Through Oscar's Eyes and Mind

The residential corridor stretched before Arthur like a tunnel of white metal, sterile as AVABase's entrails. Only a wall plate betrayed his location: LEVEL 25 - RESTRICTED ACCESS. Level 24—where champions are born or die. Arthur shivered despite himself. A luminous arrow pointed toward the central elevator, fifty meters ahead. His bare feet slapped against the frozen floor, each step echoing like a challenge in the artificial silence of the deserted corridor.

The elevator doors hissed open before he touched the panel—his implant had sold him out, as always. "Level 24 - Administration and Class A quarters," announced a synthetic voice, smooth as a blade. The ascent was brief, a whisper of pressure in his ears, like the world recalibrating to suffocate him better.

Despite the late hour, Arthur headed to supply to collect his things. Katherine had orchestrated everything, true to form. A night hybrid, old generation with glassy eyes, handed him a package without a word, his face as worn as the walls. Arthur unfolded the black uniform, a silver gleam catching his eye: a lion's head embroidered on the left shoulder. Every agent had to serve a team and an S-class supervisor. The new supervisor being Alexandrei alias the Tamer, Arthur assumed this was the insignia of the team he was joining. In the bag: training shoes, regulation accessories, a magnetic card for his room. "The rest is preloaded on your account," grumbled the hybrid, his voice rough as rusted metal. "Courtesy of the Base."

"Hard to forget when you're squatting in my skull," Arthur retorted, biting irony in his voice.

"Are you going to behave?" she insisted, her grip weighing on his temples like an electric migraine.

"Don't worry, Ava. I'll be very good." His tone dripped with insolence, a mocking smile on his lips.

"I'll keep an eye on you." Ava's presence wavered, then vanished—a leash loosened, for now. Arthur froze, destabilized by the sudden silence. A test? A weakness? He didn't have time to wonder.

He placed his palm on the scanner, glancing at his wrist. The green pulse blinked, faithful to the lie. SENSITIVE, the door screen displayed before fading. Katherine had warned him: orange then red led to reconditioning.

Room 324's door slid open.

A subtle brush caressed his consciousness—neither Ava nor her circuits. Something organic, warm. Like someone trying to sync with him without violence, without intrusion. Just... a presence. Arthur leaned against the cold metal, closing his eyes. The pressure in his chest lightened, a strange calm enveloping him like a forgotten blanket.

On the far bunk, a boy watched him. Blond, round-faced like a kid who didn't belong here. Seventeen at most, green eyes sparkling with suicidal curiosity in a place where curiosity killed. A worn book rested on his knees—Le Morte d'Arthur, the irony wasn't lost on Arthur. A book about a legendary king for a hybrid with no past. A golden sword emerged from a lake on the cover. The boy had snapped it shut when Arthur entered, the bookmark stuck at the beginning. He wasn't reading. He was waiting.

An awkward silence settled. One didn't know what to say and the other had neither the habit nor the desire to communicate.

"You should lie down. You look like you ran a marathon through a blender." Oscar's voice was light, almost sing-song, with a warmth that clashed in this metal world.

Arthur, his piercing blue eyes veiled by fatigue, collapsed on his bunk without looking. A shiver ran up his spine—70% circuits, a war weapon forged to feel nothing, and yet this voice disturbed him. The room reeked of disinfectant, but a subtle smell clung to the air—something alive, like a memory of cut grass Arthur had never known. His body trembled, an old reaction he controlled better. I'm making progress, he thought, gritting his teeth. "It'll pass," he growled.

Oscar remained still, but his presence filled the space—not oppressive, just... luminous. Like a campfire in a steel night. Silence settled, punctuated by the distant hum of ventilation. Green neons carved angular shadows on the walls.

"Seriously, you sure you're okay?" Oscar slid to the edge of Arthur's bunk, his sneakers scraping the floor, his smile hesitant but sincere.

Arthur jumped, his giant body reacting by instinct. TOO CLOSE—Arthur's mind screamed.

Oscar bounced back, raising his hands like a puppy caught in the act. "Oops, sorry! I forget not everyone likes hugs here." He laughed, a clear sound, almost absurd in this place.

Arthur stared, stunned. Fear rose in him. What was this emotional overflow? He'd never seen anyone behave like this. This blond kid, with his child's face and too-alive eyes, seemed misplaced in this metal tomb. His voice, his expressions, his way of moving—everything was foreign to the hybrid. The green pulse at his wrist flickered, threatening. Red lurked. "What the hell are you doing here? You're not even a hybrid."

Is that his gift?

Oscar shrugged, his crooked smile revealing a dimple. "Someone's gotta bring some life here, right? I have to write a report on you. Check that you're... under control." He grimaced pronouncing the last two words, like they tasted bad.

"What are you then?"

Oscar froze for a fraction of a second, his smile wavering, as if the question touched a sensitive chord. "Technically augmented. Forty percent, but who's counting? I'm Oscar." He extended a hand that hung suspended, then withdrew it, embarrassed, seeing Arthur motionless.

Arthur snorted, a rough sound. "Forty percent? What are you, an intern? Level 24 is for the elite, kid..."

Oscar gripped his bunk, his book sliding, the golden sword glinting under the green light. "I'm not a kid, I turned seventeen in February!"

Arthur responded immediately, amused: "Wow, seventeen, you're a real man..." A pause. "Transferred to Alexandrei's unit?"

"Like you. They say I have... unexploited potential." Oscar raised his chin, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. But Arthur caught something else—sharp intelligence hiding under the youthful enthusiasm.

Arthur observed him: quick breathing, spontaneous gestures, almost palpable energy. Forty percent didn't survive here. Yet this boy seemed rooted, like a root in concrete. "You're hiding something," Arthur said, his tone more curious than suspicious.

"Maybe." Oscar blinked, falsely innocent. "We all have our little secrets, don't we?"

Arthur grunted, amused despite himself. "You'll spill it someday. I'm Arthur. Call me H."

Oscar grabbed his book and brandished it like a trophy. "Arthur! Like the guy in here! A legendary king, with Camelot, the Knights of the Round Table, the whole deal!" His eyes shone, as if he'd just discovered treasure.

Arthur blinked, disconcerted. "Uh... okay. I've never touched one of those things. I come from below." An embarrassed smile stretched his lips, a rare crack in his human weapon facade.

Oscar laughed, a sound bouncing around the room like a ball. "You've never read a book? Man, how do you escape this hell! We're gonna fix that."

"Kat told you I'd be here?" Arthur asked, testing.

"Yeah, she briefed me." The nickname—Kat—passed naturally, but Oscar noted Arthur's reaction. "She didn't tell me anything about you though. I wasn't ready to leave my unit. But honestly, being with you... it's kinda like meeting a legend."

"Oscar." Arthur's voice cut short, his gaze catching a corner of the room. A red light blinked, barely visible in the greenish twilight.

The complex pulsed its nocturnal rhythm. A hum rose from the walls, followed by three brief pulses in the corridor. Their gazes met, Oscar's humor vanishing instantly.

"Morning inspection," he whispered, sliding his book under the pillow with expert speed.

They remained frozen, breath suspended, as the footsteps faded away.