Starcrossed Protocol: Code AXIOM

The walk to the Custodial Wing felt like entering a dream Nova didn't remember having. The halls were dim, lit by strips of neon veins embedded in the floor—glowing a ghostly cyan beneath their boots. Every step they took echoed, but never overlapped with Kael's—his steps were too silent, too trained.

Too familiar.

Nova didn't ask questions. Not yet. Her brain was still digesting the idea that there were thirty-two copies of her walking around, and at least one of them had a kid.

How many lives have I lived without living them?

The air in this part of the Core felt heavier, thicker—like it remembered too much. The walls weren't pristine here. They were scarred. Burn marks. Bullet holes. Dried streaks that might've been blood.

Kael moved ahead, scanning his wristband against a locked door. It opened with a reluctant groan, revealing a chamber lined with cryo-pods.

Some shattered.
Some empty.
Some still occupied.

Nova paused in the threshold, her stomach turning.

Each pod held a version of her.

Slight variations in facial structure. Different scars. Some looked peaceful, others haunted. A few were visibly restrained—tubes still feeding synthetic memories into their skulls.

"God," she whispered. "They're all me."

Kael didn't correct her this time. "They were."

She stepped closer to one—the label etched onto the glass read: UNIT 05 – STATUS: CORRUPT. The face inside was contorted in agony, eyes wide open, pupils replaced with flickering code.

"Why didn't you shut them down?"

Kael turned away. "Because part of you survived in all of them. Terminating them would've been like killing you over and over again."

"But you didn't save them," she snapped.

"No," he admitted. "We saved you."

Nova swallowed a wave of nausea. The room seemed to shift under her feet, the sterile lighting melting into hues of violet and sickly green. Glitches, again. But milder this time. Like background noise.

"Why are you showing me this?" she asked.

"Because you need to understand what you are," Kael said. "Before the others find you."

The lights dimmed abruptly. Red strobes replaced the cyan. A siren began to wail—a low, rhythmic pulse that dug into the bones.

Kael drew his sidearm. "Motion in Corridor B. She's closer than we thought."

Nova turned toward the door. The drone that had followed them began to jitter in the air, its signal faltering.

Then it shattered mid-air, sliced cleanly by something unseen.

Kael grabbed Nova's wrist and yanked her back just as the lights went out.

Total black.

Then—

A pair of eyes, glowing black with threads of red static, appeared in the doorway. Watching.

Not blinking.

"Seventeen," Kael hissed.

But it wasn't just her.

Another pair of eyes. And another. More.

Nova's breath hitched. She could feel them—copies of herself—each one radiating a different kind of wrong.

"Run," Kael growled.