One walked down the road that didn't look like a road anymore.
Just a long stretch of churned earth and broken rail, where the tracks had twisted out of place like bent ribs. The rain from earlier had settled into the ground, turning everything into a slow, sucking mire. Each step came with a quiet schluck-hassle, boots threatening to stay behind if he didn't lift them properly.
Head low. Shoulders slightly hunched. One hand adjusting the strap of his satchel every now and then like it might run off without him.
The cold wind pushed smoke sideways across the land. Thin grey ribbons dragged from distant factory stacks. They loomed far off, tall and crooked, like soot-livered giants watching him trudge back toward a mistake.
"…this is a terrible idea," One muttered.
The bracelet on his wrist gave a faint click… whirr… Then tap…tap-tap… clink…
"…it is," Four's voice came through, not loud, just present. "You are proceeding anyway."
"…yeah," One said, glancing at it briefly. "don't sound too excited about it."
"I am typing."
"…I can hear that."
clack…clack… tap-tap…
One stepped over a snapped length of rail, nudging it aside with his boot. It gave a hollow clonk and rolled slightly, like it had something to say about the whole situation.
For a while, they just… existed like that. Walking. Typing. Breathing.
The typing went on longer than usual. Faster, messier, like he was opening too many things at once.
"…alright," One said, stepping over a bent rail, "either you've found something useful, or you've broken whatever machine you're poking at."
"…this goes further back than we thought." Four replied.
One squinted ahead, wiping a bit of mud off his sleeve. "…that's never a good start."
"The Null Concordat was partnered with the Cogbound Legion for years."
One let out a small breath through his nose. "…we really commit to our bad decisions, don't we."
"They were a research division. Joint projects. Shared facilities. Shared personnel."
"…so same people, different uniforms."
"…essentially."
One stepped around a half-collapsed fence, nudging it aside with his boot.
"…what were they researching," he asked. "because I'm guessing it wasn't 'how to make things worse efficiently.'"
A short pause.
"…they were trying to end conflict."
One blinked. "…that's… suspiciously noble."
"They believed conflict arises from division," Four continued. "Different perspectives. Different desires. Competing identities."
"…so people," One said.
"Yes. Their solution was not control through force. It was removal of difference."
One slowed a little. "…you're going to have to say that in a way that doesn't sound like you're about to justify it."
"They believed that if all individuals shared a single identity… conflicts end."
One let out a quiet, disbelieving breath. "…that's either genius," he muttered, "or the kind of idea you get right before everything goes horribly wrong."
"…both outcomes are recorded."
"Of course they are."
clack…tap…
"They called it the Unity," Four continued. "A unified cognition model. One mind distributed across many bodies. No disagreement. No conflict. No war."
One gave a dry huff. "…no anything, by the sound of it."
"They did not consider that a loss."
"…yeah, I figured."
He kicked a loose bolt out of his path, sending it skittering with a sharp clink-clink.
"…so where do the Legion come in," he asked. "because I'm assuming they didn't just sit there and clap."
"They didn't reject the theory."
One paused mid-step. "…I'm sorry?"
"They rejected the method."
"…that's worse," One said flatly. "that's actually worse."
"There were internal divisions," Four went on. "Some of our scientists supported the work. Assisted in early-stage research."
"…of course they did."
"They believed it could be controlled. Limited. Applied selectively."
"…people always think that," One muttered. "right up until it isn't."
Four's typing slowed slightly. "…the Replication Order did not stop, even after the Null Concordat shifted. They expanded the definition of 'flaw.' At first, physical instability. Disease. Cognitive degradation. Then, emotional variance. Behavioural unpredictability. Individual preference."
One stopped again. Properly, this time. "…that's not fixing people," he said quietly. "…that's rewriting them."
"Yes."
"…and that's when the Cogbound Legion walked away. That is when the partnership ended."
The wind dragged a long, thin hiss across the broken land.
"…so they just kept going," One said. "trying to build this… Unity thing."
"Yes."
One let out a quiet, tired laugh. "…brilliant. really brilliant. we basically helped build the problem and then got surprised when it became a problem."
"That is a simplified but accurate assessment."
"…I'm really good at those," One muttered. He adjusted the strap on his shoulder again, glancing ahead.
"…so this whole war," he added, "is just two sides arguing about how much of a person you're allowed to remove before they stop being one."
