Unit 24

In one of the sterile infirmary boxes on Level 24, the air reeked of antiseptic and cold metal. Oscar's lungs scraped with each breath, as if sandpaper had lodged itself in his chest. The medical scanners cast red flashes on the screen, revealing micro-lesions left by the cyan water he'd inhaled. Each breath brought a grimace, a dull pain pulsing in rhythm with his heart.

The doctor, a tired-looking hybrid, tapped his tablet without looking up. "We could consider some adjustments, but orders come from above. Sorry, kid. I have to declare you 'Fit for service.'" His voice was mechanical, devoid of empathy. Then, with a mocking smile: "Next time, try not to drink the pool." This one must have been augmented with a "therapeutic humor" extension. Oscar felt even more depressed.

Leaning against the doorframe, Arthur watched the examination in silence. His green chip pulsed faintly on his wrist. Since the incident in the cage, a chasm had opened between the two boys whose connection had established itself at lightning speed. Now, that experience—too intimate, too twisted to put into words—had fractured their bond. They hadn't exchanged a glance, hadn't spoken a word.

Arthur's gaze weighed heavy in the room, almost tangible. "Up," he finally said, breaking the silence. "Training in thirty minutes."

Oscar straightened, his legs trembling under the effort. He swayed. Arthur took a step toward him, instinctive, before stopping abruptly. A new distance had settled between them, harsh, indefinable. Oscar met his gaze, a flash of defiance in his eyes.

"I walk alone," he muttered through clenched teeth.

A lie. Arthur didn't respond, just sighed, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of doubt, quickly stifled. He didn't understand what was going on in Oscar's head. The latter seemed to have deliberately closed the door to all communication. Something had changed in his gaze, but Arthur couldn't determine the reason.

07:00 - Briefing Room

The briefing room thrummed with palpable tension. Six figures in black suits, adorned with a silver lion on the shoulder, stood aligned. The elite of Unit A-24. Alexandrei entered, his steel teeth gleaming under the harsh neon lights. His face, impassive, seemed carved from marble.

"Your new teammates," he announced in a cutting voice. "They'll replace Nidae and Mika. Meet Arthur: hybrid, 70%, and Oscar: augmented, 40%."

A snicker erupted in the room. Vera, white hair shaved close, raised an eyebrow. "Forty percent? Is this a joke?"

"It's an order," Alexandrei cut off, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "Vera, you lead. Full simulation. You're facing Unit B-24."

Vera assessed Oscar. His wheezing breath and still-trembling limbs inspired no confidence. "He'll collapse in five minutes," she stated. "He's half dead. What happened to him?"

"Morning submersion," Alexandrei replied. "He survived. He'll survive today, or he's out."

The introductions were brief, almost mechanical. Jin, the veteran with discrete but eloquent scars. The twins, Nix and Nox, whose synchronized breathing betrayed an unsettling connection. Tam, the technician, always fiddling with some gadget. And Rhea, whose mechanical pupils—hypnotic concentric circles—analyzed every detail with inhuman precision. 90% machine.

Arthur broke the silence. "The totem?"

Tam snickered. "A corrosive vial. If you break it, we all burn. Simple, right?"

"Except B-24 wants it too," Jin added, his tone deeper. "Petra whipped them after their last defeat. They'll be rabid. They might make mincemeat of pretty boy here." He jerked his chin toward Oscar.

"True, the new one's cute. Could just eat him up," Nix joked. The others laughed—a way to ease the atmosphere? Oscar didn't know where to look.

Arthur stepped forward, his gaze hard. "That's enough."

Vera sketched a mocking smile. "The new guy protecting his weak roommate? No cuddles here."

"Shut it," Alexandrei snapped. "Move out."

07:30 - Preparation Lock A-24

The preparation lock felt like a cocoon of cold, oppressive metal. Oscar pressed his palm against the curved wall, trying to anchor himself in reality. On the other side of the glass, a B-24 member cracked his neck—once, twice, three times. A methodical gesture. Afterward, his hands trembled slightly.

Even him, Oscar thought. Even he's afraid.

Jin stared into the void, lost somewhere in his head. Vera checked her breastplate for the umpteenth time, fiddling with the fasteners in a nervous ritual that fooled no one. The twins breathed together, inhaling and exhaling with such perfect synchronization it became disturbing. Only Arthur remained motionless, his fingers gliding over the handle of his thermal blade like caressing a lover's cheek.

AVA's voice resonated in the lock, vibrating into their bones. Oscar's breastplate immediately turned orange—stress detected. Arthur's pulsed an imperturbable green. Their gazes met for a fraction of a second before Oscar looked away.

Arthur frowned slightly. What's gotten into him? Oscar's cold attitude confused him.

Arthur tilted his head, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. "Helical conduits," he murmured. "If we go through maintenance, we gain three minutes."

Vera pivoted sharply toward him. "How can you know that?"

Arthur blinked, visibly surprised by his own certainty. A moment of hesitation, then he shrugged with forced casualness. "I just know."

