Location ; Sinclair Estate – Sublevel 9, Midnight
The door to Level 9 hissed open with a low mechanical groan. Cold air slithered out, carrying with it the sterile scent of preserved metal, chemicals, and secrets long buried.
Nora stepped in first, her hand gripping the flashlight tightly, casting long beams down the steel-plated corridor. Damien followed, his expression unreadable, the vial still in his coat pocket—an echo of betrayal and survival.
The lights above flickered to life, casting a pale, bluish hue over the hidden world beneath the estate. Level 9 wasn't a floor—it was a maze. A labyrinth of interconnected research bays, abandoned tech, and biometric sealed chambers.
"This place feels like a tomb," Nora whispered, eyes scanning the rows of dormant terminals and glass chambers.
Damien nodded. "It was shut down six years ago. After Project Aegis was scrapped."
Nora stopped mid-step. "Aegis? I've heard that name before."
He glanced at her. "You should have. You were one of the lead profiles on the medical ethics board. But back then… you went by a different alias."
Her breath caught.
"Nicolette Vance."
Memories rippled—file reviews, denied access requests, rejected experiments. She had fought this. Blocked it. But the program continued in the shadows.
"What the hell were you building down here, Damien?" she asked, turning to him, fury simmering beneath her skin.
"I wasn't the architect," he said. "My father was. I only discovered the full extent a year ago. But by then, someone had already revived it."
"Aveline."
He nodded slowly. "She got her hands on early-stage data. Somehow merged it with neuro-mapping and biological surveillance. Now she wants to complete what my father started—total behavioral control."
Nora's eyes flared. "That's not science. That's slavery."
They passed glass tubes, dormant now, but stained. One held the faint outline of a synthetic neural grid—half-organic, half-machine. Another showed strands of black fluid suspended like a constellation in water.
"She's using this to manipulate people," Nora said, voice low. "To change them from the inside."
"No," Damien corrected. "To break them. Then rebuild them into something she controls."
A terminal pinged.
Nora walked over and typed quickly. The screen lit up, revealing encrypted folders—each marked by initials and numbers. She paused at one.
N.V. – 001A
She opened it.
Her face drained of color.
There, in cold clinical detail, were her records—DNA sequencing, psychological profiling, childhood anomalies, performance evaluations, immunity to early-stage Aegis serum trials.
She stumbled back.
"They cataloged me," she said, voice hollow. "Even back then."
"I didn't know," Damien said, stepping beside her. "I swear, Nora."
"I believe you." She looked up, jaw tight. "But we're shutting this down. Every file, every trace."
"We will," Damien promised. "But first, we need to get to the core server. It controls every backup. If Aveline has a shadow copy, it'll be there."
They moved deeper into the floor, finally arriving at a thick blast door sealed with biometric and voice command. Damien placed his hand against the scanner, then turned to Nora.
"Say your name," he told her.
She hesitated. "Which one?"
"The one they tried to erase."
Her throat tightened.
"Nicolette Vance," she said.
The lock clicked.
The door opened.
Inside was a cold room of humming towers—processors blinking silently. A massive holographic interface pulsed to life, displaying streams of data, neural simulations, and video footage.
Nora moved to the console.
"I can initiate a purge," she said. "It'll take time, but once it starts, it can't be reversed."
Damien hesitated. "You sure?"
She met his eyes. "I've lived in the shadows of my past too long. It's time to burn them."
She pressed the command.
Purge Initiated.
A deep alarm echoed, and the lights flickered red.
Damien's phone buzzed.
A single message:
"She knows. Get out."
Nora's eyes widened. "She's here?"
"No," Damien said grimly. "Worse—she's triggered lockdown. We're not getting out the way we came."
As if to confirm it, the door behind them slammed shut, steel bolts locking them in.
"We need another exit," Nora said, scanning the room.
"There is one," Damien replied. "But it leads through the vaults—where my father kept his final prototypes."
She didn't blink. "Then we go through."
He took her hand.
They turned together and stepped into the darkened corridor leading into the next unknown, with danger growing like frost on every surface around them.