Chương 113: 112: ???

The residential district was waking. Soft golden light filtered through the windows as the morning sun climbed above the fortress walls. Birds chirped in the gardens, while the distant hum of a flying car drifted overhead as someone headed to an early shift. Somewhere, a dog barked once before falling silent. Daniel trudged along the pavement, shoulders heavy beneath a worn leather jacket.

The tailored clothes he'd worn the previous day had given way to something softer: a faded grey hoodie, comfortable joggers, and trainers that had seen better days. He looked tired. The sort of exhaustion that settled into the bones and refused to leave.

"Mr. Daniel!"

"Daniel! Daniel!" Three children burst from behind a hedge and skidded to a stop in front of him. Owen led the charge, his dinosaur backpack bouncing with every step as the morning light caught the fresh scrapes on his knees.

"You're Miss Nadia's boyfriend!" he announced, as though revealing a great secret. Daniel couldn't help smiling.

"That's Operative Daniel to you, kid."

"That's imperative Daniel," another boy corrected earnestly.

"He's very strong. He'll blast you with a rocket."

"Upactive Daniel," Owen argued immediately.

"You got it wrong."

"It's Operative," Daniel said, his accent rolling warmly through the word as he ruffled Owen's hair.

"With an 'or.' Operative."

"Operative Daniel," Owen repeated carefully.

"Better." Daniel reached into his bag and produced a stack of colourful comic books, their covers a little worn from being well loved. The children's eyes widened.

"Whoa!"

"Is that the new issue?"

"The one with the flying guy?" He handed them out one by one.

"Share them, ja? Don't go fighting over comics." They snatched them eagerly, already flipping through the pages before Owen raised his copy above his head.

"Thanks, Operative Daniel!"

"Yeah, thanks!" Daniel watched them with a faint smile until Owen suddenly looked back.

"We saw a fairy! She had really strong muscles and smelled like doughnuts!" Daniel already knew who they meant. That scent was unmistakable. Warm bread, vanilla and buttercream. The albino experiment. Butter.

"Did she now?" he asked mildly.

"Yeah! She threw candy everywhere!"

"And she had a monkey lemur that fixed stuff!"

"A lemur?"

"With a hard hat!" Daniel chuckled.

"Sounds like quite a day." The children nodded vigorously before racing off again, laughter echoing down the street as they disappeared around the corner with their comics clutched tightly to their chests. Daniel watched them leave before turning toward the house. By Syndicate standards it was modest. Two storeys, warm light glowing from the kitchen window, and a small front garden filled with flowers Nadia had planted herself.

A sleek silver flying car rested in the driveway, while next door an elderly neighbour watered his roses behind a white picket fence. Daniel climbed the path and knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately. Nadia stood smiling in the doorway, her bright red hair loose around her shoulders and rectangular glasses perched low on her nose. She wore a soft blue sweater with comfortable trousers, a steaming mug of coffee warming one hand as the rich aroma drifted into the morning air.

"Daniel," she said, her American accent gentle with sleep.

"Hey." She stepped forward and kissed him, soft and familiar, the sort of kiss shared by two people who had repeated the ritual a thousand times. Her hand rested lightly against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm beneath the worn hoodie.

"Come in," she murmured.

"You look exhausted."

"I am exhausted." The house welcomed him with warmth. A large television quietly played the morning news while a polished wooden dining table sat nearby beneath scattered papers and a half-finished mug of coffee. Beyond the archway, the kitchen was spotless, its refrigerator humming softly. Bookshelves lined one wall, packed with technical manuals, novels, and framed photographs. Above the fireplace rested a picture of the two of them smiling with their arms around each other. They had bought this house together.

Saved for years. Painted every wall themselves. Built a life from the chaos of the Syndicate. Daniel dropped onto the sofa with a weary sigh, sinking deep into the cushions. Nadia settled beside him, curling her legs beneath herself.

"How was your night?" Daniel exhaled slowly.

"Awful."

"That bad?"

"Ja. That bad." He rubbed both hands over his face.

"Fighting that albino experiment was like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube after being born blind. Every time I thought I understood her, she was somewhere else." He shook his head.

