EPISODE 8: Subject Collector
1255 Words
Smoke curled upward from Seviah’s fingertips. Not the wild kind. The knowing kind. Controlled. Intentional.
The girl with white hair was still recovering, bracing herself against the cracked wall, but her expression had changed. It wasn’t hatred anymore.
It was fear.
“They’re opening the lower vault,” the man in grey said. He hadn’t moved. “Containment Level Zero hasn’t been breached in five years.”
“What’s in it?” Seviah asked, her breath still shaky.
“Not what,” he said quietly. “Who?”
The sirens changed pitch—no longer frantic but ceremonial. Like something ancient was being released. The surrounding air grew colder, denser, like it was resisting movement.
Seviah looked down at her hands. The glow had dimmed, but she could still feel the hum inside her, a river of power she didn’t know how to dam.
“You need to leave,” the girl said suddenly. Now. Before they force a pairing.”
“A what?”
They’ll link you to someone stronger. Bind your Gift to theirs. Use it like a weapon.”
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they’ve already decided you’re not a person,” she said. “You’re a trigger.”
They moved fast after that.
The girl—her name was Renn—led them out through an old access chute that reeked of rust and sulfur. It dropped them into a storage wing littered with crates and sealed weapon lockers.
Everything here felt abandoned.
Until the light above the far door blinked green.
Unlocked.
Seviah stopped walking.
“They want me to go through.”
“It’s a trap,” Renn said.
“I know,” Seviah replied. “I think I’m supposed to fall into it.”
“Then why go?”
“Because maybe there’s someone inside who knows what I am.”
“Or someone who knows how to kill you.”
“Either way,” Seviah said, “I want to know.”
The door slid open with a soft hiss.
Inside was a chamber unlike the others—circular, metallic, but warmer, almost like a living heart. Its walls pulsed faintly with red light. At the center stood a single suspended chair, surrounded by glass panels displaying moving data.
And sitting in that chair—
A boy.
Younger than her.
Maybe fifteen. Pale skin. Black hair. A scar running from his collarbone up to his left ear. His eyes were closed, and wires snaked from his temples into the machinery behind him.
Seviah took a step forward.
His eyes snapped open.
Pure white.
No pupil. No iris. Just blinding white light.
The room shook.
“You’re late,” he said.
“What?”
“They said you’d come sooner. You always do.”
“Do I know you?”
He blinked slowly, as if surprised by the question.
“You will.”
Renn moved behind Seviah, hand inching toward her blade again.
“Who is he?” she asked.
“Name’s Zorren,” the boy answered. “At least, that’s what they called me when I broke the first lock.”
“What are you doing here?” Seviah asked.
“Waiting.”
“For me?”
He tilted his head, eyes still glowing.
“No. For the one who would take it from me.”
“Take what?”
He raised his hand.
The light in the room dimmed.
The air warped.
And Seviah felt it—an unbearable weight in her chest, like a thousand voices speaking at once from the hollow of her ribs.
“The Collector’s Burden,” he whispered.
“What is that?”
“The memories of the ones who didn’t survive.”
Suddenly the glass walls flickered.
Images lit up. Flashes. Faces.
Girls. Boys. All young. All familiar in a way that made Seviah’s bones ache. One of them—Nali. Another looked like the boy from Room Six. Another… Seviah herself?
“These are—”
“The failed ones,” Zorren said. “They were discarded. The ones who held the Gift too briefly. Their minds are trapped in the system.”
“Why?”
“Because the system feeds on them.”
Renn cursed under her breath.
“He’s not wired in,” she said. “He is the system.”
Zorren smiled.
“She’s quick.”
Seviah took another step forward.
“Why are you showing me this?”
“Because you can do what I can’t,” he said. “You can release them.”
“What happens if I do?”
Zorren’s smile faded.
“Then the machine dies.”
The light pulsed again. The air crackled. Seviah’s fingertips tingled.
“They’ll kill me if I even try,” she said.
“Then don’t try,” he said, “remember.”
“Remember what?”
His gaze narrowed.
“What they did to you before they gave you a name.”
The room shattered.
Not physically. Not yet.
But something tore loose inside her. A flash—white wall, screaming, fire in her lungs. A lullaby in a language she didn’t understand.
And then—
“They called you the Last Vessel,” Zorren said. They thought if they used enough others, you’d never awaken. But you’re awake now.”
She staggered.
“You need to leave,” Renn said again. Louder this time.
But the door behind them slammed shut.
The red lights turned white.
“They’ve seen enough,” Zorren whispered.
From above, a panel hissed open.
Something heavy dropped to the floor behind them.
Boots.
Metal fingers.
Not one sentinel this time.
Two.
Then three.
Each with glowing red cores.
“They’ll make you choose,” Zorren said. “Fight them—or fight me.”
“Why would I fight you?”
Zorren looked at her.
And this time, his eyes were filled with sorrow.
“Because if you free them, you’ll destroy me.”
The sentinel lunged.
Seviah didn’t dodge this time.
She stepped forward.
Her hands ignited — not in a burst, but in a steady bloom of silver light, like starlight bleeding from her skin. The floor trembled beneath her as the heat rose, and the air around her shimmered, warping like glass left in the sun.
She raised one hand and caught the sentinel mid-leap.
Caught it.
Its arms flailed as if trying to recalculate the physics of its own momentum, but Seviah’s fingers had already sunk into its chest plate. Not physically—energy-deep. She felt its inner memory nodes, its command strings, the digital echo of every room it had killed in.
She pulled.
There was no sound.
Only light.
And then the machine collapsed.
Twisted.
Drained.
Renn stared in stunned silence.
“How did you—”
“I don’t know,” Seviah whispered.
The second sentinel advanced cautiously, scanning. It hesitated—and made the fatal mistake of locking eyes with her.
She didn't wait.
She ran toward it.
It opened fire, but the bolts evaporated inches from her skin, absorbed into the flickering barrier her body had become. She leapt, landed on its shoulders, drove both hands into its skull—
And ripped it open with light.
Zorren, still in the chair, was smiling now. But behind the pride in his face, there was pain.
“You’re ready.”
Seviah turned toward him, breath ragged, body trembling.
“Ready for what?”
He looked past her, toward the main core.
“To finish what I started.”
- Writer
