Reign
The monitor glowed dimly in the makeshift command center Reign had assembled inside the decommissioned comms bay. She hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, and it was beginning to show in the way her hands trembled as she keyed in another string of Ridgepoint-era override codes.
No response.
The two sites that lit up after Solace reconnected to the grid were still dark to external access. That wasn't just dangerous—it was impossible.
"These places were buried," she muttered. "Literally. One's under fifty feet of rock in the Caucasus. The other was glassed in the final phase of shut-down."
Elena stood near the wall, arms crossed, watching Reign work.
"You said they were collapsed."
"They were," Reign snapped, then softened. "They were supposed to be. Ridgepoint ran blacksite clean-ups like surgical strikes. Anyone not terminated was neural-wiped. But if Cassian was telling the truth…"
Elena filled in the rest. "Then someone wanted the option to restart. Quietly."
Reign pulled up the pulse patterns from both sites.
Her stomach twisted.
Biometric tags. Faint. Fuzzy. But human.
"You see this?" she pointed.
Elena leaned in.
Each signature pulsed in a different rhythm, but the waveforms were similar to Solace's when she came online.
"Solace said she was the beginning," Reign murmured. "But these girls—these… assets—they might be something else entirely."
"What?"
Reign hesitated.
"Iterations."
Later — Miri and Solace
The corridor where they let Miri and Solace rest was quiet, lit only by low power sconces and the faint pulse of backup servers running in low power.
Solace sat on the floor, legs folded, her hospital gown replaced with a borrowed hoodie that hung off one shoulder. Her hair still clung in uneven strands to her jaw.
Miri sat beside her, sketchpad in her lap.
They weren't speaking.
They didn't need to.
There was a kind of hum between them now. A feeling in the air, just beneath sound. Like two notes from the same chord echoing in a closed space.
"I can feel them," Solace said softly.
"Who?"
"The others. The ones still in sleep."
Miri looked up. "Are they like you?"
Solace's face tightened. "Not anymore. They haven't… fractured the way I did. They still think in commands. Code. They're scared. But not of Ridgepoint."
Miri swallowed. "What are they scared of?"
"Freedom."
A pause.
Then Miri said, "I think I had a dream that wasn't mine again."
Solace looked at her.
Miri opened her sketchpad.
She had drawn a face.
Not Solace's.
But another girl. A different shape to her eyes. A longer scar along her cheek. And a number—scrawled below the chin: SH-3.
"I don't know how I knew her number," Miri whispered. "But I saw her. She was shaking. Her mouth was sewn shut."
Solace didn't react immediately. When she spoke, her voice was dry.
"That's how they silenced her after she tried to scream."
Miri looked at her, wide-eyed.
"You knew her?"
Solace nodded. "We shared a room once. She was the only one who cried when they took me away."
Miri touched her hand again, gently.
And then—like before—
The room changed.
Not physically.
But perceptually.
They both closed their eyes—and suddenly—
They were there.
Not Ridgepoint.
Not the safehouse.
Somewhere else.
White. Quiet. Endless. A memory-layer space.
Miri saw a shadow ahead.
SH-3.
Standing. Staring. Still silenced.
But this time, when she looked up—she saw them.
She blinked.
Stepped forward.
And behind her—more figures began to form.
Faint outlines. Girls. Half-there.
And Miri knew—
They were all waking up.