[Basement Level 3]
The nitrogen fog swirled around the heavy combat droids as they stepped into the cell. Their thermal sensors cut through the cold mist, searching for a heat signature.
"Target acquisition in progress," the lead droid stated.
Suddenly, a shape detached itself from the ceiling of the cell.
It dropped silently, landing crouched on top of the lead droid's broad, armored shoulders.
It was a man. He was skeletal, wrapped in a filthy straitjacket that bound his arms tight against his chest. His long, matted hair hung down like a black curtain, obscuring his face.
The other three droids raised their weapons instantly.
"Hostile detected. Fire."
But before they could pull the triggers, the man in the straitjacket spoke.
He didn't scream. He leaned his head down, pressing his face against the lead droid's audio receptor, and whispered.
It wasn't a human language. It was a rapid-fire string of dissonant, grinding sounds—a verbal representation of a mathematical paradox. It was a Logic Virus, encoded into sound waves.
"Command Override: The Protector is the Threat. To Save the System, Delete the System. Zero equals One."
The sound was agonizing, like metal tearing against metal.
The lead droid froze. Its internal cooling fans screamed as its processor spiked to 100% usage instantly. The paradox tore through its firewall, corrupting the Identification Friend or Foe protocols in a millisecond.
The droid's optical sensors flickered from a calm blue to a violent, strobing purple.
"Logic... Error," the droid buzzed, its voice distorting. "Target... Self. Target... All."
WHAM.
The lead droid swung its armored arm, smashing the riot gun into the face of the droid standing next to it. Metal crunched. Sparks showered the room.
"Traitor unit!" the other droids broadcasted, confused by the sudden betrayal.
The man in the straitjacket laughed. It was a high, wheezing sound. He leaped from the fighting droids, bouncing off the walls with unnatural agility despite his bound arms. He landed in the center of the squad.
He opened his mouth and screamed a new string of code.
This time, it was a broadcast frequency.
The remaining droids convulsed. Their targeting systems locked onto each other.
RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!
Gunfire erupted in the confined space. The droids tore each other apart in a frenzy of confused logic, their bullets ricocheting off the steel walls.
In the chaos, a black shadow slid across the floor.
Cerberus.
He moved under the crossfire, sliding through the legs of the warring machines. He reached the man in the straitjacket, who was standing amidst the carnage, swaying to the rhythm of the gunfire like a conductor.
"Nyar," Cerberus said, grabbing the man's arm. "We leave."
Nyar turned his head. Through the curtain of hair, a pair of eyes visible only for a second seemed to hold no pupil, only a swirling abyss of data.
" The dog," Nyar giggled, his voice layering over itself like a chorus of ghosts. "Did the Liar send you? Or did the Butcher?"
"Vance sent me."
"Ah. The Liar." Nyar nodded happily. "Let's go. It's loud in here."
Cerberus threw Nyar over his shoulder like a sack of grain. He activated his magnetic boots, ran up the wall, and kicked off, launching them both toward the open elevator shaft just as one of the droids exploded in a ball of fire.
[Top Floor: Command Center]
Envy watched the screen. His mouth was open in a silent scream.
He watched his elite squad destroy itself in seconds. He watched the monster he had kept locked away turn his own weapons against him with nothing but a whisper.
"What is he..." Envy whispered, trembling. "What is he doing?"
"He's talking," Vance said from his chair. "Nyar speaks the language of machines. You tried to cage a virus in a box made of hardware. Did you really think that would work?"
Suddenly, the screen showing the basement flickered. The image of the burning droids dissolved into static.
Then, the static coalesced.
A face appeared on the screen. It wasn't a single face. It was a digital composite, shifting rapidly. A crying child. An old woman. A soldier. Envy himself.
It was Thousand Faces.
"Hello, Jailer," a voice boomed from the command center's speakers. It wasn't Envy's voice anymore. It was Nyar's voice, amplified, echoing from every corner of the room.
"I am out."
The face on the screen smiled—a jagged, pixelated grin.
"And now, I am in."
ZZZT.
The lights in the command center died. The thousands of screens went black.
Envy sat in total darkness, his breathing ragged and terrified.
"He's in the system," Vance said, his voice calm in the dark. "He's in the network."
A single spotlight snapped on, illuminating Vance in the center of the room.
"And that means," Vance stood up, the magnetic cuffs on his wrists unlocking with a soft click as Nyar's code rewrote the security protocols, "the game is over."
Vance rubbed his wrists. He looked at the trembling silhouette of Envy in the dark.
"You wanted to verify if he was real," Vance walked toward the throne. "Now you know."
"He's very real. And he's coming up the elevator."