for three days, R-932 waited.
He didn't act obvious. He trained like the others, endured like the others. But all the while, his sharp eyes scanned for a moment—any moment—when Instructor Halgen would be alone. The man was ruthless. Brutal in his methods. He barked orders with no patience, no breath between his shouts. Researchers always clustered around him, asking for assessments.
"What did Subject K-560 gain today?"
"Did Subject Y-906 display any increase in healing speed?"
"Do you believe Subject AB-774 is still viable?"
They logged his opinions instantly, tapping into their datapods with precise, hissing fingers. There was never privacy. Never silence.
But on the third day, that changed.
R saw Halgen alone—finally. The instructor was sitting by the reinforced wall near the edge of the training hall, bottle of nutrient water in one hand, the other resting on his knee. Sweat rolled down his neck. For once, he had yelled so much he'd worn himself out. That didn't happen often.
He looked like a resting machine, not a man. Breathing hard. Thinking.
R approached.
Halgen looked up and immediately stiffened. His cold eyes narrowed.
"Why aren't you with the others?" he barked, sharp and deep. "Go back to training. Now."
R stopped just out of arm's reach. His voice was calm, eyes wide and guileless.
"Instructor... I only wanted to ask you one very important question."
The answer came immediately, raw with rage.
"Questions aren't allowed. Only obedience, you piece of shit. I don't have time for your little thoughts."
R didn't flinch. He smiled.
Not a kind smile. A dangerous one. It twisted at the edges of his lips like something stolen from a devil. His eyes gleamed, sharp and black.
Halgen stood, fury building in his massive frame. He could feel the boy's insolence like heat on his skin. He was about to grab him by the collar and slam him into the wall.
But R spoke before he could move.
"Sir Halgen," he said, tone low, mocking, nearly a whisper.
"What were you doing in Chamber 5's decontamination room... door locked... with Researcher Ciera?"
Silence.
A perfect, crushing silence.
Halgen's face did not move. Not a blink. Not a twitch. His voice, when it came, was full of cold steel.
"You little shit," he hissed. "Trying to slander me? I'll break your jaw open right here—"
But before he could move, a nearby guard turned his head. Halgen had shouted too loud. The guard began to approach, his visor scanning both of them.
R, still smiling, tilted his head and spoke again, just loud enough.
"If I tell the guards... and they investigate..." he said slowly.
"Do you think they wouldn't find something? I don't need to prove much. You know what happens to those who break the rules."
Halgen froze. Rage warred with caution in his eyes. He could break R's skull—he wanted to—but if the boy had told anyone already... if there were investigation...
The guard stopped a few paces away. His voice crackled from behind the helmet.
"Sir Halgen. Is there a problem?"
Before the instructor could speak, R replied smoothly, eyes pure and voice sweet:
"Oh no, sir. Instructor just wanted to give me a private lesson. Said my movements were inefficient during power application drills."
The guard turned to Halgen, visor gleaming.
"...Sir?"
A long pause.
Then Halgen, calm again, returned to his usual clipped tone.
"Yes. I am getting too annoyed with this shit movement during training. It's irritating."
The guard nodded, stepped back without further question, and resumed patrol.
The moment he turned, R dropped the innocent look and returned to that same sinister, knowing grin. He leaned slightly forward and whispered, voice rich with satisfaction:
"I see that you understand your position now."
Then came the price.
"I want O-889 from Chamber 5 to spar against the S-Twins during the next physical training. Make it official. Just once. That's all. Then..." He smiled. "...this never happened."
Halgen's jaw tightened until it cracked. He wanted to crush the boy's skull under his boot. But if this child had even one piece of hard evidence, one whisper placed in the wrong ear—especially in this facility. But he held back. If he killed him, his secret with Ciera would be exposed, and there's no telling what would happen to him if they investigated.
He spoke at last.
"...Go back to training."
To R, that was acceptance. That was enough.
As he turned to go, his mind tightened. He hadn't forgotten Halgen. The instructor might've agreed in silence, but R knew men like him didn't let things go. Especially not blackmail. Especially not when it risked their position—or worse, exposure.
Halgen would strike. R could feel it already building like a heat behind the walls.
Still, none of that mattered if the plan moved first.
As he turned to go, his mind tightened. The instructor Halgen might've agreed in silence, but R knew men like him didn't let things go. Especially not blackmail. Especially not when it risked their position—or worse, exposure.
Halgen would strike, But for now R had the leverage.
Now came the second step.
The S-Twins.
S-410 and S-411—six years old, pale-skinned and red-eyed like blooded dolls. They lounged together in Chamber 7, backs against the wall, legs folded like mirrors. One always turned her head a second before the other did, but only barely. They breathed together. Moved together. Slept facing the same way.
