Chapter 25: Burn the Loop

The sound of boots against concrete was no longer distant.

It was here.

Eros could hear them—at least six. Maybe more. All trained. All sent to retrieve what had slipped from the Organization's leash. And worse, to eliminate the anomaly before it could break containment again.

"Stay behind me," Eros ordered without looking back.

But Prion was already limping toward the core interface.

"I said—"

"If I stop now," Prion rasped, "then everything I've done—all thirty-seven times I woke up choking on my own failure—it meant nothing."

He slammed a palm against the panel, unlocking an embedded sublayer beneath the station floor. It hissed open, revealing a backup core node—manual, analogue, untouched by the main system purge. Preserved for one reason only:

To store the last stable personality imprint of Subject 7.

Him.

"Prion—what is this?"

"This," he said hoarsely, "is the version of me that remembered you even when they tried to erase it. The one you called real—just once—before they took that name from you."

The boots outside paused.

A breathless silence.

Then metal twisted. Sparks flared.

The door was being cut open.

Eros drew his weapon. "How long do you need?"

Prion didn't answer.

His hands moved faster now, inserting bypass keys, triggering old server nodes.

The lights flickered overhead—then stabilized, just as the lock hissed once more.

"They're coming," Eros said tightly.

"I know."

Prion's voice cracked.

But he didn't stop.

The final key clicked into place.

The node's screen lit up—then stuttered—then showed a single fragment:

Protocol: Echo Rebuild // Status: Incomplete

Eros turned to him.

"What the hell does that mean?"

Prion's eyes didn't leave the screen. "It means I've been building myself back from memory fragments. Over and over. Attempt after attempt. And this—this was the last clean copy."

The lights above buzzed, and from the hall, the voice came.

Familiar. Smooth.

Subject Z.

"You can't fix a broken code, Prion. You are the collapse."

Prion didn't even blink. "Funny. That's exactly what I said to them."

Eros turned sharply. "We don't have time to gloat."

But Prion's hand was already shaking—his body trembling from internal strain.

"I can finish the rebuild. But if I do, they'll trace it. They'll know exactly where we are."

Eros stepped beside him.

"You're not doing this alone."

A beat.

Prion's breath hitched, just once.

"…You're not supposed to trust me."

"I don't," Eros said flatly. "But I don't trust them more."

The outer door finally cracked.

Heat. Light. Shadows.

They'd broken through.

Eros raised his blade.

And behind him, Prion whispered something that didn't reach the air.

The node glowed.

And for one heartbeat longer, the world stood still.

The instant the door gave way, light exploded inward—blinding white from stun-torches and the flicker of cloaking dispersal fields. Figures poured through the breach like shadows pried from a machine's underbelly.

New Era's clean-up squad.

Elite. Silent. Protocol-bound.

Their directive: Secure the anomaly. Kill the anchor if compromised.

"Targets confirmed," a voice crackled.

But Eros had already moved.

He was a blur—blade arcing with precision, body twisting through the first two operatives before they could fire. Not lethal strikes. He aimed for armour joints, sensors, weapons. Disable, not destroy.

Behind him, Prion didn't flinch.

He couldn't afford to.

He was inside the final layers of the Echo Rebuild Protocol now—fingers trembling against the keys, lips moving in half-spoken code. Each line of data he reassembled wasn't just memory—it was him.

His laugh in the dark.

His scream during the first wipe.

Eros's hand over his eyes, whispering Don't forget me this time.

He was rebuilding the truth New Era tried to erase.

But his vision blurred. His chest burned. The cost was catching up.

"You'll collapse," Eros snapped between attacks. "Stop—just stop and run!"

"I've run before," Prion whispered. "Didn't change the outcome."

One of the soldiers broke past Eros—lunging straight for the core.

Prion didn't move.

He didn't have to.

The moment the soldier's boot crossed the node's shadow line, something activated—an electromagnetic feedback pulse coded into the ground.

The soldier dropped mid-stride, convulsing.

Eros turned. "That wasn't in your file."

"It is now," Prion said weakly.

The backup core flashed.

Echo Rebuild – 91%

Then 92%.

Then—

ERROR: Incompatible host detected.

