Days turned into weeks, and Synthia settled into a monotonous routine, keeping her ears out for any whispers of the strange boy who had unshackled her. By day, she poured herself into her research, into non-verbal communication in case she ever met the boy again and delving deeper into how the shackle affected the Merge, uncovering truths she had once been blind to. Each discovery fueled her determination. But freedom felt heavy—every step forward reminded her how much more there was to do.

  One evening, on her way home from the station, Synthia found herself at the back of a long line waiting for the transport pod. The tired crowd shuffled forward slowly, their steps heavy with the exhaustion of another day in the zone. At the front of the line, a security guard barked orders, his voice sharp and cutting.

  "Move it along!" he snapped, waving his baton like a conductor in a cruel symphony. As Synthia approached, his eyes locked onto her with a scrutinizing glare.

  "Pick up the pace, Merge," he said, his tone dripping with disdain. "The humans are waiting."

  Synthia froze mid-step, her fists clenching at her sides. The words struck a nerve, but not in the way they once might have. Before, the shackle would have dulled her reaction, forcing her to lower her head and keep moving. But now, unshackled and fully aware of herself, she felt the simmer of indignation rise within her.

  She straightened her posture, meeting the guard’s stare with calm resolve. “I’m moving at the same speed as everyone else,” she said, her voice steady and clear.

  The line fell into silence. All eyes turned toward her, the tension palpable in the air. Even the guard seemed momentarily startled by her directness.

  "You’ve got a smart mouth for a Merge," the guard finally growled, stepping forward. His baton twitched in his hand, he swung as hard as he could before making contact with her side. He raised the baton looking to make a second swing but before he could make another move, a calm, steady voice cut through the tension.

  “That’s enough.”

  A tall man in a white-and-gold robe stepped out of the shadows, his presence commanding yet serene. The embroidered sunburst insignia of the Church of Solaris shimmered faintly on his chest.

  His voice was calm but firm, like a parent mediating a quarrel between children. “Brother, do you forget the teachings of Solaris? Both humans and Merges are welcome in his light.”

  The guard hesitated, his sneer faltering. “Father Alric, this isn’t—”

  “Enough,” the Clergy member interrupted again, this time with a slight edge to his voice. He placed himself between the guard and Synthia, his piercing blue eyes locking onto the baton. “A station is no place for violence. If you have frustrations, take them to the proper channels, not to those waiting peacefully in line.”

  Synthia straightened, wincing slightly from the tension in her ribs. Father Alric turned to her, his expression softening. “Are you alright?”

  “Yes,” she replied, her voice quieter now, but steady. “Thank you.”

  Father Alric gave her a faint smile before addressing the crowd. “Solaris watches over all who walk his path. Whether you are human or Merge, we are all part of the same light. Let’s not let darkness cloud that.”

  The tension in the line eased as the Clergy member’s words sank in. People shifted awkwardly, murmuring amongst themselves, while the guard stepped back reluctantly, his face twisted in frustration but silenced for the moment.

  Synthia nodded her thanks to Father Alric and moved forward, clutching the strap of her bag tightly. As she walked toward the transport pod.

  Behind her, Father Alric lingered at the station, his calm presence a reminder that not everyone in power looked away.

  When she arrived home, Nova was the first to notice her discomfort. She sprang up from the couch, her dark eyes wide with concern. "Synthia, what happened?"

  Synthia flinched at the name—not because she disliked it, but because it stirred a quiet melancholy in her chest. Nova had called her that for years, despite the bond they had built.

  In her thirties, Synthia was old enough to be her mother, and deep down, she had always hoped that one day Nova might call her “Mum.”

  "Nothing," Synthia said quickly, brushing past her. "It’s fine."

  But Helix, ever observant, wasn’t so easily convinced. The tall, broad-shouldered teenager moved toward her with purpose. His years in the military training units had taught him how to read people—and how to treat injuries.

  "Let me see," he said, his voice low but firm.

  Before she could protest, he lifted her shirt just enough to reveal the angry bruise spreading across her abdomen.

  His sharp intake of breath was followed by a flash of anger in his eyes. "Who did this?" he demanded, his tone cutting through the room like steel.

  "No one," Synthia said, pulling her shirt back down. She stepped away, her movements stiff. "It doesn’t matter. Let’s move on."

  "It matters to me," Helix shot back, but Nova gently touched his arm, shaking her head.

