Chapter 22

Chapter 22
The air was thick with dust.

The facility was collapsing. Metal screamed as it twisted and buckled under the force of the explosion. The ground beneath my feet shook, and a new set of alarms screamed through the corridors, louder and more urgent than the first.

I couldn’t hear Ryan or Mateo through the comms anymore, only static. But I didn’t need them. Not now.

The only thing I could focus on was getting the children out.

I turned to look at 014, her blank expression almost unreadable as the emergency lights flickered. She was still standing there, unmoving.

“Are you coming with me?” I asked.

She nodded without speaking, and together we moved toward the nearest exit—one that led to the facility’s underground tunnels. The walls felt like they were closing in, but I couldn’t stop. Not yet.

But just as we rounded a corner, I froze.

A figure stood in the doorway.

Tall. Lean. His face half-hidden in the shadows.

But there was no mistaking the presence that radiated from him. It was like a weight on the air, a pressure that tightened my chest. And in that instant, everything in me screamed that this was it. The person I had been running from. The architect. The one who had orchestrated everything from the beginning.

I had been too late.

I raised my gun, heart hammering. “Stay back.”

He stepped forward, slowly, deliberately. His face was hard—sharp, calculated, but underneath it all, there was something eerily familiar. Something I couldn’t place.

“You’re Estela, aren’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost comforting. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

I didn’t lower the gun. “Who are you?”

He smiled—a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t recognize me? After all these years?”

Something in his tone made my stomach drop. My mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. The voice. The calm confidence. The shadow of recognition crawling up my spine.

I narrowed my eyes. “It’s you.”

“Yes, Estela. It’s me.”

He stepped into the light, fully revealing himself. His features were strikingly similar to mine—twin-like, but with the fine-tuned edges of someone who had been crafted, designed for perfection. His hair was short, almost military, and his posture was rigid, controlled. His eyes—my eyes—were cold, devoid of any real warmth.

“You—” I started to say, but the words caught in my throat. My pulse was loud in my ears. “You’re him.”

“I’m the one they never told you about,” he said, almost pityingly. “I’m the one who was supposed to be the perfect creation. The ideal experiment. Version One.”

I couldn’t breathe. The name clicked into place with an eerie finality.

Version One.

The one who had been lost, discarded. The one who had been erased from the history they had tried to bury.

“You were the prototype,” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

He nodded slowly. “The first experiment. The one they never finished.” He tilted his head, almost in thought. “But you, Estela... you were what they hoped to create. They tried to make you perfect—like me—but they failed. They turned you into something else. Something... less.”

I shook my head. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” His smile was cruel, like a crack in the surface of something far more dangerous. “You think I’m the monster? The one who twisted everything? No. I’m the one who broke free of their control. And I tried to save you. To bring you back into the fold. But you kept running, kept resisting. And now look where we are.”

I could feel my pulse thundering in my veins. He was so calm. So composed. But there was something in his eyes—something that was too familiar.

“What do you want from me?” I demanded, gripping the gun tighter.

He stepped closer, just enough for me to see the fine lines of strain around his eyes. "I want you to understand. I want you to see what they did to us, Estela. What they made us. We’re not human anymore. We’re... tools. Weapons.”

“Then why not end it?” I hissed. “Why keep playing these games?”

He stepped forward, too close. My breath hitched, but I didn’t flinch. “Because, Estela, we still have a purpose. You, me, all of us. We were made to be something bigger than human. You’re a part of this. You always have been.”

I shook my head. “I was a child once. You don’t get to take that away from me.”

His face tightened for a fraction of a second. “And yet, they did. They took everything from you, Estela. Your memories. Your family. Your life.” He reached out, gently brushing his hand over my cheek. His touch was cold—unnervingly so. “And now you’re stuck, just like me.”

I pulled back sharply, disgust rising in my chest. “You’re wrong. I’m not stuck. I’m not you.”

The figure before me seemed to hesitate. Then, in a single, fluid motion, he reached into his coat, pulling out a small, sleek device. “This is the only way to end it, Estela,” he said softly. “They’re coming. The ones who created us. The ones who made us into these... things. And they’re going to erase everything. Everyone.”

I recognized the device instantly.

A detonator.

I was too slow.

He pressed the button.

The ground beneath us trembled, and the walls cracked. The facility was coming down. This was the final push. The endgame.

I didn’t have time to think.

I had to act.

“Get down!” I screamed to 014, throwing myself into a roll and taking cover behind a concrete pillar.

The explosion rocked the building.

The shockwave ripped through the tunnel.

Everything went black.

When the dust settled, I was still alive.

But barely.

I could hear the coughing, the grunts of pain, the muffled voices of my team over the comms, but everything felt distant. I struggled to push myself up, but the weight of the rubble, the fatigue, and the sheer shock of what had just happened held me in place.

I forced my eyes open.

The man who had once been my shadow stood a few feet away. His body was mostly intact, but I could see the blood running from the side of his head, the sharp, jagged edge of metal jutting out from his broken arm.

His eyes, though, they were still clear.

“You... should’ve joined me,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.

I didn’t answer.

I couldn’t.

Instead, I crawled toward the wreckage where the children had been. They were all alive. Just barely.

But they were alive.

I would fight for them.

I would fight for Marina.

And I would fight for every other child who had been discarded, just like I had.