The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and every grey mask in the room turned toward the entrance.
Prime Architect 10 stepped through.
She was tall—five feet nine inches of lean, coiled muscle wrapped in the form-fitting dark grey uniform that marked her rank. Her mask was darker than theirs, a deep charcoal that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Unlike the standard issue, hers was shaped to her face, following the contours of cheekbones and jaw with an almost intimate precision. A single crimson line ran vertically down its center, splitting at the brow to frame each eye slit.
Her hands were gloved in the same dark material, but her fingers were long, elegant, the kind of hands that could hold a scalpel or a throat with equal precision. She moved with the fluid grace of something that had never known hesitation, each step a deliberate placement of power.
The grey masks rose as one. Even Superior-1, who had faced Eva and walked away, stood a fraction straighter.
Prime 10 stopped at the head of the table. Her head turned slowly, taking in each of them behind their masks. When she spoke, her voice was quiet—so quiet they had to lean forward to hear. But it carried. It always carried.
"So," she said. "What do we do?"
Superior-1 inclined his head—the barest acknowledgment of her authority. "Since a Prime is here, my orders will be irrelevant." His voice was flat, but there was no resentment in it. Just fact. "The floor is yours."
Prime 10 nodded once. "Where is their base?"
Superior-1 gestured, and a holographic display flickered to life above the table. The bunker, rendered in ghostly blue light, its entrances and exits highlighted in red.
"Here. A pre-collapse military installation, retrofitted. Defensible. They've had time to fortify."
Prime 10 studied the display for a long moment. Her mask gave nothing away, but something in her posture shifted—a tension, a focus.
"Today," she said. "Prepare the transport."
The words fell like stones into still water.
Superior-2 glanced at Superior-1, then back at the Prime. "We'll need time to mobilize—"
"No." The word was soft, but it cut through his protest like a blade. "You'll need the transport. Nothing more. We move today."
Superior-1 turned to the others. "You heard her. Prepare the transport. Full fuel, weapons load, tactical support."
The lower-ranking Architects—the white masks—scrambled to obey. Orders were relayed through comms. Systems were powered up. The hum of activity filled the previously silent room.
Prime 10 watched them work for a long moment. Then she turned back to the hologram, her eyes—visible through the slits in her mask—fixed on the image of the bunker.
"Who's coming?" Superior-1 asked.
"You. Me." She ticked them off on her gloved fingers. "Superiors 2, 3, 4, and 5. No one else."
Superior-2 stiffened. "The others—"
"Have orders." Prime 10's voice didn't change, but something in it made the room feel colder. "Superiors 6, 7, 8, and 9 will remain here. They will not approach the bunker. They will not engage. They will not interfere. That is not a request."
Superior-6, standing against the wall, opened his mouth to speak. Prime 10's head turned toward him, and whatever he saw in those dark grey eyes made him close it again.
Superior-1 absorbed this without reaction. "Six of us against... how many?"
"Enough." Prime 10 looked back at the hologram. "The anomalies. The Prime clone. The Omega. The fire user. The stone man. The lightning boy. The swordsman. And..." She paused. "The other one. The one who isn't anything but shouldn't be underestimated."
"Jordan," Superior-2 supplied.
"I don't care what his name is." Prime 10 straightened. "I care about results. The Architects have tolerated these anomalies for too long. They've become symbols. Inspiration for others who might think they can defy us."
She turned to face them fully, her dark grey mask catching the light of the hologram.
"That ends today. We go in, we eliminate the threats, and we send a message. No one runs from the Architects. No one hides. No one survives."
The grey masks nodded. Even Superior-1, who had fought Eva and let her live, gave a slow, measured inclination of his head.
Prime 10 looked at each of them one last time.
"Prepare," she said. "We move in one hour."
She turned and walked out, leaving them in the sterile white room with the hologram of the bunker and the weight of what was coming.
Superior-2 waited until the door closed before speaking. "One hour. That's not much time."
Superior-1 was already moving toward the door. "Then don't waste it."
The grey masks filed out, leaving the hologram flickering above the empty table. The bunker glowed blue and silent, unaware of the death approaching.
Outside, the transport was being prepared. Fuel cells hummed. Weapons were checked and rechecked. And in a white room somewhere in the facility, Jenny Damber sat on her bed, humming a little song, counting the hours until she could see her baby boy again.
One hour.
Then the hunt would begin.