"…that is one interpretation."
"…it's the one I'm going with."
clack… tap…
Four hesitated, just slightly before he could continue, "…their current objective remains unchanged…the Unity."
One shook his head faintly, continuing forward. "…one mind," he murmured. "…one identity."
A beat.
One carved a small, humourless smile. "…sounds quiet," he said. Then, after a second, he continued, "…too quiet."
The gate came into view. Quiet, Bent, half hanging off one hinge. The metal warped inward like something had forced its way through in a hurry.
One slowed, then stopped. The place looked smaller than he remembered in all the chaos. Or maybe it just felt that way.
"…this is it," he said quietly.
The wind moved through the broken rails with a soft whirr-hiss, like the place was trying to remember what it used to sound like.
"…this is where we lost them."
No answer from Four. Just the faint sound of typing.
One stepped closer to the gate, brushing his hand against the cold metal. It was still slightly warped where they'd climbed over it.
He could almost see it again, the shouting, the running, the split, then…him, Two. He could almost see how Two looked at him again before he parted ways.
He exhaled slowly. "…he's not here."
"No," Four said. A few taps. "I still have signal logs from the bracelet I share with Three."
Four continued. "The signal persisted after separation. Movement pattern was irregular. Then stationary."
"…where?"
"Warehouse sector. Near the Replication facility perimeter."
One looked up. Toward the distant silhouette. Barely visible through the smoke.
"…he didn't stop," One murmured. "…he kept going."
Four didn't respond. Didn't need to.
One shook his head slightly, a tired sort of understanding settling in. "…he went back to the facility."
"How do you know?"
One gave a faint, humourless smile. "…because I would."
A beat.
"…we're not that different," he added. "he just… went first."
He adjusted his grip on the satchel and stepped past the gate. The ground shifted slightly under his weight as mud sucking at his boots again.
"…he thinks he's fixing it," One said after a while. "or stopping something before it gets worse."
"That aligns with previous behavioural patterns."
"…yeah," One muttered. "…sounds about right."
He kept walking toward the outline of the facility, growing slowly larger as Four's typing picked up again, faster now.
"…units are moving," Four said.
One frowned. "…what kind of units."
"Legion."
"…already?"
"Yes."
"…that's quick."
"They are not waiting."
One glanced up at the sky, though there was nothing visible yet, just the heavy, dull clouds and drifting smoke.
"…figures."
A pause.
"…they know where it is too."
"Yes."
"…great," One muttered. "so we've got him, me, and a whole army all heading to the same place."
"That is correct."
"…that usually doesn't end well."
"No."
One huffed softly.
"…good. glad we agree."
He picked up his pace slightly, boots splashing through shallow puddles now, breath a little heavier.
"…you still there?" he asked.
"Yes."
"…good. keep talking," One said. "or typing. or whatever it is you do. it's too quiet out here."
tap… tap…
"…understood."
The wind carried another long hissle-hassle across the concrete steamy land.
…
Meanwhile, Two finally arrived at the facility. It looked exactly the same. That was what unsettled him most.
The same iron ribs arched over the entrance, blackened with soot. The same pipes along the walls exhaled thin streams of steam, sighing in slow, tired intervals. The same half-open gate, waiting like it had been expecting him to return.
Two stepped through without hesitation. No pause. No second glance.
He didn't need to search for the path. His feet found it on their own. The loose panel near the left wall, the narrow turn that kept you out of sight, the low beam that caught you if you forgot to duck. He moved through all of it as if the place had been built around him. Or as if he had already memorised it.
Behind him, Eidola followed. Not as close as before. Her steps were quieter now. Slower. There was a faint hesitation to them, something almost imperceptible, but it was there, like she did not mean to come back.
Two didn't look back. He assumed she would keep up.
The chamber door stood where it always had, glass cracked along one edge, slightly ajar as he pushed it open.
The room was unchanged. Rows of glass tanks lined the walls, some dark, some faintly lit. Tubes lay scattered across the floor, coiled and tangled like something that had once been alive and then abandoned. The air carried the same sharp scent of chemicals and burnt metal.
This was where she had been. Where he had first seen her. Where everything had started to unravel.
Two took a few steps inside before Eidola reached the threshold and slowed. Her foot hovered just before the doorway. Then she stepped in, carefully, as if the ground itself might react. Another step followed, but not as easily.
