Chapter 6: The Kill Order

They didn't stop moving after that.

The data shard had changed everything.

Not just for Eros—but for the ones watching from above.

New Era had changed the rules.

Not just kill Prion.

Now, it was to contain Eros.

Not yet terminate. But soon.

Once the anomaly bled too far.

Once the instincts overrode the programming.

Once the anchor cracked.

The alley ended in a broken access hatch.

Prion stepped through first, body still stiff from the earlier collapse.

Eros followed—glancing back just once before pulling the metal shut behind them.

They moved in silence down the tunnel beyond, deeper into the district's subterranean crawlspaces. Old junctions. Surveillance dead zones. The only places New Era couldn't trace in real-time without physically entering.

Even then, it wouldn't take long.

Eros's thoughts were splintered.

Every step forward was followed by a flicker.

A streetlamp flash.

A voice in his head that wasn't his.

A name burned into his skin he hadn't remembered carving.

Prion's name.

And behind all that: the whisper from the data shard—

"You're his anchor. You were always meant to break first."

Eros clenched his jaw. He hadn't told Prion what else the file said.

Not yet.

"How long until they find us?" he asked, keeping his tone even.

Prion didn't look at him.

"They already have."

Eros stopped. "Then why aren't we running?"

"Because we're not fast enough. And if you run on instinct again, they'll trigger the suppression protocol before you can reload your weapon."

A pause.

"Besides," Prion looked at him and added, "you always hesitate when you run."

Eros narrowed his eyes. "That supposed to be funny?"

Prion gave a ghost of a smile.

Not mocking.

Just... tired.

"I liked it better when you didn't talk," Eros muttered, but didn't mean it.

They reached the lower maintenance corridor, metal grates groaning underfoot. An old comm station flickered in the corner. Prion stopped beside it, pulling a tool from his coat and cracking open the panel with one efficient motion.

Eros watched him work.

Fast. Focused. Surgical.

Even after a fainting episode and a bleeding wound, Prion's hands didn't tremble.

That's what made it worse.

Because even now, he was still dangerous.

Still unknown.

Still the most highly intelligent and deadliest weapon New Era had ever created—and failed to control.

"You're still bleeding," Eros said suddenly.

Prion didn't stop working. "It's contained."

"It's not."

"You're staring."

"I'm assessing."

"Same thing."

Eros stepped closer. "If you faint again mid-mission, I'm not carrying you twice."

"You say that now."

A pause.

Then quieter, without looking up—

"But you stayed."

Eros look away and said nothing.

Because he had.

And that silence between them wasn't empty this time.

It was charged.

A sudden beep from the console cut through the moment.

Red pulses. Incoming signal intercept.

They'd been found.

Prion didn't move.

Eros reached for his weapon automatically, training it on the far end of the tunnel. But the feed scrolling across the screen was worse than a location trace.

It was a command pulse.

Live override. Directed not at Prion.

But at Eros.

His breath caught.

The neural link flared at the base of his spine—subtle but sharp, like a thread pulled taut.

Prion's head snapped toward him instantly.

"You feel it," he said.

Eros swore under his breath. "They're triggering something."

"They're waking up your old script."

"Then shut it down."

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

Prion stood.

Face pale.

Voice low.

"I told you before. I'm not your handler."

He walked toward Eros.

Slow.

Measured.

Unarmed.

"But I remember how to stop you."

Eros raised his gun instinctively.

But his hand—

It shook.

The override is live. And the only one who can stop Eros… is the one he was sent to kill.

"Put it down."

Prion's voice was calm.

Not cold. Not commanding. Just… steady. Like a thread tying Eros to the moment before it frays.

But Eros didn't lower the gun.

He couldn't.

His hand trembled—not from fear, but from something far worse.

Obedience.

The override pulse wasn't strong enough to seize control outright. Not yet.

But it was enough to fill his head with static. A push. A whisper at the edge of thought.

Terminate the anomaly.

Terminate Subject 7.

Terminate Prion.

"Don't come any closer," Eros warned.

But Prion did.

One step. Then another. Deliberate. Slow.

"You're glitching," he said softly. "It's not your fault."

"Then back off!"

"I won't."

The barrel wavered.

Eros's jaw clenched. "What are you doing?"

"Reminding you," Prion replied.

"Of what?"

"That this isn't the first time you aimed at me like this."

Silence stretched.

The sound of Eros's shallow breath. The faint hum of the comm relay. The distant echo of boots—security sweeps, not far now.

