CHAPTER 36: The Fugitive Part 7

CHAPTER 36: The Fugitive Part 7

The hum of the fluorescents on the high ceiling of the Enid Corp hallways was a constant white noise that normally drowned out Fénix's thoughts. But today, it wasn't enough. Today, another voice cut through the noise, an intrusive, mocking whisper rising from the depths of his own mind.

Well, well, Fénix Rogers. Adam's voice was silky, a serpent sliding through the cracks of his consciousness. All that theater of rejection, all that bravado of "I'd rather rot"... only to end up signing on the dotted line. I thought you had more backbone. But I guess in the end, even the most stubborn heroes bend the knee when the alternative is eternal nothingness.

Fénix stopped dead in his tracks, his knuckles whitening. He didn't need to close his eyes to see the scornful smile that would accompany those words.

I knew your silence was too good to be true, Fénix thought toward the invasive presence, his internal dialogue laden with cold resentment. Did you come just to rub it in my face? To remind me how weak I was?

Adam's laughter resonated, a dry, crackling echo that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.
Frontal to the end! I love it. No, I didn't come to scold you. I came to deliver a... friendly reminder. The full moon is showing its round, shiny face. You have exactly three days, twenty-three hours and... a dramatic pause ...forty-two minutes. It's not an eternity, but enough for a man of action like you, isn't it?

Fénix felt a chill run down his spine. Three days. The deadline was becoming concrete, shifting from an abstract concept to a tangible, suffocating countdown.

Perfect, he thought, with a sarcasm he knew was bitter. Just what I needed. Three days to prepare to become your personal monster. Your games never disappoint, Adam.

I know, I know, Adam replied, his tone pure malicious amusement. But don't underestimate the product, Fénix. After this whole... unpleasant transition process, you could be something far greater than you ever were. Something you might, just might, even enjoy. Or maybe not. The uncertainty is the fun of doing business with me. It's always a... surprise.

The voice faded as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving a mental silence that was more disturbing than the whisper. Only the echo of the threat remained, pulsing in his temples with every beat of his no-longer-entirely-human heart.

Fénix resumed walking, his steps now heavier.
I'll be ready, he murmured to himself, the words sounding hollow in the deserted hallway. Don't make me regret this choice.

The steel elevator doors closed in front of him, enclosing him in a metal capsule. He looked up at the ceiling, seeking some answer, some solace in the cold LED lights. He only found the reflection of his own eyes, and in them, the shadow of the promise he had sealed.

The Alpha training room was a cube fifty meters to a side, with walls padded in a black material that absorbed even the slightest sound. The air smelled of ozone and industrial cleaner. In the exact center of the room, a single black leather chair, of minimalist and arrogant design, rested under a halogen spotlight that illuminated it like a museum piece.

Sitting in it, like a king on an empty throne, was Lucio. He wore an impeccable white suit that contrasted brutally with the darkness of the surroundings, and his hands, gloved in black leather, rested on the armrests. His build was robust, powerful, and his thick, carefully trimmed beard framed a face with hard features and a gaze that evaluated everything with calculated disdain. He wasn't looking at Enid, who stood before him; he seemed to be observing something beyond, something only he could see.

Enid, in her perfectly pressed executive suit, maintained her firm posture, but there was an unusual tension in her jaw. She had been weaving and unweaving the same argument for minutes.

"...and that's why we need him prepared, Lucio. It's not an option. It's a strategic necessity."

Lucio didn't flinch. He slowly looked up, as if only now deigning to notice her presence. His eyes, a glacial gray, settled on her.

"Your eloquence is touching, Enid," he said, his voice a deep bass that vibrated in the silent environment. "But my initial answer stands. I don't train students. Students are... deficient. Tired. Laden with doubts and emotional needs that hinder the true purpose of training: perfection."

Enid didn't flinch.
"Your ego was always your worst enemy, Lucio. You fear someone will outshine you, surpass the master. I know. But Fénix isn't seeking glory. He isn't seeking to supplant you. He seeks... to survive. And he has no other option. Does that sound familiar?"

A spark of interest, quick and well-concealed, crossed Lucio's eyes. He turned his head slightly.

"Familiar?" he asked, with a hint of sarcasm. "Perhaps. But familiarity doesn't pay the bills, Enid. Why me? Of all the mercenaries, instructors, and lunatics on your payroll, why turn to the one who despises you the most?"

"Because you are the best," Enid replied without hesitation. "And because he is on a cliff's edge. This is his last chance. If it's not you, we lose him. And I have negotiated certain... incentives I know you will find hard to refuse."

Lucio studied her face, seeking deceit. He found none.
"Incentives," he repeated, savoring the word. "You intrigue me. But I want to hear it. What do I gain from this, beyond the satisfaction of molding another broken pawn?"

Enid leaned in slightly, lowering her voice even though no one else was there.

"Access," she said, the word was a knife. "Complete and unrestricted access to the Corporation's Forbidden Archives. Everything Enid Corp has hidden, everything it has buried... yours. To study, to use, for whatever you want. A key to the true history of all this."