A small sound escaped her mouth. Soft. Uncertain.
Two heard it. "It's fine," he said, not turning. "Just stay close."
He reached back and took her hand. Not roughly, but with certainty. Like there was no reason for her to resist.
She followed. But not quite willingly.
The central console flickered to life when he approached. The screen struggled at first, lines of data crawling slowly into place, incomplete and unstable.
Two leaned closer and began to scroll. Profiles appeared, rows upon rows of them. Each one structured the same way. Subject identification, data logs, and beside it were reference subject. A face. A name. A source. Every entry had one. Every entry pointed back to something original.
Two scrolled further, scanning quickly, eyes narrowing as he went. Then he found it. EIDOLON BLOOM.
The display faltered, text loading unevenly. He scrolled down, looking for the pairing.
Nothing.
He scrolled again. Checked another entry. The reference was there. Clear. Back to hers. Still nothing.
"…that's not right." He tapped the console, forcing it to reload. The screen flickered harder this time, lines shifting, data rearranging itself. Fragments appeared. Partial logs. Incomplete sequences. But no origin nor reference nor single source.
Two stared at it, frowning.
Behind him, Eidola remained still, watching as her brows wrinkled softly.
The bracelet on his wrist crackled softly.
"…hello? Signal's back. Three, where are you?"
Four.
Two's eyes flicked down. A brief pause. Then he answered.
"We're moving," he said, steady enough. "Getting her somewhere safe." He tried to imitate Three's voice, despite knowing they were the same person.
"Define 'safe.'"
"Not here."
A short pause followed, filled with the faint sound of typing. "I've found something," Four said.
Two didn't respond.
"EIDOLON BLOOM is not classified as a replication subject."
Two's gaze shifted back to the screen. "…what does that mean."
"It's listed under a separate category."
"And that category is?"
Another pause before Four replied, "A convergence system."
Two didn't move.
"Phase one of the project involved identity harvesting," Four continued. "Multiple sources. Prisoners of war. Volunteers. Civilians. Existing clones. They extracted cognitive data," Four went on. "Memories. behavioural patterns. emotional responses."
"That's not replication," Two muttered.
"No, It's accumulation."
The word lingered.
"EIDOLON BLOOM is phase two," Four said. "A consolidation of those identities into a single construct."
Two looked at Eidola. She stood there, small and silent, as she always had.
"She's a person," he said.
"She is constructed from many persons," Four replied. "She is designed to unify them. She is the Unity!"
Two looked away, at the ground, as if the answer was laying there. "So she's meant to…" He hesitated. "What. Make everyone the same?"
"End conflict through convergence."
Two let out a quiet breath. "That's not ending anything."
He didn't finish the thought.
"Both factions want her," Four continued. "The Replication Order sees her as the completion of their work, the end of human conflicts. Words got around, and the Legion…they thought she is a weapon."
Two glanced at Eidola again. "She's not."
"No."
"…they're wrong."
"Very."
Another pause. That landed harder than anything else. Two's hand hovered over the bracelet. Then, deliberately, he switched it off. He had heard enough. The room fell quiet again.
He turned toward Eidola.
"We're not going with them," he said. "Either of them."
His voice was steady, but there was tension beneath it now. He stepped closer and reached for her hand.
She moved back, slightly, just enough for Two to notice something he never seen by Eidola.
Two stopped.
"…it's alright," he said. "It's me."
He tried again, slower this time. But she pulled her hand away, holding it close to herself. Her eyes didn't meet his.
"I…I'm not going to hurt you," he said. The words didn't seem to reach her.
"I'm taking you somewhere safe," he continued, a little more urgently now. "You can't stay here. You can't go with them. You don't understand what they'll do…"
Her reaction was immediate as she covered her ears, stepping back again. She whimpered to herself as her eyes were shut tight, forming wrinkles on the bridge of her small nose.
Two's voice caught. He looked at her, really looked. He stopped, hand still half-raised, unsure what to do with it.
"I'm trying to help you," he said, quieter now. "I'm the one keeping you safe."
She didn't move. No answer. She didn't even look at him anymore.
The machines around them continued their quiet hum, steady and indifferent.
And for the first time since he had taken her, Two realised something had changed. Not in the room. Not in the war. But in her. He brought her there. For the first time, he didn't know what to do.
The door suddenly opened behind him.
One.