The iron staircase groaned beneath the weight of the group as they descended into the darkness. Gabriel led the way with his lantern held high, its warm amber glow pushing back only a few feet of the blackness before the shadows swallowed everything beyond. Rust coated the railings, moisture trickled down the old brick walls, and the deeper they climbed beneath the estate, the colder the air became. Every breath carried the sharp scent of damp stone mixed with aging metal and chemicals that had lingered underground for decades.No one spoke.The silence wasn't the quiet of an abandoned place. It felt occupied somehow, as though the tunnels remembered every secret that had passed through them and refused to let any of them fade.Ethan stayed close behind Gabriel, one hand sliding along the rusted railing while the other rested near the pistol tucked beneath his jacket. Every few steps he glanced back toward the staircase above. The distant sounds of the collapsing upper levels had beco

The photograph moved quietly from one pair of hands to another. For several long seconds, no one spoke. Dust drifted lazily through the lantern's amber glow while the tiny archive room seemed to close in around them, suffocating the air. Twelve children stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the harsh fluorescent lights of the Selection Project picture. Some wore uncertain smiles that looked painfully forced; others stared blankly at the lens, far too young to understand why strangers kept taking their pictures.Ethan's gaze settled on the little girl standing between him and Number Zero. Emily. In the faded colors of the old photograph, she looked heartbreakingly alive. There was a natural warmth in her smile and a sharp curiosity in her eyes—none of the hollow emptiness Ethan remembered from the children who had actually survived the program. Looking at her now, it was almost impossible to connect this ordinary child to the disembodied voice echoing through the underground facility.So

No one fired.The silence that settled over the archive was somehow more disturbing than the firefight that had torn through it moments earlier. Recovery Team Alpha remained exactly where the command had stopped them, rifles still gripped in disciplined hands. Some stood between the towering shelves while others were caught in the open aisles, yet none of them blinked, shifted their weight, or even turned their heads. They looked less like soldiers than machines whose power had been switched off in the middle of a command.Captain Rowan kept his rifle trained on the nearest operative, his finger resting against the trigger guard."What the hell is happening?"No one answered.The only sounds came from the low hum of aging generators and the occasional drip of water echoing through the endless rows of shelving. Emily's voice had vanished from the speakers, leaving behind a silence that pressed against everyone's nerves.Ethan never lowered his weapon.Years inside the Selection Project

​The scream echoed through the tunnels long after it should have ended, abruptly cut short by a wet, heavy crunch that vibrated through the floorboards.​Then came silence.​Not the uneasy quiet that had settled over the archive before, but a suffocating stillness that pressed against every breath. The underground complex itself seemed to freeze, holding its breath in the gloom.​Gabriel’s hand remained flat over Emily’s diary. Beside him, Ethan strained his ears against the dark. The scream had originated from the lower levels, followed by a single metallic impact that rattled the iron support beams overhead.​After that, nothing.​Captain Rowan broke the stillness. "Move."​His operators reacted instantly, falling into a tight defensive wedge around Gabriel and the satchel. Rifles trained on every dark corridor feeding into the main archive.​"They're gone," Sophia whispered, her gaze fixed on the black mouth of the tunnel where Recovery Team Alpha had vanished.​"They won't stay go

No one lowered a weapon. Captain Rowan’s operators held their rifles locked on target, knuckles white against the handguards. Yet not a single finger squeezed. The young man standing at the end of the dimly lit corridor looked nothing like the monster Genesis had trained them to fear. He just looked hollow. His faded hospital clothes hung off a gaunt frame carved with scars. Thick, jagged tracks crossed thin white lines—the ragged history of countless surgical needles and scalpels. Black dust caked his bare feet, and matted hair shielded eyes that drifted across the archive with aimless, quiet confusion. He wasn’t scanning for a kill zone. He was looking for a face. "Did..." His voice snapped like dry tinder, barely carrying past his cracked lips. "...did she remember me?" Gabriel’s fingers dug into the cracked leather of Emily’s diary. For a beat, the old man couldn't breathe, let alone speak. When he finally forced the words out, they dragged through the dirt of twenty