But Prion kept moving.

Until the gun pressed directly against his chest.

"Pull the trigger," Prion whispered. "Maybe it'll work this time."

Eros's hand shook harder.

"Shut up!"

"You've done it before."

"I said shut up!!!"

"You almost succeeded once."

Eros's grip faltered.

"Attempt seventeen," Prion said. "You stabbed me in the neck. I nearly bled out before they wiped you again."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you remembered," Prion said. "That was the first time you begged them not to erase me."

The air crackled. Not from the override—but from the emotional static between them. Unresolved. Unspoken.

Unforgotten.

"I didn't—" Eros tried, but the words didn't land.

He didn't even know what he meant.

He didn't remember that version of himself.

He didn't remember why his hands wouldn't obey.

But Prion…

Prion didn't flinch.

Didn't try to stop the weapon aimed at his chest.

He just stepped closer.

The barrel now pressing into his heart.

And gently—gently—he placed his hand over Eros's.

Warm. Grounding.

Not stopping. Not guiding.

Just… there.

"You're not just their weapon," Prion said. "You're the only part of this they didn't control completely."

Eros's heart slammed in his chest.

His arm lowered.

Barely.

But it lowered.

Then, distant footsteps. The override spike faltered—just long enough for his fingers to release the trigger.

And Prion exhaled.

Not in relief.

But in quiet recognition.

"You didn't kill me," he said.

Eros turned away.

"Yet…"

They moved again.

Fast. Tighter paths. Darker corridors. No time for words. Not until the threat faded.

They didn't speak again until they reached a collapsed stairwell. Safe for a moment. Barely.

Eros slumped against the wall, breathing hard. Prion sat across from him, still bleeding, still silent.

It was Prion who finally broke the quiet.

"What would you do if they told you to kill me again?"

Eros looked at him.

"Same thing I just did."

"Which was?"

Eros's voice dropped to a low, tired rasp.

"Fail."

He didn't pull the trigger. But what happens when the order comes louder next time—and there's no safe corridor left to run to?

"You're still bleeding through your shirt."

Prion didn't answer.

Eros pushed off the wall with a frustrated exhale, crossed the narrow space between them, and dropped into a crouch.

"Let me see it."

Still nothing.

Prion just leaned back slightly against the cracked wall, dark eyes steady, lips slightly parted with shallow breaths. His colour was off—too pale even for him. Sweat shimmered across his brow.

Eros cursed under his breath. "Are you even conscious right now?"

"I'm just ignoring you," Prion murmured.

"Well, stop. You're leaking all over the floor."

"You always did have a thing for dramatics."

Eros glared. "You're about three seconds away from passing out again."

"Two, actually."

And then he slumped forward.

Eros caught him before he hit the ground.

"Dammit!" he breathed, easing Prion down.

The wound on his side had opened again—seeping through layers of black fabric and soaking his hoodie. There was too much movement. Too many dodges. And no time for rest.

Eros pulled the hoodie up.

Grazed rib. Puncture—probably from that earlier ambush. The blood wasn't gushing anymore, but the damage had already been done. Internal bruising. Sluggish response.

And yet, this man still talked like he was in control, like he was not bleeding at all.

"You knew this was going to happen," Eros muttered.

He tore off a strip from the cleaner edge of his own jacket and pressed it against the wound.

"You pushed the override. You baited them. And now you're falling apart in my arms like it's just another data point."

"Still warmer than the lab," Prion whispered and slightly smiled.

Eros stilled.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Deflect."

Prion's eyes fluttered open. Clouded. Tired.

But not afraid.

"You were different then," he said. "Colder. But you never dropped me."

"You were my assignment."

"You didn't treat me like one."

A pause.

Prion's gaze drifted. Unfocused.

"...not until they made you forget."

The silence that followed wasn't filled with tension.

It was filled with loss.

Like a memory neither could fully reach—but both bled for.

"Drink this."

Eros pressed a cracked water capsule to Prion's lips. The other didn't resist. Swallowed slowly.

His body leaned again into Eros's side—not from choice, but exhaustion.

Eros didn't push him away.

"I hate this," Eros muttered.

"What?"

"Caring."

Prion's lips curved faintly.

"Still better than shooting."

Another pause. Then Eros's voice, barely above a breath:

"You let me aim at you. You didn't stop me."

"You never really wanted to pull the trigger."

"I almost did."

"Almost… That's what makes it real."

