SSS-Rank Corporate Predator System

The Nursery was a symphony in white.

White walls.

White floors.

It smelled of antiseptic and a faint, coppery tang that Miles didn't want to identify.

"Okay, I am officially not a fan of this decorating scheme," Leo's voice whispered over their private comms channel, his tone a tight, nervous buzz.

"It's very 'evil scientist's secret lair'."

"I was expecting something a little more… welcoming."

"Maybe a nice potted plant? A motivational poster?"

"'Hang in there, kitty' would really tie the room together, I think."

Miles ignored him, his senses on high alert. He moved through the silent, white corridors like a ghost, his every footstep a silent, calculated placement. Gideon was a shadow at his side, his movements just as silent, just as deadly.

They were the phantoms, the physical element of the infiltration.

Back in the hidden subway lab, Clara and Leo were the puppet masters.

"Okay, I'm in," Leo's voice said, a note of grim satisfaction in his tone. "Their firewall was a joke. I've seen smarter security on a public Wi-Fi hotspot."

"I have control of the internal camera network. You're clear for the next fifty meters. Two guards approaching from the east corridor. I'm looping their camera feed. You'll be invisible."

"Good work, Leo," Clara's voice replied, a calm, steady counterpoint to his nervous energy. "Miles, Gideon, your target is the main research wing, Sub-Level 3. That's where they're holding the tournament fighters."

Miles could feel the system in his head working in perfect, chilling harmony with Leo's hacking. He could see the guard patrol routes as red lines on his own internal heads-up display. He could see the camera sightlines as cones of yellow light.

They were a perfectly synchronized machine.

They reached the elevator to Sub-Level 3 without incident.

"This is too easy," Miles thought, the cold knot of dread in his stomach tightening.

"I hate it when it's too easy."

The elevator doors hissed open, and the clean, sterile white of the upper levels was replaced by a dim, flickering, and deeply unsettling darkness.

This was the part of the facility they didn't show to the investors.

The air here was cold, and it carried the faint, distant sound of a low, mournful moan.

They stepped out into a long hallway lined with thick, reinforced glass.

Behind the glass were cells.

And inside the cells were the failed experiments.

System users whose bodies had rejected Cross Corp's crude, brutal enhancements. Men and women who were now little more than twitching, misshapen masses of flesh and broken code, their eyes vacant, their systems running in a constant, agonizing state of overload.

"This is a house of horrors," Miles whispered, his voice a low, disgusted growl.

He felt a familiar, hot surge of rage, but this time, he anchored it. He breathed. He controlled it.

"We keep moving," Gideon's voice commanded, his own face a mask of fury.

They reached a larger, circular chamber at the end of the hall.

In the center of the chamber, floating in individual stasis pods, were the tournament fighters. The Wrecking Crew. The Longshots. All the teams that had been "eliminated."

They were alive. But they were unconscious, wires and tubes connected to their bodies, their system energy being slowly, methodically drained and analyzed.

But the room was not empty.

A figure stood in the center of the room, their back to them, seemingly admiring the collection.

"I was wondering when you'd arrive," the figure said, their voice a calm, pleasant, and deeply unsettling sound.

They turned around.

It was a man in a crisp, white lab coat, with thin, wire-rimmed glasses and a polite, academic smile.

He looked like a university professor.

But the system in Miles's head flared with a stark, terrifying warning.

[WARNING: HIGH-TIER SYSTEM USER DETECTED.]

[SYSTEM TYPE: UNKNOWN. REALITY-WARPING SIGNATURE.]

[THREAT LEVEL: EXTREME.]

The man in the lab coat, one of Silas's most elite and dangerous masters, just smiled.

"Welcome to The Nursery," he said.

And the world dissolved.

One moment, they were in a cold, dark laboratory.

The next, Miles was standing in the middle of his old living room.

It was exactly as he remembered it from before the fire.

The worn, comfortable sofa. The smell of his mother's baking.

He saw his father, Alaric Vane, sitting in his favorite armchair, reading a book.

He saw his mother, Mira Vane, walk into the room, a plate of warm cookies in her hand.

She smiled at him, a look of such pure, unconditional love that it made his heart ache.

"We're so proud of you, my sweet boy," she said, her voice a perfect, loving echo in his memory.

It was a perfect illusion.

A perfect lie.

And for a terrifying second, he wanted to believe it.

He wanted to stay.

He wanted to be home.

But then, he felt it.

A cold, sharp, and deeply wrong feeling.

The system.

His system, his constant, silent companion, was screaming a single, silent word in his mind.

Fake.

He closed his eyes, focusing on his breath, on the anchor of Clara's voice in his ear, even though he couldn't hear her.

He held on to the reality he knew, the hard, painful, and true one.

The illusion flickered.

And shattered.

He was back in the lab.

The scientist's smile had faltered slightly.

"Impressive," the man said, a flicker of genuine surprise in his eyes. "Your mental fortitude is remarkable."

"But can your friends say the same?"

Miles looked over. Gideon was standing rigid, his eyes wide, lost in a memory of his own. A burning village. A failed rescue. A ghost of his own making.

And then, his blood ran cold.

Leo was gone.

"Leo?" Clara's voice crackled over the comms, a note of rising panic in her tone. "Leo, what's going on? I've lost your signal!"

"Looking for your friend?" the scientist asked, his polite smile returning.

He gestured to a door on the far side of the chamber that had just slid open.

Leo was standing there.

He wasn't in an illusion.

He was just… standing.

And he wasn't alone.

Another figure in a clean, white lab coat stood beside him. A woman with a kind, reassuring face.

She was holding a small, sleek, and unbelievably advanced-looking medical device.

The cure.

"Leo Martinez," the woman said, her voice a calm, soothing melody. "Your system is fascinating. So broken. So much potential."

She smiled at him, a warm, maternal expression.

"We can fix you, you know," she said softly. "We can purge the virus. We can stabilize your core."

She held out the device.

"We can make you stronger than you ever dreamed."

"Stronger than them," she said, gesturing vaguely toward Miles. "You'll no longer be the broken toy. You'll be their equal."

"All you have to do," she finished, her voice a sweet, seductive poison, "is help us."

"Give us the girl on the comms."

"And the Vane boy."

"It's a small price to pay for a cure, isn't it?"

Leo just stood there, his face pale, his eyes wide.

He looked at the device, at the promise of everything he had ever wanted.

He looked at Miles, who was still trying to break Gideon out of his trance, his face a mask of dawning horror.

The ultimate temptation.

The price of a cure.

And Leo, the funny, broken, and deeply loyal sidekick, was reaching out his hand.