before he could argue any longer, Beulla was already walking away, her heels clicking on the damp pavement. He watched, helpless, as she slipped into a waiting taxi, the vehicle rising silently into the neon-lit night.

Alone once more, With a frustrated growl, he pulled up the holographic interface of his battered comm unit, the cracked screen flickering to life. The blue glow of rental listings washed over his face as he scrolled, each swipe revealing another overpriced shoebox.

Five hundred luero, he thought bitterly. A fortune in the gutters, barely a down payment in the upper levels. Is this really the best we can hope for?

Finally, a listing in Naraska Street caught his eye. The neighborhood was rough, but the apartment looked halfway decent. More importantly, it was within his price range.

Beggars can't be choosers, he reminded himself, initiating the rental process with a few quick gestures.

An hour later, Zatrice stood in the center of his new home, if you could call it that. The air was stale, and the wallpaper peeled in places, but it was dry. It was his.

Home sweet home, he thought sarcastically, taking in the shabby surroundings. At least it's a step up from the sewers.

As exhaustion crept in, Zatrice sank onto the threadbare couch, wincing as his bruised ribs protested, He fished the data chip from his pocket, turning it over in his fingers.

"What secrets are you hiding?" he murmured, studying the unremarkable piece of tech. The logical part of his brain screamed at him to destroy it, to heed Beulla's warning.

But curiosity, that damned itch that had gotten him into trouble more times than he could count, won out.

With trembling fingers, Zatrice located the neural port at the base of his skull. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then slotted the chip into place.

Information flooded his consciousness, a torrent of data that made his vision swim. As the rush subsided, Zatrice found himself staring at a single line of text, hovering in his mind's eye:

ACCESS GRANTED: PROJECT LAZARUS

Electricity flooded through Zatrice's body, his muscles spasming violently, while his consciousness slipped away, finding himself in a maze of transparent crimson walls, that pulsed with energy.

Zatrice blinked, his young face wincing at the pain, He reached out to touch one of the walls hoping he'd leave the place, only to quickly withdraw his hand as a new pain pierced through his fingertips.

"Ouch," he whizzed, shaking his hand. "What I put myself int–."

"This way," a deep voice echoed, seeming to come from everywhere, Zatrice tensed, his eyes darting around, "Who's there?" he called out, his voice growing uneasy by the seconds.

"This way, Messiah of Synth."

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"Messiah of what now?" Zatrice muttered, brow furrowed, hesitating before speaking louder, "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but I'm not following some creepy voice to who-knows-where."

"This way, Messiah of Synth."

Ignoring his own words, Zatrice found himself cautiously moving forward, curiosity warring with caution in his mind, "we've arrived," the voice announced as Zatrice approached a massive chamber sealed by chains of crimson energy.

"Answer my question, who are—wow", Zatrice stared at the barrier, trying to make anything of it," Arrived where exactly?" he asked, voice tinged with suspicion.

"Use your eyes," the voice insisted.

Noticing a panel near the door, Zatrice approached it slowly, As he neared, the panel scanned his eyes," welcome Jack" the panel expressed as the chains started to disappear.

Stepping into the chamber, a coldness blasted down his spine, millions of ghostly figures, twisted in agony, emitting eerie screams, but just when they all turned to face him, their cries morphed into a deafening roar that shook him to his core.

"What…what is this, voice…" he gasped, struggling to comprehend the nightmarish ghosts before him, Zatrice stumbled back, his eyes wide with fear.

"Stand your place,"

the voice urged.

"You made them, you are their suffering."

Zatrice shook his head vehemently. "No way," he said, voice cracking slightly. "Stay away from me." "I don't understand," Zatrice said, backing away, "and I don't want to, This is too much." he turned and ran, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Wait!"

the voice cried out, abruptly muffled.

"You don't understand what you've done! I am —"

Zatrice's eyes snapped open, cutting off the voice's warning, finding himself in a non familiar surroundings, the smell of gunpowder filling his nostrils while something warm and sticky coated his hands.

His gaze fell to the floor noticing a body, Leon's body lay, Multiple bullet wounds peppered the corpse, while his eye was plucked from its place, leaving only a gaping hole.

Zatrice's face paled, his features contorting in horror. "what," he whispered, stumbling back. "I am still dreaming, yeah I am sti—."

"Help m…me."

A weak groan caught his attention, one of Leon's servants lay nearby, his rose-tinted uniglass shattered, The man's eyes widened in terror as Zatrice approached, "please," the servant begged, voice trembling. "No more, just... please don't hurt me."

Zatrice held up his hands, trying to appear non-threatening despite the gun he just realized he was holding. "I'm not... I don't want to hurt anyone," he said, his voice shaky. "What happened here?"

The servant's terror only seemed to increase. "You...Monster, you killed my brother, you tortured him despite begging, you killed them, youu..."

Zatrice touched his face, confused and scared as he saw the pure terror on that man's face. "

"You're not human!" the servant cried, scrambling backwards. "Leave me!!"

Zatrice shook his head, overwhelmed. "I-i don't remember any of this," he said walking toward the guy, hoping he'd make sense to him.

But the servant was beyond reason," Leave me alone." With a final cry of terror, he threw himself through the window, The sound of shattering glass was followed by a distant, sickening thud.

"No!" Zatrice cried out, rushing to the window, But there was nothing he could do, the servant's broken body lay on the pavement far below, already was drawing a crowd.

Zatrice staggered back, the gun slipping from his numb fingers. "This ain't a dream..," he muttered, his mind struggling to process the mess around him.

A notification pinged on his comm unit, With shaking hands, he pulled up the message:

99 MISSED CALLS AND MESSAGES FROM BEULLA.

But what caught his eyes was the red message:

PHASE ONE COMPLETE. THREAT WAS ELEMINATED.

HOW WOULD YOU RATE OUR SERVICE?.

Zatrice's gaze was fixed on the screen, his expression blank as flashing blue and red lights illuminated the room through the shattered window.

The sound of approaching sirens cut through his thoughts, he searched the room for anything that might help explain the situation, his gaze slipped to a small mirror, looking at his bloody reflection face completely covered with blood.

"What's happening to me?" Zatrice whispered, touching his face in disbelief while The sirens grew louder.

RUNNER CITY POLICE GET OUT FROM THE APARTMENT NO