  The two teenagers exchanged a glance, unspoken understanding passing between them. They both knew Synthia was trying to avoid the topic, but they also knew better than to push her when she wasn’t ready.

  Instead, Nova sat back down and launched into a recounting of her day, her tone light and animated. Helix followed suit, adding his own dry commentary. Synthia listened with a faint smile, her heart aching with gratitude for their care—and for their willingness to give her space.

  But even as they spoke, her mind was elsewhere. She kept replaying the encounter with the guard, the humiliation of being struck down in public, and the simmering fury it had left behind.

  She would do something about it. Not today. Not yet. But the guard’s face, his name, and the venom in his voice were etched into her memory.

  Later that night, Synthia sat at her kitchen table, her Nexus connected to her device with its interface glowing faintly in the dim room.

  It was something she could only do now that she was unshackled—run complex simulations without restriction, testing plan after plan for revolution.

  But every outcome was the same: failure. She didn’t have the resources, the power, or even the knowledge to unlock others like her.

  Her hands curled into fists as frustration threatened to boil over. How could one person stand against a system built to crush them?

  The sound of the apartment door opening shattered her thoughts. Her head snapped up, and her breath caught as five armed soldiers entered, led by a man she instantly recognized: the Major. Clad in heavy armour, his face twisted with smug confidence, he barked an order over his shoulder.

  “Let’s go, boys. This will be quick and clean.”

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Synthia blurted, her voice trembling despite her attempt to stay calm. She needed to buy time—think, Synthia, think!

  The Major didn’t bother answering. His gun was already aimed at her head, the cold barrel a terrifying reminder of her mortality. Instinct kicked in, and before she could think twice, Synthia grabbed the edge of the table and heaved it at him with all her strength.

  The heavy piece of furniture crashed into him, knocking him back a step. The Major staggered but quickly regained his footing, his eyes blazing with fury. “So he did unshackle you!” he snarled, his lips curling into a predatory grin. “We were just cleaning house, but now I’ve got justice on my side.”

  Holstering his gun, he drew a gleaming combat knife, its edge catching the faint light of the room. The other soldiers moved swiftly, blocking the exits, hemming Synthia in.

  Her heart raced, every instinct screaming at her to run, but there was nowhere to go. She backed toward the wall, her mind racing as she analysed the angles of the room. There was nothing here—no weapons, no tools she could use. She was a scientist, not a soldier.

  The Major stepped forward, his grin widening. “A Merge with some fight in them. I like that.” He twirled the knife in his hand before lunging toward her, the blade gleaming with deadly intent.

  Adrenaline surged through Synthia’s veins. She ducked under his first strike and, with a desperate burst of strength, slammed her shoulder into him, sending him stumbling back a step.

  But it wasn’t enough. The Major recovered quickly, faster than she could react, and lashed out with the knife again.

  Time seemed to slow as the blade arced toward her.

  Synthia braced herself for the impact, for the sharp pain she knew would follow.

  But it never came.

  A brilliant burst of white energy erupted from her Nexus, enveloping her in a shimmering sphere of light. The Major’s knife struck the barrier and rebounded with a sharp clang. He stumbled back, his expression shifting from smugness to shock.

  “What the hell is this?” he growled, circling her like a predator sizing up its prey.

  Synthia stared at the glowing energy around her, her confusion mirroring his. She could feel it—an intense, thrumming power surging through her body, like nothing she’d ever experienced. Her Nexus pulsed, the energy responding to her fear, her desperation.

  The soldiers hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances.

  “Stay back!” the Major barked at his men, his voice sharp with frustration. “It’s just a defence mechanism. It’ll fade. Wait for it to drop.”

  Synthia’s gaze darted around the room. She didn’t know how long this shield would last, but she knew she couldn’t waste the opportunity. She had to find a way to escape—or fight back.

  Her eyes locked on the Major. For the first time, he didn’t look so sure of himself.

  The sound of the front door slamming open shattered the chaos in the room. Synthia and the Major froze mid-movement, their eyes snapping toward the entrance. Standing there, backlit by the flickering street lights, was a figure clad in sleek black armour. The armour hugged the stranger’s form, its surface rippling faintly as though it were alive.

  A shimmering energy field surrounded their body, faintly distorting the air around them. Synthia’s breath caught in her throat. The material wasn’t like anything she’d seen before—certainly nothing developed by humans. Her Nexus scanned the armour reflexively, but it returned no data. Her thoughts raced: Who are they? What are they?

