The night smelled like burnt neon and bad decisions. Redwood Heights' underpass was alive with graffiti that glowed faintly in the streetlights, a kind of urban jungle mural where lions wore gold chains and the Mona Lisa was holding bubble tea. It should have been funny. But tonight, it was terrifying. Because Subject X was there.
And Zeke Carter was about to learn what happens when the guy whose blood holds the key to a billion-dollar corporate conspiracy meets the thing built to erase him.
Okay," Zeke muttered to himself, hiding behind a concrete pillar that had more spray paint than cement. "I can do this. I'm… not totally going to die. Probably. Unless I fry my own brain. Which would be embarrassing. For my funeral."
"Stop talking to yourself," Maya hissed from her crouch a few feet away. Her tactical gear was smeared with dirt, her tablet glowing softly as she hacked into every nearby surveillance drone. Her curls were plastered to her forehead with sweat. "You'll give away our position."
"Pretty sure glowing hands already gave away my position," Zeke shot back, holding up his fingers as faint blue energy danced across his skin. He grimaced. "God, it's like my bones have Wi-Fi."
Maya didn't laugh. She almost never did. But she didn't have to—Zeke filled the silence with nervous sarcasm anyway.
Then, from the other side of the underpass, footsteps echoed. Heavy, deliberate, mechanical. Like someone had spliced together Darth Vader's breathing and a drumline. Subject X walked into view.
Seven feet tall, metal where there should be muscle, red light burning in the sockets where eyes should go. Its voice was a low growl, modulated like it was speaking from the bottom of a black hole.
"Target acquired," Subject X said. Its head tilted, scanning Zeke and Maya. "Patient Zero."
Zeke peeked around the pillar. His stomach dropped. "Oh, cool, a nightmare terminator with bad posture. This is fine. Totally fine."
Maya pressed something on her tablet. Drones buzzed overhead, swarming toward Subject X. For half a second, it worked—the machine tilted its head up, processing the interference. Then its arm snapped upward, and a pulse of crimson energy shot out, frying every drone in sight like mosquitoes in a bug zapper.
"Well," Maya muttered, closing the tablet. "That was thirty grand of tech I didn't expense."
Subject X turned its gaze back on Zeke. "Evolution requires extinction."
"Oh my God," Zeke groaned, stepping out from behind the pillar. "Do you rehearse these lines, or do you just have a subscription to Clichés Monthly?"
Before he could regret that, Subject X moved. It didn't run, didn't charge—it blurred. One second it was twenty feet away, the next its metallic hand had slammed into the pillar Zeke had just been hiding behind, shattering concrete like brittle chalk.
Zeke's instincts screamed. He lifted his hands, and blue energy arced outward in a wild surge, catching Subject X square in the chest. The impact lit up the underpass like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Sparks flew. Subject X staggered a step back.
For the first time, Zeke felt the rush—power coursing through him like a second heartbeat. But along with it came the whisper in his head, faint but undeniable.
Burn brighter, burn out faster.
Zeke's knees nearly buckled. His vision blurred at the edges. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus.
Maya shouted, "Zeke, keep it together! You've got maybe two minutes before you cook yourself!"
"Two minutes?!" Zeke yelled, dodging a swing from Subject X that left a crater in the asphalt. "I don't even last two minutes on a treadmill!"
He ducked another blow, then shoved his palms forward. Energy exploded outward, pushing Subject X back again. But each blast took something from him—like pieces of his own strength were being yanked out with every pulse.
Subject X didn't tire. Didn't pause. Didn't bleed. It just kept coming. And every time Zeke hit it, the red light in its chest glowed brighter, like it was feeding on the attacks.
Maya saw it first. "Zeke—stop feeding it! It's absorbing your power!"
"Wait, WHAT?!" Zeke's voice cracked. He stumbled backward as Subject X swung its arm like a sledgehammer. Zeke blocked with a surge of energy, but the blow sent him flying into a parked car. The windshield spiderwebbed around his body.
He gasped, clutching his ribs. "Ow. Ow. Pretty sure I just met my skeleton."
Subject X advanced, steps shaking the ground. Its voice was calm. Inevitable. "You are flawed code. A prototype. You will be erased."
Zeke pulled himself upright, sparks leaking from his hands. His body screamed at him to stop, but something in him—stubborn, reckless, too human to quit—refused.
"Yeah? Well, newsflash, Robocop," Zeke spat, dragging himself to his feet. "I've been erased from Instagram twice. Still here. Still annoying."
With a roar, he charged, releasing everything he had in a blinding surge of energy. Blue lightning cracked across the underpass, wrapping around Subject X like a storm come alive. For a split second, it worked—metal screeched, circuits fried, and Subject X was thrown backward into the wall, leaving a crater of sparks and twisted steel.
Zeke collapsed to his knees, panting, vision flickering like a broken TV. The whisper in his mind was louder now.
You are not in control. You are the weapon.
Maya rushed to him, grabbing his shoulders. "Zeke—stay with me! Look at me!"
"I… I think I fried my own brain," he mumbled, eyes rolling. "Do I smell toast?"
Then the rubble shifted. Sparks flew. And from the crater, Subject X rose again. Half its faceplate was gone now, revealing not metal—but scar tissue. Flesh. One human eye glared out at them, bloodshot and furious.
Zeke froze. "Wait. That thing's… human?"
Subject X stepped forward, voice lower, harsher now. "I was first. You… are second."
Maya's face went pale. "Zeke… he's not just hunting you. He is you. The prototype before Patient Zero."
For once, Zeke had nothing witty to say. Just three words, whispered like a prayer:
"…Oh, we're screwed."