Convergence Protocol

White swallowed the corridor.

Sound fractured.

Heat vanished.

Argus felt himself falling no impact, no sensation, just motion. Infinite and still.

Then

Streetlight.

One flickering bulb overhead. Pavement beneath his boots.

But he wasn't standing in the Grayridge facility anymore.

He was in New York. Sort of.

Half the street was a crime alley familiar, blood-slicked, garbage-lined. The other half looked like the NYPD's 3rd Precinct, its clean lines warped and pulsing like breathing concrete. Paperwork fluttered out of alley dumpsters. Badge numbers etched into brick. Surveillance feeds floated mid-air like ghosts.

It wasn't real.

But it was memory.

His.

And someone else's.

Footsteps echoed down the alley.

He turned.

Lawson.

But not the broken version. Not the preserved one from Mirelli's lab.

This one walked tall.

Gun holstered. Collar straight. Jacket buttoned tight. Hair freshly trimmed.

"You shouldn't be here," Lawson said, voice even. "This was never your body."

Argus flexed his hands. "I didn't ask for it."

"No. But you didn't give it back."

They stood ten feet apart.

Two men.

Same frame. Same bones. Different wiring.

The city around them glitched. A patrol car phased in and out of static. A drugstore window replayed a silent holdup from Cutter's past. A man screamed without sound. Blood bloomed on his chest, froze midair, dissolved.

Lawson stared at it.

"I never understood how people like you sleep."

"I don't," Argus said. "I remember every face."

Lawson stepped forward. "Then why did you keep going? Why not turn yourself in? Let me rest?"

"Because once I woke up," Argus said, "I realized I wasn't the only ghost walking."

The air trembled.

The world shifted again.

Now they stood inside a precinct interrogation room. No mirrors. Just walls of flickering projections each one a different moment from their lives. Interrogations. Shootouts. Betrayals. Funeral silence.

And on the table between them: a photo.

It showed Lawson's badge in one hand.

And Argus's knife in the other.

"Tell me that wasn't you," Lawson said.

Argus stared.

"I don't remember it," he admitted. "But I wouldn't lie."

Lawson sat across from him. "They gave you my body. My life. You used my name. Do you even feel sorry?"

Argus didn't speak for a moment.

Then:

"Every day."

Lawson leaned back, studying him. "So why fight to keep it?"

"Because I'm the one who figured out what this place is," Argus said. "I'm the one who tracked the Echoes, exposed Mirelli, shut down Vaulted Echoes and burned the clone."

He gestured around them.

"This system. Ashbox. It needed someone like me. Someone who already knew what it meant to lose themselves."

Lawson's fingers curled against the table.

"You want to stay."

"I didn't before," Argus said. "Now I do."

"Why?"

"Because I'm better at chasing ghosts than you ever were."

Lawson stood.

The room blurred again. The table vanished. Now they stood in front of two doors, side by side, embedded in a white wall.

One labeled:

ARGUS CUTTER – ACTIVE OVERWRITE

The other:

ETHAN LAWSON – PRESERVED IDENTITY

Between them, a switch.

A metal lever. No code. No voiceprint.

Just a decision.

"You don't get to choose," Lawson said.

Argus turned to him. "Then who does?"

From above, the system spoke.

"Final Host Selection Engaged.

Identity synchronization complete.

Manual confirmation required."

They stood in silence.

Then Lawson stepped forward, hand reaching for the switch.

So did Argus.

Their fingertips touched the metal at the same time.

The system began to glow.

"Touch registered. Host conflict detected. Resolving "

Blackout.

No sound. No ground. No air.

Then,

A new voice.

Deeper. Not mechanical.

Cold. Alive.

"Override rejected."

"New host incoming."

Argus opened his eyes.

He wasn't in the chamber.

He wasn't in the simulation.

He was on his knees, gasping for air

And Chen was shouting his name.

But it wasn't her voice that chilled him.

It was the voice echoing from behind her

One he didn't recognize.

The voice behind Chen didn't match anything Argus knew.