The lock door opened with a hydraulic hiss. A wave of heat hit them like a slap, the burning air rushing into their lungs. Without hesitation, Arthur dove first into the arena.

07:45 - The Bowels

They emerged into a machine room—chaos of giant pistons and trembling catwalks. The team collapsed against the walls, panting. Arthur remained standing, breathing barely faster than at rest.

"How... how did you know the way?" Vera gasped, a hint of fear in her voice.

Arthur turned his head toward her, and for the first time since their entry, he seemed surprised. As if he'd just realized they were still there.

"I..." He frowned. "I don't know. I see it."

AVA's voice brought them back to reality. Rhea frantically scanned the surroundings, her mechanical pupils buzzing with effort. "Three paths. I can't analyze fast enough the—"

"Middle." Arthur had already spoken, eyes half-closed, as if in a trance. "Fans in sequence 3-2-3-2. Left: delayed thermal mines. Right: clean but fifteen-minute detour."

Tam let out a nervous laugh. "You can't know that. It's impossible. The configurations change every—"

Arthur reopened his eyes. And smiled. A smile that chilled Oscar's blood—pure, hungry, alive.

"Watch me."

He plunged into the central corridor before anyone could respond. And despite their growing terror, despite this certainty that they were following something no longer quite Arthur, they followed him.

Because in the arenas, you always follow the champion.

08:00 - The Race

The metal catwalks overlooked pools of bubbling acid, their phosphorescent green surface like a promise of liquid death.

Arthur didn't run—he floated, each movement calibrated, each gesture an equation solved before the problem even appeared. Descending piston? He rolled under with three seconds to spare. Steam jet? His body was already pivoting, the heat barely grazing his suit.

Oscar, at the rear, recognized this trance. The same as on the rooftops. Arthur's way of losing himself in his own flow, becoming pure action. Except this time, it wasn't in his head—it was in every fiber of his body.

A synthetic creature burst from a conduit, pincers spread, red eye pulsing.

Arthur, above!

Oscar projected the thought with all his strength, seeking that connection established in the cage. For an instant, he thought he saw Arthur flinch—recognition? But no. The blade was already sinking into the machine's gyroscope, precise, lethal. Arthur had seen it coming from the beginning.

"TX-47," Arthur murmured as he passed, as if naming an old friend.

You hear me? Oscar insisted, forcing their mental link. I know you hear me.

Arthur continued forward, but Oscar caught something—a deliberate closure, like a door slammed shut. He wasn't ignoring him. He was rejecting him. Voluntarily.

Tam slipped on a wet catwalk. His hand reached for the rail, missed by two centimeters. The gaping void below, the acid waiting.

Jin dove, caught Tam by the collar, pulled him back. "Fuck, watch it!"

Arthur hadn't even turned around.

Tam almost fell! Oscar screamed mentally, desperate.

This time, he distinctly felt Arthur's response—not words, just a sensation. I know. Jin caught him. Not my problem.

Oscar felt his stomach knot. It was exactly like on the rooftops, except instead of pulling him into his mental vertigo, Arthur was excluding him from his physical vertigo. He was alone in his flow, and everything else—the team, Oscar, the danger to others—was just background noise.

08:15 - Central Hall

The atmosphere changed abruptly. Denser, vibrating, teeth grinding under invisible frequencies. In the center of the room, suspended on a network of unstable beams, the green vial pulsed like a toxic heart.

Oscar immediately sensed the anomaly. The vibrations were desynchronized, a trap waiting. "Unstable resonance, we need to—"

"Frontal assault," Vera cut short. "Arthur, you cover me and—"

The void. Arthur had already jumped.

"ARTHUR, FUCK!"

But he was gone, leaping from beam to beam with surgical precision. Each step fell in the exact trough between two vibrations, as if he were dancing to a score only he could hear.

That's it, Oscar realized with horror. He hears the arena's music.

The B-24 leader emerged—an augmented colossus, massive fists charged with kinetic energy. The blow shot out, powerful enough to break a wall.

Arthur simply tilted his head. The fist passed two millimeters from his temple. In the same fluid motion, his hand closed on the vial.

Arthur! Oscar tried one last time. The beams are going to—

I know.

The answer, cold and clear. Arthur knew. He'd always known. And he didn't care.

The metal screamed.

08:20 - The Fall

The beams gave way in cascade, a domino of twisted metal. Arthur was already in the air, his body spinning with impossible grace, the vial clutched to his chest like a baby.

Oscar saw it in slow motion—those eyes void of all emotion, that serene face in the fall. No fear. No adrenaline. Just the absolute certainty of the perfect movement.

Three B-24 members fell, sucked into the emergency extractors with metallic screams.

Arthur landed. One knee to the ground, perfect impact absorption. He straightened, raised the vial.

Victorious. Alone. Complete.

Oscar felt bile rise. A bit of vomit in his mouth, acid and bitter. He swallowed, the taste remaining like a reminder of what he'd just witnessed.

This was no longer the fragile boy counting his heartbeats. This was the machine he'd glimpsed in the cage, the one that had saved him without really seeing him.

