Novels by Syiffa

The high-pitched whine of the drone’s rotors sliced through the heavy silence of the shipyard like a dental drill. Thiago stood frozen, his eyes locked on the sleek, black chassis hovering sixty feet above the rubble."Don’t move," Aisyah whispered, her voice tight with a panic she was trying to mask. "Don’t even look at it directly. Maybe it hasn't tagged your face yet.""It’s a surveillance drone, Aisyah. It’s been sitting there since I hit the wall," Thiago replied, his voice unnervingly calm compared to hers. "It didn't just happen to be passing by.""I know that! Just... walk. Naturally. Like we’re just two people hanging out in a literal disaster zone," she said, her sarcasm bleeding through. "God, why did I think the salvage yard was a good idea?""You didn't think I’d turn into a human wrecking ball," Thiago noted, finally tearing his gaze away from the machine. "Where’s the car?""Behind the corrugated shed, fifty yards to the left. We need to get there without you pulling a

Thiago looked at his hands, the fingers flexing with a metallic precision that felt both wondrous and terrifying. He told her everything—the way the pain had felt like molten lead, the cold, dispassionate voice of the entity, the hunger, and the constant, thrumming hum that had replaced his heartbeat. Aisyah didn't interrupt. She just kept her eyes locked on his, her notebook open, jotting down frantic, jagged notes."So, you’re saying this... thing," Aisyah gestured toward his arm where the violet seal pulsed, "it’s a template? Like a software update for your biology?""It’s not an update, Aisyah. It’s an overwrite," Thiago said, his voice dropping to a weary, heavy register. "I tried to hold back at the gym. I tried to act human. But every time I move, I have to fight the System’s instinct to 'correct' my performance. It doesn't want me to be a worker. It wants me to be an instrument."Aisyah leaned back, the plastic chair creaking under her. "An instrument for what? Did it give you

The moonlight bled through the blinds of the deserted clinic, casting long, barred shadows across the floor. Aisyah slipped through the side entrance, her boots making no sound on the polished linoleum. She wasn't a doctor, and she definitely wasn't supposed to be here, but the look on Thiago’s face when he left the warehouse had been a ghost that refused to be exorcised.She stood in the hallway, listening to the hum of the ventilation. Her pulse was a frantic bird against her ribs. She didn't want to find anything. She wanted to be wrong. She wanted Thiago to just be a guy who took a bad fall and needed a few more days off.She reached Dr. Aris’s office. The door was unlocked. Of course it was. Everyone in this building was too busy panicking to remember basic security."Come on, Thiago," she whispered, her voice barely a breath. "Don't be what I think you are."She switched on a small penlight. The room was a mess of half-filled coffee cups and abandoned files. On the desk, a manil

The sterile, over-caffeinated silence of the medical center was the only thing Thiago feared more than the entity currently whispering at the edge of his consciousness. As he sat on the examination table, the crisp white paper crinkling beneath him, he caught his reflection in the metallic casing of a centrifuge. He looked normal enough, yet the weight of Heracles’ presence felt like a physical burden sitting on his shoulders.The heavy door creaked open, and Dr. Aris stepped inside. He didn't look like a man who had slept. His tie was loose, his eyes were bloodshot, and he held a thick manila folder as if it were a bomb he was terrified of detonating."You're here," Aris said, his voice flat. He didn't look at Thiago directly; he paced to the desk, his movements sharp and erratic."You told me eight o'clock, didn't you?" Thiago replied, keeping his voice steady, masking the hum of his own pulse. "I’m a man of my word, Doc."Aris stopped, turning his chair to face Thiago. He didn't si

The rooftop air was crisp, tasting of distant rain and the metallic tang of an approaching morning. Thiago stood on the edge of the industrial building, his chest heaving—not from exhaustion, but from a strange, frantic energy that refused to settle. He stared down at his palms. The bioluminescent violet glow was fading, sinking back into his skin like ink disappearing into parchment."What are you?" Thiago whispered, his voice trembling. "What did you do to me?"Connection stability: 14%. Synchronization: 2%.The voice didn't come from the air. It didn't even come from his ears. It erupted inside his mind with the force of a landslide, a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to shake his very teeth.I am the Echo of the Twelve, the voice replied. It was haughty, ancient, and layered with the weight of centuries. And you, little spark, are the vessel that finally survived the integration.Thiago backed away from the ledge, his eyes darting around the empty rooftop. "Who's there? Show your

The janitor, a burly man named Mr. Henderson with a permanent scowl etched into his features, squinted at the darkness of the weight room. His flashlight beam cut through the dusty air, dancing over the heavy plates that Thiago had just abandoned."I said, who's in there?" Henderson barked, his voice echoing off the rubber mats. "The school gym is closed for maintenance until seven. You know the rules, kid."Thiago pressed his back against the cold, damp cinderblock wall, his heart drumming a rapid, mechanical beat. He squeezed his eyes shut for a micro-second, praying for the System to mask his presence, or at least his heat signature.Alert: Stealth threshold low. Biological residue detected. Immediate exit recommended."Just me, Mr. Henderson," Thiago called out, his voice pitched high and shaky—a perfect imitation of a startled, exhausted teen. "I... I’m sorry. I didn’t know it was locked. I just needed to stretch my arm. The doctor said I had to keep moving it."Henderson’s boots