GOLDEN PALM

Chapter 5 – “Sector Nine”

The city’s pulse never slept. Neon veins flickered over soaked pavement as Nicholas, Elara, and Ash cut through the underbelly of Orivale, heading for Sector Nine. Ash scanned the rooftops.

“No more snipers. But we’re burning clock.”

“Rho said Sub-level Three,” Nicholas murmured. “That’s below the morgue tunnels.”

“Perfect,” Elara said dryly. “Dead bodies and bad memories.”

They reached a steel door beneath a half-collapsed bridge, no signage, just a biometric panel coated in grime. Nicholas pressed the injector against his wrist.

The thin needle drew a line of blood and projected a brief light. “Blood key online,” the device said.

The door hissed open with a low groan. Inside, cold fluorescent light painted the concrete corridor in sickly hues. “Welcome back to the grave,” Ash muttered.

Nicholas’s jaw tightened. “Stay sharp. Ghost Command built this place from my blueprints. They’ll know every inch of it.”

They moved silently, boots echoing on the floor. Security cameras followed them with faint whirs.

“You said this was a medical district,” Elara whispered.

“Was,” Nicholas replied. “Now it’s a testing ground.”

They turned a corner and froze. Rows of sealed glass pods lined the hallway, each containing a human silhouette suspended in gel. Electrodes snaked across pale skin. Their eyes twitched beneath closed lids.

Elara covered her mouth. “Oh God…”

“Rebirth subjects,” Nicholas said. “They’re still alive.”

Ash knelt beside a console, scanning the screens. “Vitals steady. Looks like combat conditioning, neuromuscular rewiring.”

Nicholas’s voice was quiet. “They’re building soldiers who feel no pain, no conscience.”

“Just like your father’s early designs,” Elara said softly.

“No,” Nicholas snapped. “Mine were meant to heal. His are meant to enslave.”

An alarm blipped once, sharp and mechanical. “We tripped something,” Ash said.

Doors sealed behind them with a heavy thud. Red lights flashed. “They locked us in,” Elara muttered.

“Correction,” Nicholas said, scanning the ceiling. “They released something.”

The pods hissed open one by one. The figures inside stepped out, slow, jerky, eyes glazed silver. Ash aimed his pistol. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Don’t shoot their hearts,” Nicholas said quickly. “Their cortical chips override pain, they’ll keep moving. Go for the neck or spine.”

The first subject lunged. Ash’s shot snapped it back, severing a cable at its throat. Sparks sprayed. Elara ducked a blow, slashed the subject’s arm with a combat knife, and screamed as black fluid splattered her sleeve. “What the hell is this stuff?”

“Synthetic neural gel,” Nicholas said. “Conducts commands like electricity.”

He spun, kicked another assailant into the glass wall, shattering it. The air filled with the hiss of escaping gas. “We need to reach the core lab,” Nicholas said. “That’s where the signal originates.”

“You sure about this plan?” Ash asked. “No,” Nicholas replied. “But I’m sure of one thing, my father’s watching.”

Through the haze, a red sensor light blinked in the corner, a small camera lens, rotating. A voice crackled through the intercom. “You made it further than I expected.”

Nicholas froze. The voice was calm. Familiar. “Dad.”

“Don’t be dramatic, son. You were always meant to come home.”

The remaining pods began to vibrate violently, pressure building, alarms screaming. “What’s he doing?” Elara shouted. “He’s waking them all,” Nicholas said grimly.

The glass exploded outward. Glass shards rained across the corridor. The hiss of venting gas turned into a roar as the pods ruptured in sequence.

Ash yanked Elara behind a console. “Tell me you’ve got a plan, Mayford!”

“Working on one,” Nicholas growled, eyes scanning the lab.

Rows of monitors flickered with biometric data. Every screen pulsed red, LIVE SEQUENCE ENGAGED.

The subjects were moving fast now, bodies jerking with mechanical precision. Tubes hung from their spines like wet wires. Elara chambered her pistol.

“These things used to be people.”

“That’s why I’m ending it quick.”

Nicholas dove forward, slamming his injector into a nearby terminal. The system protested with a shriek of static. “Override in thirty seconds!” he shouted.

Ash fired short bursts, each shot clean and surgical. “Make it twenty!”

One of the enhanced soldiers barreled into him, throwing both of them into a wall. Ash grunted, blocking a blow, then stabbed a knife through the attacker’s temple. The body twitched once, still standing.

“Oh, come on!”

Nicholas ripped a power conduit free, slammed it against the soldier’s chest. Electricity arced, the body dropped smoking. “Neural gel conducts power,” he said. “Now you know.”

Elara slid across the slick floor, kicking a grenade under another cluster of subjects. The blast was sharp, contained, surgical. Limbs hit the glass like wet meat.

“System locked,” Nicholas muttered. The terminal beeped. “I can stop the neural link, but I’ll fry the whole floor doing it.”

“So what?” Ash snapped.

“So we’re on the floor.”

The intercom crackled again, his father’s voice, smooth as oil. “You always did favor chaos, Nicholas. But you’ve forgotten, chaos was my gift to you.”

Nicholas stared up at the nearest camera. “You turned people into machines!”

“I made them perfect.”

He hit Execute. The lights died. A deep vibration rolled through the walls. The pods’ remaining fluid ignited with a low, hungry flame.

Ash grabbed Elara’s arm. “Move! Now!”

They sprinted through the emergency hatch as fire chased them down the corridor. The explosion behind them punched the air out of the tunnel, hurling all three onto a lower platform.

Coughing, Nicholas wiped soot from his eyes. “That shut them down.”

“And half the city’s power grid,” Ash said, checking his rifle.

Elara caught her breath. “If your father’s alive, he just felt that.”

Nicholas stared into the darkness ahead. A faint hum answered, the rhythmic throb of generators still running somewhere deeper. Through the smoke, a door slid open, spilling pale blue light.

A single figure stood there, tall, calm, eyes glowing faintly silver. The voice that followed was cold and exact.

“Subject A-01: Nicholas Mayford. Authorization accepted.”

The figure stepped forward. Same jawline. Same scars. But the skin was wrong, too smooth, too controlled.

Elara whispered, “Nick… that’s you.”

Nicholas raised his weapon, heart hammering. “No. That’s what my father made from me.”

The clone smiled, perfectly. “Correction,” it said. “You were made from me.”