Bash followed the corridor down a long sloping ramp, its walls breathing with faint light that pulsed in

  time with his steps. The sound of his steps was a faint scrape of synthetic fabric on metal. The

  temporary shoes clung awkwardly to his feet, thin, papery things meant for processing, not walking.

  The same was true of the coveralls: light, sterile, designed to be discarded once he reached the dorms.

  At the bottom, the path split into two halls, each disappearing around a curve of white alloy. No

  markings. No signs.

  He frowned. “Any idea which way I’m supposed to go?”

  Right, S-C answered immediately. The left hall is for Reincarnates. The right leads to Novarch quarters.

  He started right, his reflection faintly ghosting across the polished wall. “Why separate them? Same

  species, right?”

  Different integration protocols. Reincarnates undergo cognitive stabilization and memory syncing

  before they’re cleared for social interaction. Novarchs require orientation first, language, coordination,

  conditioning.

  He nodded slowly, still glancing from one wall to the other. Everything gleamed, but nothing looked

  alive. “Feels like I’m walking through the inside of a machine.”

  Technically, you are.

  He kept walking until the hall began to curve again, a constant slow spiral like the inside of a shell. No

  sound except the faint scrape of his steps and the low hum that seemed to come from everywhere at

  once. The place felt alive, breathing, watching.

  He glanced over his shoulder. Nothing but the empty corridor behind him. Still, the hairs on his neck

  prickled. He slowed, scanning the corners where the panels met, tracing the faint seams in the alloy.

  Were there cameras? Sensors? Eyes?

  Bash, S-C’s voice pulsed quietly in his mind. Stop looking so suspicious.

  He blinked. What?

  Your pattern of observation is excessive, she said, her tone low but edged with amusement. You’ve

  already passed two Spartors, both Nexus affiliates. Neither detected anything unusual. Let’s not give

  them a reason to start.

  “I’m just looking,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward the ceiling again.

  Yes, she replied. And looking too long is how suspicion begins.

  He straightened his shoulders, forcing himself into a casual pace. “You really think they’d notice

  something just because I looked at a wall?”

  I think you underestimate the sensitivity of pattern recognition algorithms tied to the Nexus observation

  grid.

  “Great.” His voice was dry. “So I can’t even look around without getting flagged.”

  You are currently clear, she said more softly. Aside from your color.

  That made him stop. “My color?”

  Yes. The pigmentation variance in your epidermis is unusually dark. There is no recorded precedent for

  this shade among any class.

  He glanced down at his hands, deep green, almost black under the corridor’s glow. “So… why?”

  Unknown. Pigment synthesis occurs during gestation within the incubation matrix. Your body was

  reconstructed using the host’s genetic template, yet the result diverged by approximately fourteen

  percent. Statistical anomaly.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “An anomaly that walks around glowing like a warning sign.”

  Exaggeration detected.

  “Tell that to everyone staring at me,” he muttered. “Hard to blend in when I look like a misprinted

  action figure.”

  Bash, anxiety distorts perception. You’re seeing more eyes on you than there really are.

  He snorted. “Yeah? Easy for a voice in my head to say.”

  I am not merely a voice.

  “Fine. Easy for the super-AI secretly hiding from the world-spanning network that wants to delete me

  to say.”

  There was a brief pause, long enough for him to wonder if she’d gone quiet againPoint taken, she said

  after his sarcastic retort, her tone gentling a little. Still, try to relax. , then:

  He sighed. “Sure. I’ll just calm downThat attitude will make integration difficult, S-C noted.

  Her precision almost made him laugh. “You sound exactly like my cadet instructor.”

  Then use that. Pretend this is training. Breathe. Follow orders.

  He exhaled slowly, shoulders easing as he tried to match her calm. “Right. Just another drill.”, in a

  world that’s not mine, in a body that isn’t mine, surrounded by things that could probably snap me in

  half.”

  The corridor widened gradually, the walls drawing back into a circular lobby washed in pale amber

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  light. A single desk sat at its center, built from seamless alloy that caught and scattered the glow like

  water over stone. Behind it waited a brown Spartor, broad frame, steady posture, and eyes that

  glimmered faintly gold. The space felt like a checkpoint, not a welcome hall. Precise. Controlled.

