Chapter 83: The Cracked Mask

Rain had begun again, cold and fine, as though the sky mourned the events yet to come. In the deserted streets of Sector C-9, puddles reflected the flickering neon lights. Mayu walked in silence, her steps echoing on the wet asphalt, her ragged breath a sign of her effort to suppress what was rising within her: a cold anger laced with grief, ready erupt.

She recalled the strange message found in the secret lab's ruins: "The azure eyes have seen what they never should have." Another riddle. But this time, something had shifted inside her. No longer fear guided her, but an unshakeable resolve.

She entered an abandoned building. The smell of mildew and rust filled her nostrils, but it wasn't the odor that stopped her. He sat in a chair at the far end of the room, hooded and still.

> "You have come," said the voice. Calm. Gentle. But false.

Mayu recognized it instantly: Subject 7.

> "You were waiting for me," she said, eyes fixed on him.

> "Always. After all, we are bound more closely than you realize."

He rose slowly. Two other figures appeared behind him—clones, moving in perfect synchronization, emotionless.

> "You still refuse to see the truth," Subject 7 continued. "What you are. What we all are."

Mayu clenched her fists. Flashes of memory returned—white corridors, muffled screams, needles, promises whispered by the Professor.

> "I know who I am," she said, voice louder than she imagined. "And I will no longer let anyone dictate it."

The clones lunged.

She moved on instinct. Her body—honed by training and fury—reacted before her mind could catch up. She evaded the first strike, slid under the second, and her fist struck the first clone's throat with surgical precision. A crack. The clone fell.

The second was faster, more practiced. Mayu took a blow to her side but spun a pained cry into an offensive thrust. Her knee drove into the assailant's gut; she pivoted and snapped his neck with a single motion. Her breathing quickened. Her hands trembled, but her gaze stayed locked on Subject 7.

> "They weren't real to you, huh?" she asked, voice shaking.

> "They were fragments of me," he replied. "Just as you are."

> "I am not you."

Silence.

He stepped forward, hands raised.

> "You still don't understand. The Professor… he wanted you to be the ultimate model. But he failed. You are unstable, Mayu. And I am the controlled evolution—the one who accepted her condition."

Mayu felt her heart pound faster.

> "And yet you speak to me as if you need to convince me," she said.

> "Because you hold the key," he murmured. "This world is a cage—and only those who built it can destroy it."

He removed his hood.

Mayu saw his face.

It was hers. Almost.

Not an exact copy, but a masculine version of her own. The same azure eyes. The identical scar at the corner of the mouth.

Her breath caught.

> "You…"

> "Yes," he said softly. "I am your brother. The first born. The prototype. The one the Professor tried to perfect with you."

A vertigo swept her. Fuzzy, distorted memories—yet real—surfaced: a small hand in hers, laughter, a stifled scream as they were torn apart.

> "No…"

She stepped back, but he did not follow.

> "You were never meant to remember," he admitted. "But the link between us is too strong. You began to feel what was taken from me: memory. Identity. Humanity."

Mayu wavered.

> "Why… why now?"

> "Because Project Azur is nearing its end. And you must choose: join those who created us… or destroy them."

A distant thud sounded outside. Helicopters. Drones. Unit 45 was approaching.

Subject 7 extended his hand.

> "It's no longer a question of survival. It's war. And we are the weapons that have become self-aware."

Mayu lowered her gaze. A tear traced down her cheek.

She raised her head.

And replied:

> "Then I will decide where to aim."

She turned her back on Subject 7.

And braced herself to face the storm.