"Her brother was much simpler. Far stronger, but predictable. Like a goat that charges straight at you and tries to skewer you." Nadia tilted her head.

"And the sister?"

"Like a rabbit." He let out a humourless laugh.

"Constantly bouncing around, vanishing at the last second, dropkicking you in the spine. The funny thing is, she wasn't even trying to kill me. Just disable me. Her brother, on the other hand, went for the kill the first chance he got." He slumped further into the sofa.

"I'm done fighting for today. One of her hits cracked my Apis core. I'll have to request a replacement."

"Your core is cracked?" Nadia frowned.

"Daniel, that's serious."

"I'll live. It's just inconvenient." He sighed.

"Most of the experiments are dead, though. In just a few hours." The words weighed heavily on him.

"Gurtu. Silas. The Talons. All gone." Nadia stared.

"Jesus... he's that strong?"

"Ja. He killed eight by himself. It was horrific." Daniel rubbed his eyes.

"I'm exhausted."

"Oh my God." She paused.

"Thornburgh must not have fought. I passed him in the corridor on my way to the Commander's chamber. He looked upset." Daniel looked up.

"You saw Thornburgh? That's odd. How could you tell he was upset?"

"His face. His brows were furrowed."

"... Face?" Daniel blinked.

"You can read canine expressions?"

"No." She laughed.

"His human form." Daniel frowned.

"Human? I didn't even know he had one. He's almost never seen, and when he is, it's always his wolf form. A terrifying thing." He shook his head.

"I wouldn't want to fight him, even if I had every gadget in the Syndicate."

"I don't blame you. His human form's intimidating too. Native American, built like a beast, with those pale eyes..." She shivered.

"I pretended I hadn't noticed him. Just stood there looking at my notepad like I was busy."

"You were that scared?"

"I was." Daniel smiled and slipped an arm around her shoulders.

"It's okay, baby. You're here now." Nadia sat quietly for a moment before something occurred to her.

"Speaking of which..." She stood, walked over to her laptop and turned the screen toward him.

"The kids said they saw a fairy. I assumed they meant the girl." The display showed dark footage rendered as glowing outlines, like an echolocation scan moving through a ruined chamber. Daniel leaned forward, his fatigue momentarily forgotten.

"This came from the Commander's suit after he deployed the Logic Nuke," Nadia explained.

"It triggered an alert, so I tapped into the feed." She pointed at the screen.

"The Commander fought Korhess... and the same girl. It ended in a standstill." Daniel's eyes narrowed as he studied the moving figures. One darted through the battlefield with impossible agility, every movement blurring into the next. The other stood tall and unwavering, her posture unmistakable.

"Korhess..." he murmured.

"The Final Obstacle herself." He looked back at Nadia.

"She rebelled? And the Commander actually fought her?" Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

"He did." Nadia shook her head in disbelief.

"That man's brave beyond measure. Korhess is one of the few experiments that simply refuses to die. I was fourteen when I joined the Syndicate. Ten years later she hasn't aged a day. Experiments are created, experiments die... and she's still here." Her eyes returned to the screen.

"She's already monstrously strong. Add decades of combat experience on top of that..." She exhaled.

"An experiment with that much power and that much skill is terrifying." Daniel leaned back, a low whistle escaping him.

"The Commander's a madman. That's exactly why he's the Commander." He gestured towards the screen.

"Two experiments that strong with nothing but a Prism Apis? That's insanity." Nadia nodded slowly.

"I felt tremors earlier. Before you came home."

"Probably nothing," Daniel said through a yawn.

"We'll handle it. There are more than enough Operatives to deal with whatever it is. Doesn't matter if it could destroy the universe. That's what our weapons are for. With the right equipment, even Steppers can threaten planet-eaters." Nadia studied him for a moment before moving closer. She settled onto his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck and rested against him.

"You haven't eaten or slept in days," she said softly. Daniel smiled, returning the embrace.

"It keeps my mind sharp."

"Or it makes you cranky."

"Same thing." She rested her head on his shoulder.

"Daniel... should we leave? If something happens..."

"If anything happens that would force us to evacuate," he replied, his voice calm but firm, "a Syndicate Nest is the safest place on Earth. We're better off here than anywhere else." Nadia fell quiet.

