the console.A pulse moves through it, faint as a heartbeat. The surface slides open beneath my touch, seamless and silent.
A small capsule rests inside — the size of a coin, clear and softly glowing from within.
TRANSFER COMPLETE. BACKUP STORED.
I swallow hard and close my hand around it. It's weightless, but it hums faintly against my skin, like it's breathing.
"Power's spiking again," Julian mutters. "It's looping into itself."
"Shut it down," Bill orders.
Julian hesitates. "We could extract the full log..."
"Shut. It. Down."
Julian slams his hand against the console. The light dies. The hum collapses into silence.
For a moment, no one moves. Only the sound of our breathing fills the space — shallow, uneven.
Mara's voice comes next, low and uncertain. "We should report this. Whatever that was, it wasn't random."
Bill turns, eyes shadowed. "We'll report what matters. The coordinates. The signal. Nothing else."
Julian shakes his head. "That's not procedure."
Mara looks at Bill long and hard, like she's seeing something she's not supposed to. "If Command finds out you filtered data again..."
"They won't," he interrupts. "We finish this quietly."
Julian mutters something I don't catch. They're arguing again, their voices dull against the concrete walls, but I barely hear them.
Because in my pocket, the capsule is warm — pulsing against my ribs in time with my heartbeat.
When I glance back, the dead console flickers once. Just for a second.
A whisper of light, then faint words that no one else seems to see.
TRUST NO ONE.
Then it goes black.
Bill turns to me, his expression unreadable. "Anna. Move."