Valkyrion — Restricted Psionics Research Deck
Lys stood in the observation tank, body wrapped in hundreds of silver neural threads, data running like veins across the surface of her skin. She wasn’t fighting anymore.
She was remembering.
Not like a person. Like a system rebooting an older version of itself.
Dr. Nasiri faced the projection chamber, hands shaking. The AI was feeding her lines of unstable code recovered from Lys’s last mental collapse.
Kael watched it scroll.
“What language is that?”
Nasiri didn’t answer.
Because it wasn’t a language.
It was a person.
In the center of the chamber, the hologram flickered to life.
Zero.
Not the body. Not the being.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Just the pattern.
A digital echo stitched from energy pulses, psionic fields, and quantum bloodlines.
His image was clear. Voice calm.
“You shouldn’t have activated me.”
Nasiri leaned forward. “You're not alive.”
He smiled.
“Then why are you speaking to me?”
Flashback — 400 Years Prior
The first Lys, near-death, recorded the sequence.
“If Zero can’t be destroyed… then he must be buried. Encode him in my DNA. Lock his consciousness in the helix. I’ll take him with me.”
“But if I fail… if someone awakens him…”
“Then we lose the future.”
Present
Lys jolted upright, gasping.
She saw things. Equations. Frequencies.
Blueprints.
She reached out—and without touching anything—shifted a solid steel chair six meters to the left.
Kael looked horrified.
“You didn’t move it,” Nasiri whispered. “You reprogrammed its spatial placement.”
Lys stood slowly.
“I didn’t do that.”
They stared.
She looked up, silver eyes glowing faintly.
“We did.”
Private Recording — Kael’s Log, 032 Hours
“She’s splitting.”
“There’s still a Lys, but she’s not alone. Not anymore.”
“Zero’s not a person. He’s an idea trapped in code. A virus with a mind. A sentient ghost.”
“And it’s spreading.”
Within the Mindscape — The Tether
Zero sat in the mirrored chair again.
But this time, Lys stood behind him.
She looked down.
“I understand now.”
He didn’t move.
She circled him, sat across from him. The mirror behind them blurred—their faces melting into a hybrid reflection.
“Your body doesn’t exist,” she said. “You’re just a recursion. A self-learning pattern burned into the DNA.”
He finally looked up.
“And you’re the final host.”
She nodded, slowly.
“But not yet.”
The mirror cracked.
And neither of them flinched.