"A lot of the scientists from the Antarctic expedition still haven't checked in," she said at last.

"I received a message from Dr. Alistair Voss." Daniel frowned.

"Alistair? What did he send?" She turned the laptop towards him. The message was only a single, unfinished line. Luci— Daniel stared for a few seconds before letting out a laugh.

"Lucien?" He shook his head.

"That's funny. They're messing with you. Lucien doesn't exist. He's basically a ghost story, the excuse people use for how the Antarctic Faction disappeared." He grinned.

"It's practically a running joke around here. Whenever something's too absurd to explain, someone says, 'Lucien must've done it.'" Nadia didn't smile. Her blue eyes remained fixed on him. Daniel's grin slowly faded.

"Nadia... you don't actually believe that, do you?" She said nothing. The silence lingered. Daniel finally leaned forward and kissed her. She stiffened for the briefest instant before melting into him, her fingers bunching the fabric of his hoodie. He slipped an arm beneath her legs, lifted her effortlessly and rose to his feet. Nadia gave a startled yelp, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist.

"Daniel! What are you doing?" He carried her towards the bedroom, smiling despite the exhaustion etched across his face.

"It's seven in the morning," she laughed.

"I'm not a Stepper, remember. Go easy on me." Daniel nudged the bedroom door open with his foot.

"Then I'll be gentle." The door swung shut behind them. Silence settled over the living room. Only the laptop remained, its screen still glowing with the unfinished message. Luci— The cursor blinked patiently. Waiting for an ending that never came. — 10: 00 p. m. Saint Petersburg. Russia. The apartment was warm. Golden light spilled from the kitchen, carrying the scent of simmering borscht and fresh bread.

Laughter drifted through the flat as Katya's younger brother chased their cat around the coffee table, his little feet thumping across the worn wooden floor. Their mother called after him in rapid Russian, half-scolding and half-laughing, while their father sat in his favourite armchair with a newspaper in hand, a faint smile resting beneath his weathered features. Katya paused in the doorway, a tired smile tugging at her own lips. She'd worked late again. The factory didn't care about holidays or family dinners.

Tonight, at least, she'd made it home before the food had gone cold. Her mother had saved her a bowl.

"Katya! Come sit. Eat!" her mother called, waving a wooden spoon towards the table.

"You're too thin."

"I eat, Mama."

"You eat like a bird."

"I eat plenty."

"Plenty... for a bird." Katya laughed as she pulled out a chair. A steaming bowl of borscht was set in front of her, wisps of steam curling into the air. She tore off a piece of bread, dipped it into the rich broth and sighed as the warmth settled through her chest. This was home. Her father rustled another page of his newspaper.

"Any news from the factory?"

"The usual," Katya replied between mouthfuls.

"Machines break. We fix them. They break again."

"Capitalism," her father grumbled, shaking his head.

"Communism had the same problems," her mother replied without looking up.

"They just had different names."

"Different names," he muttered, "same headaches." Katya smiled. Some arguments were eternal. She wouldn't have them any other way. Dinner ended slowly. Her father disappeared into his study with another newspaper tucked beneath his arm. Her mother remained in the kitchen, washing dishes while humming an old Soviet melody. Her younger brother vanished into his bedroom, the faint glow of a tablet shining beneath the door. The cat curled up on the sofa, its tail flicking lazily.

Katya settled onto the couch with her phone while a forgettable late-night drama played quietly on the television. She scrolled through social media without much interest, her thumb moving almost automatically. A notification appeared. Motion detected at front door. She frowned. It was nearly midnight. Who would be visiting this late? She tapped the notification. The live feed from the doorbell camera filled the screen. For a moment, her brain refused to make sense of it. A fish. Not an ordinary one.

An exotic deep-sea fish, the sort that belonged in nature documentaries. It floated in mid-air. Silver scales shimmered beneath the porch light as it drifted lazily through empty space, as though swimming through an invisible ocean. Its mouth opened and closed in slow, silent rhythm. Katya stared. She blinked. The fish remained. The fish was still there. Katya leaned closer, her brow furrowing. A glitch? A prank?

