Mike awoke to the smell of burning.
He bolted upright in the bunker, heart hammering, breath coming in short, ragged bursts. The room was intact. Nothing was on fire.
But his skin was hot—glowing faintly under his shirt.
Not metaphorical.
Actual light pulsed beneath his skin in sharp intervals, matching his heartbeat.
He stumbled toward the mirror bolted to the far wall, lifting his shirt with shaking fingers.
The scar on his chest—the spiral inside the triangle—had changed.
It wasn't a scar anymore.
It was alive.
"This is getting worse…" he muttered, clutching at his side as a wave of vertigo crashed over him.
The world blurred.
Then a memory hit.
A voice, shouting across a burning field. A woman screaming his name—not Mike, but "Vyre!".
Then flame. Blinding, pure, all-consuming flame.
Mike fell back, gasping, gripping the cold floor.
"Stop... I don't want to see it..."
The Hive didn't care what he wanted.
Meanwhile – CPOA Headquarters, Inner Tower
Director Ysara stood before a holo-terminal in her sealed office. A dozen data feeds flickered before her—city surveillance, agent vitals, civilian behavior spikes.
She ignored them all.
Instead, she watched a looping feed of Mike Callahan's first known appearance—an eleven-second clip pulled from an orphanage fire fourteen years ago.
He was eight. Surrounded by burning wreckage. Eyes glowing. A forcefield of heat around him.
The timestamp blinked: Sept 13th, 2291. The day Hive signals spiked worldwide.
"You were never meant to live this long," she whispered.
Her fingers hovered over a locked protocol.
File: Operation DAWNEXILE
Status: Dormant. Clearance: REDLINE
Subtag: Subject M117 (ACTIVE)
Lucas Watches the Drift
In the training hall, Lucas fired at the holo-targets in rapid succession, his jaw tight. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
He hadn't heard from Mike since he sent the burner ping.
And Talia was acting colder than usual. She hadn't told him why she was digging into Hive signals—or why she kept disappearing into the archive.
He dropped the pistol and stepped back.
"This isn't how a team works," he muttered. "We were supposed to trust each other."
He remembered how it felt when they'd first met. How Mike had pulled him out of that firestorm in the slums. No hesitation.
But now?
Mike was changing.
And Lucas hated not knowing why.
Mike Returns to the Surface
By nightfall, Mike walked the streets again—hood up, steps slower. He passed a group of children lighting scrap to keep warm under a broken streetlight. They didn't see him.
But one of them looked up suddenly. His eyes flickered faintly orange.
Mike froze.
"What did you see?" he asked.
The boy blinked.
Then said, "You dream loud."
And ran.
Mike stared after him.
"They're feeling it too…"
Director Ysara's Private Meeting
Inside a lower-level chamber lined with carbon glass, Ysara met with two shadowed figures—neither wore uniforms.
"The Flamebearer's mutation has entered phase two," she said.
One nodded. "Then he'll start triggering sleepers."
"We knew that risk when we let him live."
The second figure spoke, his voice like rust and static. "Do you still believe he can be controlled?"
Ysara didn't blink. "No. But I believe he's our only weapon if the Hive reawakens."
"Then let the mutation run its course."
"And if it turns him against us?"
"Then we'll burn what's left."
Mike Feels the Pull
That night, Mike stood beneath a dead comm tower in Ashenhold's fringe. The stars above were blurry with storm clouds, but the signal within him grew stronger.
His hands glowed softly now, fingers trembling with stored heat.
He closed his eyes and whispered:
"Vyre… what did you become?"
No answer came.
But in the distance, something burned.