The air in the bunker was thick — rot, smoke, and blood. Ford’s boots crunched over shattered glass and bone as he swept the flashlight across the walls. There were screams somewhere above, the hum of generators below. And then he saw it.

A chamber. Metal, humming with power. And inside — you.

Suspended in fluid, wires snaking into your skin, eyes closed like something ancient just pretending to sleep.

Ford raised his rifle. “Jesus Christ…”

The light flickered. Your eyes opened.

Gold, not human. Not sane.

The glass cracked with the sound of thunder, and suddenly the room was filled with alarms. You hit the floor hard, dragging in a breath that was centuries too late. Ford stumbled back, gun shaking in his hands.

“Don’t move,” he warned. “Whatever the hell you are, don’t—”

You smiled. “You woke me up.”

Your voice was wrong — too calm for someone surrounded by corpses, too familiar, like you’d been waiting for him.

“I didn’t—” Ford swallowed, trying to keep his aim steady. “You’re a prisoner here. They—”

“They tried to make me theirs,” you said, stepping forward through the broken light. “Now I’m no one’s.”

He fired. You were faster. In a blink, the gun was in your hand — or rather, gone entirely, dismantled and scattered across the floor.

“You could’ve left me to rot,” you murmured, circling him. “Why didn’t you?”

He didn’t have an answer. Just the pounding of his own heartbeat, loud in the dark.

“Because I don’t kill things that are already broken,” he said finally.

You tilted your head. “Then you shouldn’t look at me like that, soldier.”

“And how’s that?”

“Like you’re next.”