The tomb smelled of dry dust and old death.
It was a small, square chamber carved into the tufaceous rock. The stone sarcophagi had been smashed open centuries ago by grave robbers, leaving only empty slabs.
They laid Narcissus on the central stone table.
In the dark, the Fusion Core was the only light. It cast long, dancing shadows against the walls—frescoes of feasting Etruscans that seemed to writhe in the blue glow.
"Do it," Marcus commanded.
Galen's hands shook. He held a jagged shard of obsidian—a tool left behind by the ancient looters or the original builders. It was sharper than steel.
"I need to expose the sternum," Galen whispered to himself, trying to find his surgeon's calm. "I need to reach the myocardium."
He placed the stone blade against the center of Narcissus's chest.
He pushed.
Skin parted. Blood—dark and sluggish—welled up.
Lucilla turned away, gagging.
Marcus didn't blink. He held the Fusion Core, feeling its warmth pulsing against his palms. It hummed like a living thing.
Galen worked fast. He was a master of anatomy, trained in the gladiator pits of Pergamon. He knew how to cut meat. He peeled back the layers of fat and muscle.
"The ribs are in the way," Galen muttered. "I can't... I can't reach the heart without a saw."
"Use the Core," Marcus said. "Melt through."
Galen looked at him in horror. "It will cook him."
"He's cold, Galen. He's dead. You can't kill a corpse." Marcus thrust the glowing cylinder forward. "Do it."
Galen took the Core. He hesitated, then pressed the glass tip against the cartilage of the ribcage.
HISS.
Smoke plumed up instantly. The smell of burning bone filled the small chamber—acrid, sweet, choking.
The cartilage dissolved. The Core sank deeper.
Galen pulled it back. A hole burned through the bone revealed the pericardium.
And beneath it, the heart.
It was massive. A stopped engine of muscle.
"It's silent," Galen whispered. "Still as stone."
"The wires," Marcus ordered.
They had stripped the copper wiring from the drone's wreckage. Galen took two thick leads, stripping the insulation with his teeth.
He jammed one wire into the positive terminal of the Core. He wrapped the other around the negative ring.
"Where do they go?" Galen asked.
"Directly into the muscle," Marcus said. "Bypass the nerves. We need a hard restart."
Galen's hands were slick with blood. He pushed the bare copper wire into the top of the heart muscle. He pushed the second into the bottom ventricle.
"Stand back," Marcus said.
He grabbed the Fusion Core.
"On three."
"One."
From outside the tomb, a sound cut through the night.
CRUNCH.
A heavy footstep.
Stone grinding on stone.
Lucilla froze near the entrance. "Marcus..."
"Two."
CRUNCH.
Another step. Closer. Heavier than a man.
A voice drifted in from the darkness. It was amplified, synthesized, and bored.
"Bio-signature confirmed. Sector 4-Alpha."
Lucilla backed away from the door, her face pale in the blue light. "It's a Liquidator."
"What is that?" Galen hissed, his hands still deep in Narcissus's chest.
"A Hunter-Killer," Lucilla whispered. "They send them to confirm the kills. Heavy armor. Plasma casters."
The footsteps stopped at the entrance of the tomb.
A shadow fell across the floor.
It blocked out the moon.
A figure stood in the archway. It was seven feet tall. A humanoid shape encased in matte-black ceramic armor. Its head was a smooth dome with no eyes—just a single vertical sensor strip glowing white.
It held a weapon in its right hand. A heavy, blocky rifle that whined as it charged.
"Three!" Marcus screamed.
He twisted the Fusion Core's activation ring to maximum output.
ZZZZZ-CRACK!
A blinding flash of blue lightning erupted inside the tomb.
The arc jumped from the wires into Narcissus's heart.
The giant's body convulsed.
It was violent. Narcissus's back arched off the stone slab so hard it cracked the rock. His arms flailed, smashing into Galen, knocking the physician backward into the wall.
The smell of ozone overpowered the stench of death.
The arc light died.
Narcissus slumped back onto the slab.
Smoke rose from his chest cavity.
Silence.
"Subject deceased," the Liquidator's voice intoned from the doorway. It raised its rifle. "Neutralizing survivors."
Marcus grabbed his gladius. He stood between the machine and the table.
He was tired. He was burned. He was armed with a piece of sharpened iron against a star-god.
"Run," Marcus told Lucilla.
"Target acquired," the Liquidator said. The rifle barrel glowed orange.
Thump.
The sound was loud. Wet.
