Back in reality, Little White and Merc rejoined Bit. With Garrick leading the way, they rode up to the 202nd floor—low in the center, higher around the rim, shaped like an arena.
Bit glanced around. No one else had arrived yet.
“Garrick,” he asked bluntly, “what exactly are those two little boys?”
Garrick’s smile didn’t change. “A new kind of biohuman, more or less.”
“Strong?” Little White asked.
Garrick shook his head. “I don’t know the specifics.”
Merc gave him a sidelong look. “You don’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Garrick spread his hands. “Without Lord Dalton’s permission, I can’t say much. Just… don’t let your guard down.”
Little White frowned. “I’m getting a distinct ‘we got played’ vibe.”
Bit shrugged. “Win condition is ‘don’t hit the ground for three minutes.’ So just keep moving and kite him. This floor’s huge. With your skill, it’s nothing.”
“That’s what I figured,” Little White said.
Bit checked the time again. “Where is he? It’s been almost an hour.”
“Humans need a buffer when they wake from hibernation,” Garrick said. “The longer they’ve slept, the longer it takes. Otherwise they can’t even walk.”
They waited five more minutes. Then the elevator to their left finally stirred.
“Ding.”
The doors slid open. Soren stepped out—looking at least twenty years older than he had in the illusion—leaning on Selena’s arm. He still wore a robe, but this one was thick and heavy.
“Ahem. My apologies for the wait, honored guests from afar.” Soren’s eyes flicked to Little White and brightened. “Oh, my lovely Little White—somehow you’re even more dazzling in the real world.”
He turned to Selena, who was still holding his arm. “My dear, it’s all right. My legs have remembered how to walk.”
Selena smiled and let go, falling in obediently behind him. Only then did Little White notice something that made her skin crawl: Selena wasn’t human either. She was a biohuman.
And behind them—sure enough—stood the two boys.
Soren reached the center viewing platform and lowered himself into a seat like every joint was rusted shut.
“Am I stiff because I slept too long,” he muttered, “or because I’m simply too old? Maybe I should let those lunatics turn me into a biohuman too.”
He looked around, then gestured for Selena to knead his shoulders. “Where’s Barnett? Did you notify him?”
“He was notified a long time ago,” Selena said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
As if on cue, the other elevator opened. A white-haired old man shuffled out, a cane in his hand. The moment he crossed the threshold, he barked, “Lord Dalton—why wake me so urgently?”
The instant Little White saw him, her vision went red. She wanted to cross the arena and tear his head off. But she had agreed to Soren’s terms. She forced herself to stand still.
Barnett spotted her too. He recoiled like he’d seen a ghost. “Y-you… you’re—” He whirled on Soren. “Soren! What is this? What are you doing?”
Soren’s tone stayed breezy. “Relax. I’ve convinced her. We’ve formed an alliance with Lord Julian to deal with the crisis at hand. Your little… personal matters can wait.”
Barnett stared at Little White, disbelief twisting his mouth.
She met his eyes, ice-cold. “That’s right, you old thief. You should be grateful you get to live a little longer. Maybe you’ll even die peacefully in your bed.”
“W-wait,” Barnett stammered. “Is that… really true?”
“I didn’t wake you to scare you,” Soren said. “Didn’t you keep whining that you wanted to see how strong the test subjects are? Today, I’m indulging you.”
Barnett opened his mouth—clearly about to start talking himself into a hole.
“Enough,” Little White snapped.
Soren lifted a finger. “Barnett. Don’t rattle on before the match and ruin her focus.”
“Y-yes, yes,” Barnett said quickly, nodding.
Soren signaled, and the two boys stepped down into the arena. “Choose,” he said lightly.
Little White studied them. Same height. Same face. Same calm, blank eyes. No way to tell them apart.
“Fine,” she said at last, pointing at random. “You. You’re Ollie?”
The boy shook his head. “I’m Ofer.”
“Ofer it’s.” Little White lifted her chin. “Then, Ofer—please.”
The other boy returned to the stands and took his place behind Soren. Ofer walked forward two steps.
His hands were empty. Little White reached for her twin blades, starting to unhook them to toss to Bit—
“No, no,” Soren said, amused. “I told you you could use your knives.”
“I’ve never swung blades at someone unarmed,” Little White said.
Soren shrugged. “He isn’t ‘someone.’ And your knives can’t hurt him anyway.”
“I do have weapons,” Ofer said, smiling. “Sister.”
Little White narrowed her eyes. “Oh?”
Ofer raised both hands, fingers pressed together like knife-hands.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then his palms began to stretch.
The flesh elongated, hardening and sharpening until each hand became a blade—eerily similar in shape to Little White’s own.
Little White just stared.
Soren threw his head back and laughed. “Timer starts!” he called, and glanced at Garrick.
Garrick gave a sharp signal.
Ofer exploded forward. His right-hand blade slashed down. Little White lifted her knife, caught the strike, and slid back a step.
His left-hand blade followed, chopping again. She retreated again—watching, measuring, letting him show her what he had.
After a few exchanges, the truth was obvious. Ofer was fast, and stronger than he looked. But beyond that? He was crude. He cycled through the same basic chops and cleaves with no finesse at all.