She'd heard stories about people hacking doorbell cameras, sending bizarre images just to frighten strangers. She blinked again. The eye was pressed against the camera. It filled the entire screen. A single, unblinking eye. Four irises rotated slowly in a diamond formation, each a different shade of pale blue and grey, all ringed with brilliant cobalt. At their centre rested a pupil so impossibly deep it resembled a doorway into the darkness between galaxies. Katya's heart skipped.

She jerked the phone away from her face, hands trembling uncontrollably. After a shaky breath, she looked back at the screen. The eye was still there. Watching. The lights in the apartment flickered. Flick. Flick. Katya looked up instinctively, her pulse pounding in her ears. When her gaze returned to the phone...... the eye was gone. A pale hand covered the lens instead. Long fingers spread across the camera, the palm pressed flat against it as though someone stood on the other side of the door, leaning in.

Katya screamed.

"Katya?!" Her father's voice rang from the staircase. Heavy footsteps thundered down the wooden steps as he rushed towards her, concern etched across his face.

"Katya, what happened? What's wrong?" She pointed at the phone, her entire arm shaking.

"The door! Someone's at the door! There was... I saw..." Her father didn't answer. He stood at the foot of the stairs, staring at the front door. It remained closed. Katya looked back at him. His body had withered into a husk.... A moment ago he'd been alive. Now his skin clung tightly to his bones. His eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, dull and lifeless. His mouth hung open in the shape of a silent scream. He looked as though he'd been dead for weeks. Katya couldn't breathe.

"Papa...?" The word escaped as little more than a whisper. He didn't respond. He couldn't. The front door exploded with violent knocks. BANG. BANG. BANG. Each impact shook the apartment like cannon fire. The wood groaned. The hinges shrieked. Katya ran. She stumbled up the stairs, barely feeling her legs beneath her. Her mother's bedroom door flew open.

"Katya? Where's your father? I heard screaming..."

"Papa... he's... he's gone..." Her mother's face drained of colour. Instead of speaking, she slowly raised a finger to her lips. Shh. She seized Katya's arm and pulled her into the nearest bedroom, slamming the door shut before locking it with fumbling hands. Footsteps echoed through the apartment. Slow. Each step made the floorboards creak beneath an impossible weight. Katya's mother clamped a trembling hand over her daughter's mouth. Neither of them dared breathe. The footsteps stopped outside the bedroom.

Katya's heart battered against her ribs. Tears streamed down her face as she felt her mother's hand quivering against her lips. At last, her mother whispered,"Call the police." Katya fumbled for her phone. Her fingers had gone numb. She unlocked it, opened the keypad and began to dial through blurred vision. A hand gently settled over the phone.

"You seem frightened," her mother said softly.

"Let me call instead." Katya froze. The voice was wrong. It was her mother's voice. The same voice that had sung lullabies, scolded her for staying out too late and called her name a thousand times. Yet something about it was... hollow. Perfect. Like a thing that had learned every note but none of the meaning. Katya slowly looked up. Her mother was gone. Something else hovered where she had stood. It wore her face. Nothing more. The eyes were wrong. The stillness was wrong.

Every instinct in Katya's body screamed that this was not human. She looked older. Changed. Her skin was unnaturally pale, not with the softness of winter, but with the colourless stillness of a body that had forgotten blood. Whatever flowed beneath it now, it was no longer life as Katya understood it. Long blue hair drifted around her as though suspended beneath an unseen sea. A translucent silken blindfold veiled her eyes, its folds swaying gently like strands of kelp.

Midnight silk crossed her chest, leaving her abdomen bare, while a dark silken loincloth rested low upon her hips, adorned with three dreamcatchers woven from silver, cobalt thread and crystal beads. Delicate silken fins fluttered at her waist like the wings of some impossible butterfly. An eye had opened upon her navel. Four concentric irises. Radiant cobalt rings. A pupil so deep it resembled a doorway into the void itself. Katya couldn't move. She knew that face. School. Classrooms. Hallways. Cruel laughter.

The strange girl with blue hair who read bizarre novels. The one they shoved into lockers. The one they mocked. Sylvia.

'Sylvia Potty,' they'd called her. Katya remembered forcing her head into a toilet, holding it beneath the water while Sylvia thrashed and choked. She remembered laughing. Now Sylvia floated before her like an apparition.