  Watching.

  S-C’s voice guided him. Approach the desk. Identify yourself and request dorm access.

  He hesitated, then walked forward, stopping a respectful distance away. “Uh… Bash. Novarch

  registration. I was told to get my dorm access.”

  The Spartor looked up, his gold eyes narrowing slightly as they settled on Bash’s skin. For a moment,

  neither spoke. Then the clerk’s hand drifted across the glowing panel, his voice a low rumble.

  “Dark tone,” he said. “Haven’t seen a green that deep before.”

  He grunted, continuing to type. “Interesting cycle, two green Novarchs already. Rare enough to see

  one.”

  In Bash’s mind, S-C’s tone sharpened. Play ignorant.

  He forced a small, uneasy smile. “Yeah,” he said lightly. “I keep getting that.”

  The clerk hummed, gaze lingering a beat too long before he slid a crystalline tablet across the counter.

  “Hand here. Resonance confirmation.”

  Bash looked down. “Another scan?”

  Standard identity link, S-C said. It will synchronize your Core frequency to your assigned quarters.

  Each location you access will require confirmation.

  “Basically a key card.”

  Essentially. It also enables monitoring.

  He frowned. Monitoring?

  Every interaction with Nexus infrastructure is logged and cross-referenced. The system verifies

  identity, location, and task compliance. It maintains order.

  “Sounds a lot like Big Brother.”

  Comparable model, S-C admitted. The Spartor system evolved from survival imperatives.

  Disobedience destabilizes. Order sustains.

  Bash put his palm on the pad. The surface came alive, light shooting through his fingers, flashing once,

  then vanishing with a soft chime. The clerk checked a reading and nodded. “Confirmed. You’re number

  ninety-eight this cycle. Dorm two-twenty-five. Second floor.”

  Bash withdrew his hand, flexing it. The warmth lingered. “Thanks.”

  The brown Spartor grunted, already turning back to his console. “It is an interesting tone you have,” he

  muttered, half-absent. “Never seen green that dark.”

  Bash turned away quickly. See? Everyone notices.

  Correlation does not equal threat perception, S-C said. He’s merely curious.

  “Yeah, well curiosity gets people killed,” Bash muttered.

  Incorrect. Impulsivity gets people killed. Curiosity gets data.

  He didn’t argue.

  The stairs curved upward to the second level, the same amber glow guiding each step. He walked in

  silence for a while, the sound of his boots steady and rhythmic.

  When he reached the landing, he asked, Okay, what did he mean, number ninety-eight? And why keep

  mentioning another green Spartor?

  Cycle designation, S-C explained. Each training cycle begins when a cohort reaches capacity, one

  hundred Novarchs or twenty Reincarnates. You are the ninety-eighth Novarch registered this cycle.

  Two more, and your class will commence training.

  He frowned. Training for what?

  Coordination and survival. Novarchs undergo extended preparation before essence acquisition.

  Reincarnates retain enough residual memory to integrate faster, they already understand their abilities.

  You will not.

  “Great.” He rubbed at his neck. “So I’m at the bottom of the class.”

  Not necessarily, she said. Potentially unmeasured.

  “Yeah, that’s comforting.” He paused, glancing down the hall lined with identical metallic doors. “And

  the other green Spartor?”

  Unverified. But statistically, two greens in one cycle is very rare, approximately one in twenty thousand

  four hundred to one in two million twenty thousand chance of this occuring.

  He thought of the clerk’s tone, the way he’d said two greens. It hadn’t sounded casual. More like

  awe… or concern.

  “So that’s me,” he said quietly. “Ninety-eight of a hundred. One of two freak colors. And pretending I

  belong.”

  You are adapting, S-C replied. That is sufficient for now.

  He stopped before a door marked 225. A small panel glowed beside it, pulsing slowly. “Guess this is

  me.”

  Place your hand on the pad. The door will attune to your resonance frequency.

  He did, feeling the faint vibration spread across his palm. The light flared once, then the door slid open

  with a gentle hiss.