I wake up choking on rust and static. My left hand is gone—replaced by something that hums and pulses under synthetic skin. The last thing I remember is the lab, the needles, the voice saying, ‘Subject Nine will comply.’ Now I’m in a derelict subway tunnel, blood dripping from my temple, and a woman with glowing eyes is pressing a knife to my throat.

She says, ‘You’re not supposed to be alive. But you’re awake. So tell me—do you remember what you did?’

I don’t. Not clearly. But images flash—fire, screaming, a child’s hand slipping from mine. My chest tightens. The implant in my spine buzzes, warning of incoming trace signals. They’re already hunting me.

The woman leans closer. ‘Choice one: come with me, and I’ll help you remember. Choice two: I cut your link now, kill the signal, leave you blind. Choice three: you run. But you won’t get far before it takes over—or they catch you.’

My fingers twitch. The prosthetic hand clenches. Something inside me whispers: Lie. Survive.