"You..." Katya whispered, her voice trembling.

"How...? You disappeared years ago. Everyone said you ran away... or..." The final words died in her throat.

"I did not run away." Sylvia's voice was soft. Almost tender.

"I was taken. My dreams were harvested for many years while I lived within a life that was never truly mine." Katya's eyes darted around the room. Her mother's body still lay beside her. Still warm. Still wearing her mother's face.

"You're not real," Katya whispered.

"This is a nightmare. It has to be." Sylvia inclined her head. The silken blindfold drifted like water.

"Perhaps. Dreams and reality have become rather difficult to separate." Her smile was faint.

"Yet you have always found comfort in calling unpleasant truths nightmares." Katya's voice shook.

"We were children."

"Yes."

"You held my head beneath toilet water. You laughed while I struggled to breathe. You gave me names that were never mine."

"I'm sorry," Katya blurted.

"I was young. I was stupid."

"You were." Sylvia's voice never hardened.

"The years have changed your age." A quiet pause.

"They have not greatly changed your nature." Her hand drifted towards Katya's discarded phone.

"I have seen the person you become when consequence cannot reach you. The words you speak. The thoughts you entertain. The small cruelties you excuse because no one is watching." Her smile remained gentle.

"I have placed your heart upon the scale." Another pause.

"It is lighter than you believed." Katya felt the warmth drain from her face.

"I... I didn't mean any of it. It was just... words."

"Words are merely thoughts that have gathered sufficient courage to leave the mouth." Katya backed against the wall.

"What do you want?" Sylvia looked down, the eye upon her navel blinking once before becoming still.

"I seek only that which was taken from me."

"Your dreams?"

"No." She regarded Katya with quiet compassion.

"Yours." Katya's breath hitched.

"I was insecure," she whispered.

"I was jealous. You had people who cared about you, and I—""And you believed diminishing another might enlarge yourself." Sylvia gave the smallest nod.

"It is among humanity's oldest miscalculations."

"I said I'm sorry!" Katya cried.

"What else do you want from me?"

"For many years I believed an apology could restore what cruelty destroys." Her gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the room.

"I no longer believe that."

"My dreams were harvested. My memories borrowed. My life rewritten by strangers." She looked back at Katya.

"You did not do those things." A quiet pause followed.

"But had the opportunity been yours... I do not believe your conscience would have prevented them."

"That's insane!" Sylvia extended a hand.

"No."

"It is merely the conclusion to which your own heart has led me." Her fingertips brushed Katya's arm. Memory answered. Every dream Katya had ever possessed unfolded at once. From her first sleeping breath to this final moment, they poured through her in an impossible torrent. Nightmares. Childhood fantasies. Secret hopes. Quiet ambitions. Guilty pleasures. Loves never confessed. Fears never spoken. Katya convulsed. Her body trembled uncontrollably as her teeth rattled and her eyes rolled back.

Something was leaving her. Something she had never realised could be taken. Every longing. Every dream. It all flowed into the pale woman standing before her. Katya collapsed. Her body struck the floor with a dull thud. Empty. Her eyes remained open, staring at nothing. Katherine hovered silently above her. She inclined her blindfolded face, contemplating the lifeless body with quiet curiosity before extending a hand.

Dark seaweed unfurled from the surrounding shadows, wrapped itself around Katya's phone and carried it gently into Katherine's waiting palm. She unlocked the phone, searched for Ghost-Girl, and watched the results bloom across the screen. Her thumb drifted through the comments. Most dismissed the footage outright. Others worshipped it with unhealthy fascination. A handful radiated something far uglier. Hatred. She continued scrolling. Each username unfolded effortlessly before her. Names. Addresses. Families.

Dreams. She knew them all. One comment held her attention. «Freshboysam: This is fake. Ghost Girl isn't real. Y'all are idiots. Stop spreading lies. If she was real, I'd find her and put her in her place. Bitch probably thinks she's special. Hope someone puts a bullet in her skull before she hurts anyone. » A gentle smile touched Katherine's lips.

"How unfortunate." The phone slipped from her hand. Tiny translucent bubbles gathered around it, shimmering softly before both bubbles and phone dissolved into nothing at all. She had already begun drifting away. Someone else was waiting.