The sound of machine breathing filled the underground clinic. A low, rhythmic hum — the fusion of generator and heartbeat. Cables coiled across the floor like veins, pulsing faintly with blue light.
Dr. Myles stood over Ethan’s table, the dim glow of the monitors painting her face in fractured shadows. Every few seconds, she glanced toward the containment field — a shimmering wall of energy that separated Ethan from the others.
He was still unconscious. But not silent.
The machines surrounding him reacted to his pulse, his breath, his dreams. Each time he exhaled, a ripple of static passed through the nearby screens. Lines of code bled across the monitors, rewriting themselves, erasing their own commands.
“His neural activity’s off the charts,” Doc Imani murmured, checking her readings
