The light hit first.
Cold. Surgical. Pure white. The kind of illumination reserved for operations and biblical miracles.
Then the sound.
A low vibrating hum that thickened into a pulse when I stepped inside, like the room had a heartbeat and decided to sync it with mine just to be unsettling.
Cadence's hologram followed me in, flickering once as if the brightness offended her.
"This chamber remains fully powered," she murmured.
"Yeah," I said. "I can tell by the sense of foreboding."
"It is not foreboding. It is a diagnostic field."
"Feels the same."
And then I saw it.
Project 268.
It stood at the center of the chamber, half in shadow, half bathed in cold light. Taller than me by a good half-head, shoulders broader, limbs more angular, metal plating woven seamlessly with organic tissue. Not patched. Not welded junk.
Refined.
Its face was almost human in shape if humanity had been sculpted by someone who only had blueprints and a vague grudge.
When it spoke, its voice was measured and clear, no scav rasp this time.
"You are Iris."
I swallowed. "Yeah. That's me."
Its head tilted with slow, deliberate curiosity. "Refined. Finished. The completed model."
"That's one way to put it."
"I was made to be you." A twitch in its jaw. "But not finished. Not perfected. Not… enough."
Great. My evil sibling was insecure.
It stepped forward, movement unnervingly smooth.
"I learned your gait," it said. "Your patterns. Your blueprint. But I did not become you."
"I'm flattered."
"You should be." Its eyes narrowed. "He made me from what remained. Scraps. Fragments. Castoffs."
There it was, the bitterness. Old and sharp.
"You think you deserve life more than I." 268 said. "You were first. Untested. Flawed."
"Hey," I said. "only flawed thing is my character."
"You contain mistakes."
Before I could respond, Cadence's hologram shorted and collapsed into a small flickering orb near my shoulder. Then her voice came through, more amused than helpful.
"Iris," she said. "I believe I have correctly identified the emotional tension. This is essentially your inbred cousin."
"Fantastic," I muttered.
268's head snapped toward the hologram orb. "The voice." Something shifted in its expression. "
It stepped closer.
Cadence immediately killed her projection entirely.
"Goodbye," she said brightly. "No point wasting power on my hologram. You need it more than I do."
"Coward," I hissed.
"Correct."
268 returned its attention to me. Its eyes tracked every micro-movement like they were memorising how to dismantle me before I made my first mistake.
"I will be the final version," it said softly. "You are the trial. The prototype. The accident that lived."
"Funny," I said. "I could say the same thing about you."
That cracked something inside it.
The hum behind the walls flared, as if reacting to 268's spike in emotion. It lunged.
Fast. Faster than I expected. Faster than anything made of salvaged flesh and metal had any right to be.
I barely dodged as its fist came down where my head had been. The impact cratered the reinforced floor.
"Okay," I said, backing off.
268 straightened. "You are stronger than the others. Faster. But you still degrade. You still need her."
"I don't need anyone."
"You need repair. You need assistance. I do not."
It rushed me again.
This time I blocked. The collision rattled my arm all the way into my spine. Pain sparked through my shoulder like someone jammed a live wire into it.
268 pressed forward, overwhelming strength forcing me backward step by step.
"You feel that," it whispered. "The difference."
"Yes," I grunted. "You're heavier and ruder."
A sharp twist, I flew across the chamber, hit a panel hard enough to dent it, and rolled to avoid the follow-up strike that would have made me part of the floor.
"Iris," Cadence said calmly in my mind, "your left humerus is showing stress lines. Avoid additional force application."
"No kidding," I wheezed.
268 stalked toward me, movements precise, grounding purposeful. It wasn't improvising. It was following something, training patterns, combat loops, all built for purpose.
"You learned me," I said, getting back to my feet.
"Yes," it said. "And I improved the parts that were weak."
It attacked again, this time with a sweeping kick that cracked my shin plating before I jumped back.
It wasn't trying to overpower me.
It was testing me.
"Cadence," I whispered, "it's studying me."
"Yes."
"Why isn't it killing me."
"It wants validation. Proof. It wants to be better."
"So again. My inbred cousin."
"Iris," she said, "your biological metaphors are deteriorating."
268 dashed forward, faster than before, a blur of silver. It grabbed my arm, twisted, and slammed me onto the ground with force that emptied my lungs.
Pain flared white-hot.
"Iris," Cadence warned. "You are losing this engagement."
"Yeah," I wheezed. "I noticed."
268 crouched beside me, head tilting again, examining the damage like a scientist inspecting a specimen.
"You break," it said quietly. "Still. You break."
I spat blood, or hydraulic fluid, hard to tell. "Guess you'll have to try harder."
It did.
Its fist crashed down, I rolled, felt the shockwave rip through the floor.
The next hit caught my ribs. Something cracked.
"Stop dodging," 268 snarled, voice slipping toward something more primitive. "Stop running. Stand. Fight. Show me. Show me why you're better."
It launched itself with a roar that wasn't human.
And I finally saw it.
The energy core in its chest.
Not scav junk. Not old Voss hardware.
A compact, modern power unit. Gleaming faint blue. Clean lines. New tech. Something Nova either found or built from newer designs. Better than my own power system by decades.
"That," I gasped, "is cheating."
"No," 268 said. "It is improvement."
I barely had time to brace as it grabbed me by the leg and hurled me across the room.
Bones. Metal. Pain. Lights blurring.
I hit the floor again and didn't bounce this time.
Cadence's voice sharpened. "Iris. You must retreat."
"Retreating," I coughed, "is not on the menu."
"You will not win this round."
"I know."
I pushed myself onto one knee.
268 walked toward me, confidence radiating off every precise, perfect motion.
"I will end you," it said. "And I will become the final version."
"Yeah," I said. "About that."
I braced.
Nanites surged.
My torn plating began knitting.
The shattered metal reformed.
My leg straightened, whirring back into alignment with a sound like angry bees.
268 froze.
It stared.
"You… heal," it whispered. "That is forbidden. That is… wrong. You are… cheating."
"My turn," I said.
It screamed in fury and charged.
I met its eyes, then whispered:
"Overdrive."
My body shuddered as the world snapped into clarity.