They didn't speak much—but when they did, they often spoke together, a whisper echoing in stereo.
Their power was notorious. Pyrokinetics with psychic resonance, their neural scans showed partial cross-linking. If one felt pain, the other would flinch. If one focused, the other's eyes would sharpen at the same instant.
When they first arrived, age three, they'd already set a mattress on fire during sleep calibration. Since then, their power had only grown. Most feared them—and they loved it.
They were infamous for manipulating those around them. Especially boys. Especially the strong ones.
They had tried it with O-243 once.
That didn't go well.
He had ignored their flirtations, countered their mind games, and defeated their trial simulation avatar in record time. They never tried again. They referred to him now only as "the brute" or "the ghost-spine", depending on their mood.
But R had something else in mind.
He was going to offer them something they couldn't resist.
Something benefit both sides.
Something chaotic.
And then—he'd begin turning them into tools.
Just like they'd done to everyone else.
After the physical training ended, and after the instructors barked their final orders, two hours of freedom were granted. It wasn't true freedom—nothing in Karnell was—but in those 120 minutes, there were no direct commands, no training, no doses.
Some children shared scraps of tasteless protein blocks. Others fought, whispered, or simply lay down in silence, staring at the cracked lights above.
R-932 didn't rest.
He made his way down the curved corridor to Chamber 7, past the sensors and cameras he knew were half-watching. The automatic door gave its hiss and opened with a flicker of white light.
The S-Twins were waiting.
They always were.
Room 01—bare walls, cold floor, identical beds placed exactly two feet apart. And on those beds sat S-410 and S-411, as if grown from the same breath. Pale. Still. Bare feet touching the floor. Elbows on knees. Heads tilted at the same, perfect angle.
Their eyes—red like lit coals—watched him without blinking. They moved like dancers. Spoke only when they wished to.
But R didn't flinch. He walked inside as if they were already his.
"Rare face." one whispered. It could've been 410. Or 411. It didn't matter.
"I came here to talk." R replied, voice steady.
They blinked once. Together. Then 410 lifted her chin, just slightly.
"You never came here before. So why now?"
R looked at them both, carefully. Their presence felt heavy, like standing in a mirrored room made of heat and fire. He felt the air tighten.
"I came," he said, "to make an offer to you that benefits both sides."
There was a pause.
Then 411 laughed—a breathy sound like steam escaping a broken valve.
"You think you know what we want?"
"I do."
He stepped closer, letting the light hit his face, casting a soft shadow between them.
"Power. Not the kind they give us with needles and wires. Not just fire in your hands or screams in your mind.
I mean influence. Fear. To be the strongest force in Karnell—even over Chamber 1."
That got their attention. He saw it.
S-410 leaned forward. S-411 remained still, but her fingers twitched once—barely noticeable to anyone else.
"You mean…" one began.
"O-243," R finished.
"He stands in your way. Everyone's way. He's the anchor of Chamber 1. Remove him…"
He paused, letting it hang.
"…and the rest of the chamber becomes clay."
The twins said nothing for a long moment. At first, they didn't trust a word he said. They had no reason to. They knew R's eyes hid something crooked, coiled—something planning five steps ahead.
But they also knew they'd been wanting to get rid of O-889 for weeks. The boy was loud, erratic, a liability to their control over Chamber 5's direction. If R was telling the truth, they lost nothing. If he lied… they'd get rid of him too, after he served his use.
Then 410 whispered,
"And what do you want in return?"
R's answer came cold and smooth:
"O-889."
The twins raised their brows together—first curious, then hungry.
"That loud one from Chamber 5? What's he to you?"
"Nothing," R said.
"Except a message. You cut his legs. His arms. Leave him breathing—but barely. You do that…"
He smiled.
"…and the rest will unfold."
411 narrowed her glowing eyes. "We can't do that in the middle of training. Too many eyes. Too many guards. We'd be taken to the White Room before the blood cools."
R stepped back, lifting his hands in assurance.
"Don't worry. Tomorrow, during the training drills… everything will be ready. You will know when to move. You just need to make sure to destroy O-889."
The girls were silent.
Then they looked at each other. No words passed between them—none were needed.
One gave a slow nod.
The other gave a slow smile.
Their answer was not verbal—but R knew it was yes.
He turned to go, his voice low behind him:
"When it's over, O-243 falls. You'll take control. Chamber 1 will kneel."
Then, as he stepped through the door and the hiss of air returned behind him, he allowed himself the faintest whisper:
"Let the fires burn."