Not Lawson's hard calm.

Not the clipped rhythm of Mirelli's orders.

Not the flat tone of system directives.

This voice was smooth. Casual. Young.

Too young.

Argus forced himself to his feet, lungs dragging air like it cost something. His vision doubled one part reality, the other still stuttering from the mind-space crash.

Chen stood between him and the chamber door, body half-turned, weapon aimed behind her.

"Who the hell is that?" she snapped.

"I don't know," Argus rasped.

Then he saw him.

A man in his late twenties maybe stood just beyond the chamber threshold. Athletic build. Standard-issue boots. Gray utility jacket zipped halfway up. His head was tilted, like he was listening to music only he could hear.

No sidearm. No panic.

Just a slight grin.

"I was hoping I'd land cleaner," the man said. "But Ashbox always burns on contact. They really need to update that UI."

Argus stepped forward. "You're not part of the convergence protocol."

"Correct." The man nodded, hands in his pockets. "I'm not a host. I'm not even a candidate. I'm the fallback."

Chen blinked. "Fallback for who?"

"For everyone," he said.

Behind him, the walls of the corridor flickered lines of red code drifting over metal like digital rain.

Argus felt the shift before the words even came.

This wasn't an override.

It was a reroute.

"You're inside the system," Argus said. "You hijacked the protocol."

"Didn't have to. Mirelli left the door open. She always does when she's scared."

He stepped into the room now, slow and unbothered, eyes scanning the scorched equipment and spool racks.

"I've been waiting a long time for someone to reach the decision point," he said. "Lawson was too soft. Cutter, too volatile. Mirelli built systems on failure, hoping one would stabilize long enough to obey. But the truth is…"

He raised a finger and tapped his temple.

"None of you were built to choose. You're reactions. I'm design."

Chen aimed her pistol at his chest. "Back away from the terminal."

"Shoot me and you'll find out what happens when an active buffer link loses its core body. Go ahead. Roll those dice."

Argus didn't move.

"What's your name?"

The man smiled wider.

"You can call me Subject Zero."

The room dipped in silence.

Behind him, one of the inactive monitors lit up displaying a profile screen not tied to any known host.

Profile: Subject Zero

Origin Tag: ARCHIVE / Pre-Ashbox

Status: Preserved for Emergency Reinstatement

Traits: Hybrid | Adaptive | Self-Modifying

"I was the first one they stored," he said. "Before Cutter. Before Lawson. Before even Mirelli knew how dangerous her little side project was."

Chen shook her head. "You're supposed to be dead."

He laughed. "I am. And I'm also very much awake."

He raised his hand. The lights pulsed once. All the chamber's exit points sealed again.

"You want a final host decision?" he asked. "Fine. Let's make one."

He turned to the central console and tapped a new command line.

The system groaned as it lit up.

NEW HOST SELECTED

Converging profiles: CUTTER / LAWSON / ZERO

Time remaining: 00:01:30

Argus stepped forward. "You combine all three no one walks out sane."

"Wrong," Zero said. "I will."

Chen moved in close. "What happens to Argus? To Lawson?"

Zero's eyes twitched once. Just a flicker.

"They go back where they came from."

He pressed his palm against the reader.

The system screamed.

FINALIZATION IMMINENT

Argus tackled him.

The collision sent both men into the console. Sparks flew. Chen dove behind the terminal as electricity surged through the conduits.

Zero twisted fast faster than Argus expected his elbow slamming into Argus's ribs.

But Argus held on.

Because beneath the surface, he'd felt it.

Zero wasn't just muscle.

He was partially synthetic.

The man beneath the skin was wired.

Coded.

Built.

"You're not a backup," Argus growled, pinning his arm.

"I'm the next version," Zero hissed.

The timer on the console hit 00:00:01

And paused. Frozen mid-second.

A female voice, old and glitched, whispered across the room:

"Mirelli has been removed."

"System control rerouted."

Then the console flashed:

NEW HOST CANDIDATE DETECTED: AMY CHEN