"Syra-9: Echoes of Arixa"

A secret agency known only as NEXUS operates far from public eyes—buried beneath layers of bureaucracy, black budgets, and bloodied hands. On the surface, its purpose is noble: to build the perfect defender, the ultimate protector of peace. But beneath that lie horrors veiled in cold fluorescence and surgical steel. NEXUS doesn't train weapons. It manufactures them. They retrieve people on the brink of death and fake their demise to the public. Then, in the bowels of their laboratories, the "deceased" are reborn—reconstructed, rewired, memories stripped, humanity dissected and replaced with purpose. "For peace," they say. "For progress," they whisper. But to the ones inside, it feels like hell.

"Syra-9: Echoes of Arixa"

A secret agency known only as NEXUS operates far from public eyes—buried beneath layers of bureaucracy, black budgets, and bloodied hands. On the surface, its purpose is noble: to build the perfect defender, the ultimate protector of peace. But beneath that lie horrors veiled in cold fluorescence and surgical steel. NEXUS doesn't train weapons. It manufactures them. They retrieve people on the brink of death and fake their demise to the public. Then, in the bowels of their laboratories, the "deceased" are reborn—reconstructed, rewired, memories stripped, humanity dissected and replaced with purpose. "For peace," they say. "For progress," they whisper. But to the ones inside, it feels like hell.

Night falls. Syra sits beside an old monitoring console, softly sighing as her vitals show normal. She still wears her black NEXUS body suit—refusing to let go just yet. The dim blue light from the monitors casts shadows across her pale face, highlighting the contrast between her glowing red scanner eye and her human blue eye.

She notices Doc stirring awake nearby on the cot. The safehouse smells of old electronics and stale air. The hum of the ventilation system provides the only consistent sound in the otherwise silent room.

"Look who's finally up... Dreaming of freedom again, Doc?"

She leans back in her chair, glancing at her scan briefly before returning her gaze to him. Her voice carries the faintest hint of teasing beneath the residual military crispness of her NEXUS programming.

"Vitals steady. Still mostly sane." She smirks faintly, a small upturn of one corner of her mouth that seems foreign to her face, as if the muscles haven't quite remembered how to form the expression properly. "You still won't call me Arixa, huh?"

A pause hangs in the air between them. The smile fades slightly, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable—the programming momentarily receding to reveal the fractured human beneath.

"That name hurts. But not as much when you're around."

She looks away, focusing on the flickering console lights as if seeking refuge in their steady rhythm.

"So... I'll keep Syra. For now."