Chapter 26 - The Labyrinth Of Remnants

The cold seeped through the seams of Ava's coat as she moved carefully through the ruins beneath the city. Moisture dripped from the cracked ceilings of the underground labyrinth, each drop echoing like a clock ticking down. Time, here, had stopped—or worse, folded in on itself.

Her boots made shallow prints in the dust, some of which were already layered over older ones. She wasn't the first to walk these corridors. She wasn't even the first to survive them. But she would be the first to understand them.

The flicker of her flashlight wavered, and she tapped it gently. When the light steadied, she faced a rusted door veiled by a curtain of ivy that had no business growing this far underground. There were things in this place—impossible things.

As she stepped inside, the air changed. Not in temperature, but in something deeper. Like memories were stored in the walls, and they were watching. Whispering.

A desk stood in the center, its drawers pried open and ransacked. She walked around it slowly, her eyes scanning the clutter for anything of value. Old papers. Ashes. A child's drawing.

Ava picked it up. The paper had yellowed, but the crayon marks were still vivid. A woman with red hair. A little boy holding her hand. A house on fire behind them.

It was a memory. It had to be. She folded it carefully and slipped it into her pocket.

Behind her, a door creaked.

She turned.

No one.

But the air buzzed. Not with electricity. With warning.

She moved into the next room. It was a circular chamber, lined with broken glass tubes that might have once held specimens. Most were shattered. But one, in the far corner, was intact.

Inside, suspended in faint blue fluid, was a hand.

Not severed. Preserved.

It looked like it had been removed surgically, carefully. As if the person who took it needed it whole. Needed what it could still do.

Ava swallowed.

A metal plate beneath the container read: Subject #31: Reinstatement Candidate.

She didn't know what that meant. But she knew who to ask.

She turned on her comm unit. "Caroline? Do you read me?"

Static.

"Caroline, come in. It's Ava. I found something."

The static broke. Then came Caroline's voice, distant but urgent. "Ava, where are you? We lost your signal an hour ago. What did you find?"

"You're not going to believe this. I think... I think someone's been trying to rebuild them."

Silence.

Then Caroline whispered, "You mean the ones from the Eden Trials?"

Ava nodded, even though no one could see her. "Yes."

"Get out of there. Now."

"I can't. Not yet. I need to see what else they left behind."

She moved deeper.

The hallway narrowed, forcing her to turn sideways to pass. As she emerged into a lower chamber, the walls lit up with low amber light.

No switches.

They were reacting to her.

And that was when she saw the message.

Etched into the far wall, written not in paint but in something darker, something that had dried long ago:

"We built a heaven, and called it safe. But the devils we buried built ladders."

Ava stepped back. She took a breath. Then she stepped forward again.

The chamber beyond held something she wasn't ready for: a chair. Not just any chair—a surgical one, fitted with straps and tubes. It reeked of antiseptic and silence.

And someone was sitting in it.

Eyes closed. Head tilted. Breathing.

Not dead.

Ava reached for her flashlight, though the room was already lit. The moment the beam touched the person's face, his eyes opened.

Blue.

Familiar.

"Ben?" she whispered.

But it wasn't Ben.

It was someone who looked like him. Almost. Younger. Stronger. Like a version she had never met, but who somehow knew her.

"You came," he said. His voice was hoarse. "I was hoping you would."

Ava didn't move. "Who are you?"

He smiled, weakly. "What remains of him."

---

The corridor stretched endlessly, or so it felt to Ava. The deeper she ventured, the more the walls seemed to narrow, as if resisting her presence. With every step, the dim lights flickered above her, dancing like ghostly fireflies warning her to turn back.

She refused.

In her hand, she clutched the worn photo of Ben and Cassandra—smiling, unaware of what would eventually tear them apart. The edges were frayed, the corners curled from years of hiding. Ava had memorized every detail of it, yet still found something new in each glance. Cassandra's smile this time looked almost strained. Forced. What had she missed before?

Ava passed a sealed steel door. To her surprise, it let out a subtle hiss. It had recently been accessed. She slowed, back pressed to the wall, and waited. No sound. No movement. Still, she stayed there, listening to her heartbeat slow, watching for shadows.

Inside, the air grew warmer—a strange change from the cold underground corridors. Something hummed faintly. Machinery?

She pushed forward, eventually reaching a rounded chamber. It reminded her of a Cold War bunker, sterile but purposeful. At the center was a console, and above it, a suspended screen flickered to life as she stepped closer.

Cassandra's face.

Not a photograph. A live feed. Older now. Hardened. Her eyes scanned something beyond the frame. She looked human, but there was something else—as if part of her had become too used to control, too consumed by what she had built.

Ava stepped back, but the screen changed. It wasn't a feed anymore. It was a message.

"You found me."

A voice. Cassandra's. Calm. Unhurried.

"Then you already know the truth. Or parts of it. But I suspect you're here for the rest."

Ava gritted her teeth. "I want it all."

Silence. Then the room darkened, and walls around her lit up with projections—timelines, data, memories extracted from corrupted files, pieces of experiments. Some showed Ben. Others showed Ava herself. She was watched long before she knew.

"We built it to protect," Cassandra's voice continued, now echoing. "But protection often demands sacrifice. You, me, even him."

Ava shook her head. "You destroyed us."

The screen blinked red.

"Correction," the voice returned, flatter now. "You survived."

The floor beneath her pulsed once. Not physically, but with sound. Sub-bass waves. She felt it in her bones. Then another hiss.

A door slid open to her right.

She turned.

And stepped inside

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