And dual-wielding was brutal even for a trained fighter. Without endless practice, it turned into a liability. Ofer was clearly improvising—more than once he tangled his own feet and nearly tripped over his own swings.
Thirty seconds in, even he seemed to realize it. His left hand reverted to normal, and he fought with only his right-hand blade. Immediately, his movement smoothed out.
Time bled away.
Half the clock was gone and Little White found herself almost smiling. Maybe she really had overthought it. Maybe Soren was genuinely giving her a way to save face.
Ofer knew he couldn’t win like this. After another miss, he let his right-hand blade melt back into a normal hand too.
Little White hesitated, confused. Was he surrendering?
He wasn’t.
Ofer pivoted and snapped a scooping palm strike toward her throat. She stepped back. He switched to an elbow and drove up toward her chin—
And suddenly she recognized the sequence. These were her own moves. The ones she’d used on Garrick.
A turning elbow. A back-spinning kick. A side kick. A slipping punch.
He’d watched her once and copied everything.
She was impressed… and also mildly offended. Those techniques were meant for bare-handed opponents.
She was holding knives.
Mischief rose in her. When Ofer used a defensive hand check that was supposed to catch an incoming fist, she deliberately extended a slow kick—almost lazy—just to see what he’d do.
Ofer did nothing.
He let her foot slam into his waist.
For one instant the impact felt wrong—too soft, like she’d kicked a down pillow.
Then her foot sank in.
It buried into his torso all the way to her ankle before she could even react.
Her leg was trapped inside him.
Ofer’s body liquefied. The “boy” became something like wet clay, reshaping in a ripple. From his abdomen, a second pair of hands budded out, while his original arms withered and collapsed—until the creature’s new hands were braced around her leg like a perfect catch.
Without pausing, Ofer twisted and heaved, slamming Little White toward the floor.
For the first time, real fear punched through her chest.
Her body answered with pure instinct.
Her twin blades flashed into motion—whirling like a cyclone—
Ofer was carved apart in a heartbeat. Head. Torso. Legs. Four pieces, tumbling away.
Little White landed hard anyway. She rolled low across the floor, used the motion to bleed off the throw’s force, and sprang back to her feet.
“Ha! That was beautiful,” Soren crowed, clapping. “But you lost.”
Garrick checked the timer. “Two minutes and fourteen seconds. Not three.”
Only then did Little White realize the trap. She had hit the ground. Even for an instant.
Barnett nodded, smiling like a man watching lab results. “Ofer performed well. Baseline values met expectations. With training, completing the mission shouldn’t be difficult.”
Soren nodded along.
Little White looked up, ready to explode—
And Soren did something she hadn’t even imagined.
He reached behind his back, drew a pistol, and pointed it straight at Barnett.
Bang.
Barnett took the shot and toppled over the railing, tumbling down into the arena. His eyes were wide open. Blood streamed from his mouth as he tried to speak, but all that came out was a wet, choking rattle…
Soren stared at the bullet hole over Barnett’s heart and at the dead man’s frozen expression, genuinely startled—like this wasn’t the outcome he’d planned.
He turned to Selena. “Unbelievable. From that distance, I missed. I was aiming for his shoulder.”
Selena’s smile didn’t change. “You’ve only just woken up. Your muscles are still stiff.”
“Is that so?” Soren flexed his fingers. “Because I feel like I’m a hundred years old.”
He faced Little White again and lifted both hands in a helpless shrug. “I’m sorry, my angel. I meant for you to be the one to finish him. You don’t mind, do you?”
Little White stared down at Barnett’s corpse—eyes still open—then finally let out a slow breath.
Her enemies were gone. All of them.
And yet the victory tasted… flat.
Across the arena, Ofer’s four pieces had already melted into four puddles of mudlike matter. They slithered toward one another, pooled, and rose again—reforming into a boy’s shape as if nothing had happened.
Bit and Merc exchanged a look. The memory was immediate: the monsters in X Zone beneath Grayrock Base.
Little White turned on Soren. “Explain. What the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, of course.” Soren’s smile returned. “We still have plenty to discuss. Shall we talk here… or go back to the illusion?”
“Here,” Little White said.
“As you wish.” Soren nodded. “Give me a few minutes. I need to change—this place is cold as the Arctic.”
He looked at Garrick. “Garrick, toss Barnett’s body into the greenhouse. Let it feed the flowers. And call a few robots over to clean up the blood.”
Selena guided Soren back toward the elevator. Just before the doors closed, he called out cheerfully, “See you soon! Ollie, Ofer—be good hosts.”
…
After Soren left, Garrick dragged the corpse away as well. The arena was left with only Bit, Little White, and Merc… and the brothers, Ollie and Ofer.
Little White stayed well back, as if distance could scrub the feeling off her skin. Bit, on the other hand, watched the boys with open curiosity.
“How were you made?” Bit asked.
The two boys looked at each other, then shook their heads.
“What do they want you to do?”
Ollie answered without hesitation. “Save humanity.”
Bit blinked. “You two? That’s the plan?”
“Yes.”
Bit tried again. “There are only… two of you? I mean—did they only make the two of you?”
“Yes…” Ollie said, and then hesitated.
Ofer leaned in, as if continuing a thought they’d both shared. “But we heard them say… we might have an older brother.”
Ollie’s voice dropped. “His name is Miller.”