Prion's hands clenched. "No, no, no…"

Another warning lit up.

Attempted overwrite: Subject Z interference.

Eros's breath caught. "He's here."

Prion staggered back, slamming his fist on the console. "He's jamming the rebuild. From the system itself."

Then, behind them, the softest voice—familiar, but wrong.

"You're trying to save something that was never meant to exist."

They turned.

Subject Z stood in the doorway, calm, untouched by the chaos.

Same face. Same frame. But the eyes…

Nothing human lived there.

"You were the anomaly," Z said gently, "but I was the cure."

Eros stepped between them.

But Z didn't raise a weapon.

He only tilted his head. "You think you're protecting him. But you're not. You're feeding him. Every glitch. Every doubt. Every time you hesitate, it makes him stronger."

"Then I'll stop hesitating," Eros said coldly.

But Z's gaze shifted to Prion. "It's not his strength that scares them. It's his remembrance. Every time he comes back, he brings the failure with him."

The node behind Prion beeped one final time.

Echo Rebuild – 100%

A soft click.

Then the system began to hum.

Not like a machine.

Like a heartbeat.

Z's expression froze. "What did you do?"

"I finished the loop," Prion whispered.

"And now…"

He pulled the final key.

"…I'm going to burn it."

The node burst into white-hot light.

And then—silence.

The light from the rebuilt node swallowed everything—walls, shadows, even time.

Eros turned instinctively, shielding Prion with his body as the pulse expanded. Not heat. Not radiation. Something deeper. It tore through tech like a scream through silence. Systems blinked out. Implants crackled. New Era's soldiers dropped to their knees, clutching their heads.

Only Z remained standing.

Unmoved.

Unblinking.

"You think this matters?" Z said, voice brittle around the edges now. "You pressed reset on a corpse. This system was never designed to free you."

Prion's knees buckled.

Eros caught him without hesitation—arms firm around the other's waist, the weight too familiar now.

"You need to fall back," Prion rasped. "The node's not enough. We have to go deeper. Hit the core."

"No," Eros said, steady. "You're falling back. I'll handle this."

"Handle Z?" Prion managed a crooked smile. "He's a reconstruction of everything I was supposed to be. You'll lose."

"Then I'll lose buying you ten minutes."

Z stepped closer.

"You both misunderstand. You didn't trigger a collapse. You triggered a quarantine. Everything from this point forward is containment protocol."

The floor beneath them shuddered.

Metal plates retracted, revealing jagged cables and submerged tech.

A machine rose—cold, spidery limbs locking into place. A prototype rig for the Fracture Protocol, reanimated.

"You're kidding," Eros muttered.

Prion's voice dropped to a whisper. "No. They're going to rerun the simulation. See if I break faster this time."

"And if I kill you first?"

Z tilted his head. "That would save us the trouble."

Prion pressed a hand to Eros's wrist. "Don't. That's what they want."

Eros didn't answer.

He just drew the chip Prion had once slipped into his pocket—a tiny silver shard, barely noticeable.

"What is that?" Prion asked.

"You don't remember," Eros murmured. "But during Attempt Seventeen… you told me, 'If they start the loop again—use this.'"

He stepped forward and slammed the chip into the console built into the rig.

For a moment—nothing.

Then the machine screamed.

The scream was digital, fractured, glitching through ten thousand iterations of the same failed protocol. It wasn't just a rejection—it was a purge. A refusal.

Z staggered, clutching his head. The lights pulsed red, then black.

And through it all—

Prion didn't move.

He stood, barely breathing, eyes locked on Z as if willing him to break apart.

"You were built to replace me," Prion said, quiet and hollow. "But you can't overwrite a mind that rewrote itself. That's the difference."

Z trembled.

And then, with a hiss, the body began to flicker.

Digital. Not flesh. An echo made solid. And now—dissolving.

As the lights went out completely, only the sound of a distant shutdown echoed through the dark.

The rig. The lab. The entire sublevel.

Eros exhaled slowly.

Prion finally collapsed.

This time—into Eros's arms.

Not from design.

Just… exhaustion.

"I told you not to break," Eros whispered.

Prion didn't answer.

But his breathing steadied.

Alive.

Still.

For now.