Eros looked down at the man half-curled against his side.

Blood on his hands.

Breath warming his arm.

Eyes slowly falling shut again—not from fear, but trust.

And for the first time since this started… Eros felt it.

Not guilt.

Not confusion.

But grief.

For all the times they had been broken apart—by orders, resets, and silence.

"Stay awake," he said.

"I'm tired."

"Then I'll carry you again."

"You said you wouldn't do it the second time."

"I lied."

Prion didn't smile this time.

He just leaned in, eyes closing fully as he let his weight rest fully against Eros.

And for once—Eros didn't feel like a weapon.

He felt like something else entirely.

They've stopped running—but not bleeding. And the one holding the gun now holds him like he means it.

They didn't stay long.

Even in the crawlspace beneath the broken city lines, Prion's presence made the comms flicker—his existence caused interference.

They couldn't trace him precisely. But they could feel him.

Like a cracked code bleeding into every frequency.

Like a ghost the system couldn't forget, even after thirty-seven resets.

Eros tightened the bandages and shouldered him again.

Prion didn't resist. Half-conscious, lips slightly parted, he said nothing as Eros pulled them through the shadowed corridors. They moved like something practiced—uneven but synchronized, as if some deeper part of their bodies remembered the routine even if their minds didn't.

There was no choice now.

They had to disappear.

But first, they had to survive the next ten minutes.

A surveillance relay blinked red as they passed a crosswalk underpass.

Eros ducked them into the nearest alcove and waited.

Five seconds.

The light didn't shift.

Ten seconds.

Still red.

Then, it shattered.

Eros flinched as a shower of sparks burst from the relay unit. Across the street, another one flickered, then died. And another. Down the block, the entire surveillance feed began failing—one unit at a time.

He didn't move.

His grip tightened on Prion.

"What is this?" he whispered.

Prion stirred slightly against him.

"Field disruption."

"You did that?"

Prion's voice was thin, but clear. "I'm not compatible anymore."

"With their systems?"

"With any."

And then Eros saw it—his own neural HUD, the faint grid always hovering in the corners of his vision, began to glitch. Lines stuttered. Data warped. Internal trackers reset without warning.

Prion shifted again, and everything near him glitched harder.

Eros blinked. "You're affecting my—"

"I always did," Prion said. "You just forgot."

They reached an abandoned magrail depot. Thick doors. No feed. No power left to track them.

Inside, Eros set him down carefully against a cold pillar.

He checked the wound again. Still stable—but barely. Prion's skin was ice-cold. His breath shallow.

But his eyes… sharper now. Less fogged.

"I didn't trigger the kill order," Prion said quietly.

Eros looked up.

"What?"

"That override. That pulse. It wasn't me."

"Then who?"

Prion didn't answer.

Instead, he reached into his coat and pulled out a cracked, translucent shard.

Eros recognized it instantly.

Echo-tech. Unauthorized. Blacklisted.

Too dangerous to run.

Even just holding it near a receiver could destabilize an entire command grid.

"You're not supposed to have that," Eros muttered.

"They're not supposed to remember me," Prion replied.

He passed it over.

Eros hesitated. Then took it.

A flicker lit up.

And then a voice.

Low. Unfamiliar.

But speaking directly to him.

"Eros. If you're hearing this… you're starting to remember."

"Not everything. Not yet. But enough."

"He wasn't the subject. He was the safeguard."

"You were the weapon."

The feed cut off.

Eros stared at the shard.

Blood roared in his ears.

He looked at Prion, who had gone quiet again. Still pale. Still distant.

Still watching him with that unreadable calm.

"You knew this," Eros said.

"Yes."

"For how long?"

Prion's response was soft. Tired. But unwavering.

"Since the first time you asked me to kill you."

The room fell into silence.

This wasn't just a kill order anymore.

It never had been.

It was a loop.

A fracture.

A command rewritten one too many times.

And now—the cracks were no longer hidden.

They were bleeding.

Outside, the storm began to roll in. Static in the sky. Power surges in the east lines.

Inside, Eros sat beside Prion again.

No weapon drawn.

No orders followed.

Just a slow, terrible unravelling.

He didn't ask what came next.

Because some part of him already knew.

The override wasn't from Prion. It wasn't an accident. And it wasn't just a test.

Prion didn't glitch the system. He is the glitch.

But the assassin beside him? He might just be the payload.

If someone tells you, you were the weapon—what does that make the one who kept saving you?