The door was right there.
A few steps.
A simple command.
Move.
Locke exhaled slowly, steadying the noise in his head like a system trying to stabilize after a near crash. The dim screen room pulsed faintly behind him—monitors flickering, code stuttering, light bending in ways that didn't make sense.
None of it mattered.
The door mattered.
Silas might be beyond it.
And if he was—
Locke took a step forward.
Or at least, he tried to.
His body responded… halfway.
His right leg moved.
His left—
Didn't.
Locke froze.
"…No."
He looked down slowly, breath tightening.
His left leg stood perfectly still. Not trembling. Not glitching. Not lagging.
Just… still.
Like it didn't belong to him anymore.
"Move."
Nothing.
A sharp pressure built behind his eyes, like something pushing back against his command.
"Move," he repeated, voice lower now, edged with something dangerous.
His right hand clenched.
His left hand loosened.
Locke's breath hitched.
No delay. No misfire.
Opposition.
"…Julian."
The name came out like a warning.
For a second—just one—
There was silence.
Then—
"Stop."
Locke's entire body went rigid.
The voice didn't echo this time.
It didn't crawl out from the dark corners of his mind.
It came—
through him.
Using his throat.
His vocal cords.
Clear. Immediate. Alive.
Locke staggered back half a step—except only half his body obeyed.
His right foot shifted.
His left foot dragged—late, reluctant, like it had been forced into motion against its will.
"No…" Locke whispered, breath uneven now. "You don't get to—"
"You're going to hurt someone."
The response came instantly.
No delay.
No distance.
Like a second consciousness sitting right behind his eyes.
Locke clenched his jaw, forcing his right hand up, fingers curling as if he could physically grab control back from inside himself.
"You don't decide that."
"You don't either."
His left hand moved.
Not a twitch.
Not a glitch.
It lifted—slowly, deliberately—and wrapped around his right wrist.
Locke's breath snapped out of him.
"What are you—"
His own hand tightened.
Holding him back.
Preventing movement.
Preventing action.
Preventing him.
A cold, suffocating realization spread through his chest.
This wasn't interference.
This wasn't damage.
This was—
resistance.
Locke tried to pull free.
His right arm strained.
Muscles tensed.
But his left hand held firm—steady, unshaking, impossibly controlled.
"Let go."
"No."
The word came out of his mouth again.
Calm.
Certain.
Locke's vision blurred for a second, the room flickering as if the entire system couldn't handle what was happening inside him.
"You think this is helping?" Locke snapped, voice cracking under pressure. "You think stopping me fixes anything?"
"It stops you from becoming him."
The words hit harder than anything physical.
For a second—
Locke hesitated.
And that was all it took.
His left leg stepped back.
Not forward.
Back.
Away from the door.
Away from control.
Locke's eyes widened.
"No—no, don't—"
His body obeyed the wrong command.
Another step back.
The distance between him and the door increased.
"Stop—!"
His right leg tried to compensate, pushing forward—
But it dragged.
Heavy.
Delayed.
Like it was now the weaker side.
Locke sucked in a sharp breath.
"Why… is it getting worse…"
"Because you won't stop."
The pressure in his head spiked—sharp, splitting, unbearable.
Locke staggered, both hands jerking—but not in sync.
One trying to move forward.
The other forcing him back.
A war.
Inside muscle.
Inside nerve.
Inside thought.
"I'm not—losing—to you," Locke forced out, teeth clenched.
"This isn't about winning."
Another step back.
The door felt farther now.
Too far.
"I need to get out—"
"No."
Immediate.
Absolute.
Final.
Locke's body stilled.
Not calm.
Not stable.
Just—
paused.
Like a system waiting for input it could no longer process.
His chest rose and fell unevenly.
His limbs felt wrong.
Disconnected.
Split.
"…If I don't move…" Locke whispered, more to himself now, "then I can't do anything…"
"Exactly."
Silence pressed in.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
And for the first time—
Locke understood something terrifying.
To move…
To act…
To stay in control…
He would have to fight.
Not enemies.
Not Silas.
Not the system.
But—
himself.
His fingers twitched.
Both hands.
For a second—
They moved at the same time.
Then—
They stopped.
And the door remained closed.