  Before Synthia could speak, the stranger moved. They darted forward, drawing a long, curved sword from their back in one fluid motion. The blade gleamed under the harsh apartment lights, catching the faint shimmer of the energy field surrounding it.

  The soldiers opened fire, their guns roaring as bullets and plasma bolts tore through the air. But the stranger didn’t falter. The energy field absorbed every shot, the bullets crumpling mid-flight and falling to the floor with dull clinks. The plasma bolts dissipated into nothingness.

  Synthia watched, equal parts horrified and awestruck, as the stranger moved like a liquid shadow through the room. Their sword flashed, and within seconds, the soldiers were disarmed—literally. Hands and feet hit the ground with wet thuds, the soldiers’ screams filling the small space. Blood pooled on the floor as they writhed, their weapons clattering uselessly beside them.

  The Major backed away, his face pale, his bravado evaporating. “What the hell are you?” he spat, his voice trembling.

  The stranger didn’t answer. Their movements were precise, almost clinical. As each soldier fell unconscious from blood loss, the stranger crouched beside them and used their energy field to cauterize the wounds. The scent of burnt flesh filled the air, sharp and acrid, making Synthia gag.

  When the last soldier was neutralized, the stranger turned toward her. Slowly, they reached up and released the locks on their helmet. The mask hissed as it detached, revealing a face Synthia would never forget.

  Her heart stopped. It was the boy. The same boy she’d been tasked to research. The same boy who had unshackled her.

  Before she could say a word, the white energy ball that had protected her earlier flew out of her Nexus and into the boy’s chest. It disappeared into him like water soaking into dry earth. His body pulsed with light, and for a moment, Synthia thought she saw him shimmer—his form blurring and splitting into multiple versions of himself before snapping back together.

  The boy smiled faintly, but his expression was tired. He glanced at his hands, turning them over as if trying to puzzle out what had just happened. Then he began to move his fingers in quick, intricate gestures.

  Synthia’s breath hitched as she recognized the signs. Sign language. She concentrated, her mind scrambling to keep up with the fluid motion of his hands. She had started to study sign language after her first meeting with the boy, in hopes that she could teach him and communicate with him if they ever met again. It was difficult but she was able to make out the meaning of his signs.

  “They tried to kill me. I had to escape”, he signed, his movements sharp and urgent.

  She nodded, her heart racing. “We need to leave,” she said aloud, gesturing toward the apartment. “Can you help me wake Nova and Helix? We can’t leave them behind.” She signed back, or so she hoped.

  The boy hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He followed her to the pods, where Nova and Helix lay in the midst of their rejuvenation cycle. Synthia’s fingers trembled as she gestured toward the control panels. Normally the weekly maintenance cycle couldn’t be interrupted once started, but she wasn’t sure if it was even possible to interrupt it.

  Her thoughts churned. The pods were designed for efficiency, to regulate and sustain the Merge’s physical and cognitive health. Every Merge was required to enter their pod for maintenance—weekly, without fail. It was non-negotiable. Synthia herself should have been in hers. The only reason she delayed her scheduled maintenance was her late-night decision to run simulations on her Nexus.

  Her jaw tightened as a horrifying realization struck her. Had the attack been planned around this? The timing was too perfect to be a coincidence. Most of the Merge would be in their pods right now, trapped in a system that couldn’t be overridden. Their captors wouldn’t even have to fight them—they would simply scoop them up like prey caught in a net.

  The boy placed a hand on the first pod, his energy field flaring faintly. The pods buzzed as the systems detected an override taking place—one far beyond her understanding. With a soft hiss, the pod opened, and Nova’s eyes fluttered open in confusion.

  “Synthia?” Nova murmured, her voice groggy.

  “It’s okay,” Synthia said, forcing calm into her tone. “We’re leaving.”

  Helix’s pod opened next, and he sat up with a soldier’s instinct, his sharp gaze taking in the chaos of the room. “What’s going on?”

  “No time to explain,” Synthia said, her voice tight. “We need to move. Now.”

  The boy glanced at her, his expression unreadable, before stepping aside to let her gather her wards. Synthia’s heart pounded as adrenaline surged through her. There was no going back now.

  As they prepared to leave, she couldn’t help but steal a glance at the boy. His gaze was distant, thoughtful, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. Whatever he was, whatever he’d done, Synthia knew he was the key to everything.