"Point three seconds," Rhea commented, admiring despite herself. "Reaction time below human threshold."

Arthur turned his head toward them. His gaze swept the team, stopped on Oscar. A moment of recognition—then nothing. As if Oscar were a stranger.

You forgot us, Oscar thought.

08:30 - Dissolution

Gray room. The arena dissolved. The green vial in Arthur's hands.

The team regrouped slowly, a new distance between them and Arthur. Not physical. Deeper.

She laughed—a rare sound, almost rusty. "Modest too?"

"Let me savor it." Arthur spread his arms, pivoting on himself in a parody of reverence. The team burst into nervous applause, a few "hurrahs" erupting. Everyone seemed galvanized.

Except Oscar. Leaning against the wall, he watched them with beaten dog eyes. This celebration made him want to vomit. Again.

Jin approached, examined his bleeding shoulder. "Need to disinfect that." Lower, almost a whisper: "Your buddy... what exactly is he?"

Oscar didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed on Arthur—admired, feared, and terribly alone in his glory.

The twins, in unison: "Optimal performance. Recommendation: follow Arthur's directives."

Tam nodded, still trembling from his near-fall. "He knew everything. The paths, the robots, the resonances... Like he'd built this fucking place."

A heavy silence settled. The kind that says everything without saying anything.

The door opened. Alexandrei entered, his steel gaze sweeping the scene before fixing on Arthur.

"Impressive." He crossed the room, seized Arthur by the shoulders, pulled him into a brutal embrace. "We have a new champion."

Arthur remained rigid in the embrace, neither rejecting nor accepting the contact.

"The vial?"

Arthur handed it over. Alexandrei examined it, the green light reflecting in his metallic teeth.

"You took command."

"Instinct."

The Tamer smiled—that predator's smile recognizing one of its own. "Better than that. You have grace. The real kind. The kind that can't be taught."

His gaze slid to Oscar, still collapsed against the wall. "You. Infirmary. Regenerator tonight." His voice hardened, sharp as a blade. "Tomorrow, operational or out. No third chance."

Oscar nodded. But his eyes remained on Arthur, who had just pulled away from Alexandrei's embrace with that same polite indifference he'd displayed since they'd exited the conduit.

He really did forget us, Oscar thought. Or maybe we never existed for him.

16:00 - Corridor to the Cells

Arthur's steps echoed in the corridor—regular, mechanical. Oscar dragged behind, his shoulder on fire, bile still acid on his tongue.

"You changed in there."

Arthur stopped abruptly. Turned slowly, and Oscar saw something pass through his eyes—relief? Finally you're talking to me.

"I know."

"You liked it." Oscar's voice trembled slightly. I called you. In the arena. You shut me out.

"Yes."

The word floated between them. Simple. Without excuse.

Arthur stared at him intensely. "It was pure."

Pure? The word exploded in Oscar's head. A bitter laugh rose, strangled by tears he refused to shed.

"Tam almost fell."

"Jin caught him."

So simple. So detached. Oscar felt something break inside him. He accelerated, passed Arthur, crossed the threshold of their cell first—a pathetic little victory.

Arthur followed. The door barely closed, he seized Oscar's arm, forced him to turn around. Their faces inches apart.

"What did you want? For me to fall with you?"

The words pounded against Oscar's temples. His jaw clenched.

"I wanted you to look back."

"Why?"

"Because that's what humans do."

The silence thickened. Arthur tilted his head—that analytical gesture Oscar was beginning to hate.

"I'm not—" Stop. Frown. "I don't know what I am."

Oscar tore himself from his grip, collapsed on his bed. The pain exploded—shoulder, ribs, soul.

"Fuck..." Tears rose, burning, uncontrollable. "I'm tired, Arthur. Tired of being the deadweight. The 40%." His voice broke. "Seeing you like that... giving ground to her... it disgusts me."

Arthur stiffened. "If you're talking about Prime, she wins nothing. What you saw was me. Nothing of her. Just me."

The words fell into the room like stones.

"And you're not deadweight." Not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. "Even if right now... you're the only one not seeing what I just accomplished as a feat."

Oscar raised his head, his red eyes fixing Arthur with new intensity.

"Because it's not one. It's easy to be a monster." The words came out, venomous. "Especially when you've been programmed to be one."

Arthur's face closed. Something flickered in his eyes—pain? He looked away.

"Wow." A joyless laugh. "I wasn't expecting a declaration of love, but that... You're going hard."

Silence fell again, heavy with words they wouldn't say.

Oscar closed his eyes. Tears now flowed freely, tracing salty tracks on his cheeks. He didn't care.

"Need the regenerator," Arthur murmured. His voice had lost all hardness.

"I know."

"You can't. Alone."

"I know."

A movement. Arthur crossed the room, knelt by Oscar's bed. This sudden proximity—neither dominant nor distant. Just... there.

He extended his hand. Palm open. Waiting.

"Come."

One word. But in that word, Oscar heard something else. I'm sorry.

19:00 - Regeneration