The Liquidator paused. Its sensor strip flickered.
THUMP.
It sounded like a war drum.
On the slab, the smoke swirled.
Narcissus's hand shot up.
He didn't grab the air. He grabbed the Fusion Core that was still resting on his chest.
His fingers—thick, calloused, dead fingers—crushed the glass housing.
He didn't scream. He inhaled.
A gasp that sucked the air out of the room.
His eyes snapped open.
They weren't brown anymore.
The left eye was blown wide, black as pitch. The right eye was glowing electric blue.
The wires were still buried in his heart. The Core, cracked and leaking plasma, sank into the wound. The flesh around it bubbled and fused.
The man didn't just wake up. He rebooted.
Narcissus sat up.
The motion was unnatural. jerky. Robotic.
He looked at the Liquidator.
The machine hesitated. Its logic processors struggled to categorize the threat. [ERROR: ORGANIC/SYNTHETIC HYBRID DETECTED.]
"Target status: Unknown," the machine droned.
Narcissus swung his legs off the table. He stood up.
He was bigger than before. His posture was straighter. The glowing blue light in his chest pulsed in time with the thumping sound.
The Liquidator fired.
PEW.
A bolt of superheated plasma struck Narcissus in the shoulder.
It burned a hole through his muscle.
Narcissus didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. His nervous system was overloaded with so much raw energy that pain signals couldn't get through.
He looked at the wound. Smoke curled up.
He smiled. A rictus grin of pure, animal violence.
"Fire," Narcissus rasped. His voice sounded like grinding stones.
He charged.
The Liquidator fired again. A shot to the gut.
Narcissus didn't stop. He crossed the tomb in two strides.
He slammed into the machine.
Ceramic armor met gladiator muscle powered by a nuclear battery.
CRASH.
They hit the wall. The impact shook dust from the ceiling.
Narcissus grabbed the plasma rifle with one hand. The metal grew hot, glowing red.
He squeezed.
CRUNCH.
The rifle barrel crumpled like parchment.
The Liquidator tried to backhand him. Narcissus caught the armored wrist.
"You are small," Narcissus growled.
The blue light in his chest flared brighter. Power surged down his arm.
He twisted.
SNAP.
The Liquidator's arm broke at the elbow joint. Sparks sprayed from the severed hydraulics.
The machine let out a digitized screech. "Critical Failure! Armor integrity compromised!"
Narcissus didn't let go. He grabbed the machine's smooth, dome head with both hands.
He began to squeeze.
The ceramic cracked.
"Die," Narcissus whispered.
He headbutted the machine.
CLANG.
Again.
CLANG.
Again.
CRACK.
The Liquidator's sensor strip shattered. The head caved in. The machine went limp, its internal lights fading.
Narcissus let it drop.
He stood over the wreckage, chest heaving. The blue light in his sternum pulsed rapidly, then settled into a steady, rhythmic glow.
He turned to Marcus.
The gladiator's skin was pale, webbed with blue veins where the energy was traveling. The wires hung from his chest, fused permanently into the scar tissue.
He looked like a monster. He looked like a god.
He went to one knee. The stone floor cracked under the impact.
"Caesar," Narcissus rumbled. "I saw the river."
Marcus lowered his sword. He stepped forward, putting a hand on the giant's shoulder. The skin was hot to the touch. Fever hot.
"Welcome back, Iron Dog," Marcus said.
Galen crawled out from the corner. He stared at his creation with a mix of horror and religious awe.
"The heart," Galen whispered. "It's not beating... it's cycling."
"He's a hybrid," Marcus said. The gamer part of his brain—the part that saw the UI—was screaming in triumph. [UNIT UPGRADE COMPLETE: CYBORG PRETORIAN UNLOCKED.]
Lucilla stared at the broken Liquidator. She looked at Narcissus.
"You killed a Hunter," she said, her voice trembling. "With your bare hands."
"It was brittle," Narcissus said. He flexed his fingers. Blue sparks danced between his knuckles.
Marcus walked over to the dead machine. He kicked the shattered helmet.
"Galen," Marcus said. "Can you salvage the armor?"
Galen blinked, snapping out of his trance. He looked at the black ceramic plates.
"The material is light," Galen muttered. "Stronger than steel. If I can reshape it..."
"Do it," Marcus said. "Strip it. Everything. Weapons. Power cells. Armor."
He turned to the tomb entrance. He looked out at the burning world.
The despair was gone. The cold, suffocating fear of the sewer was gone.
It was replaced by hunger.
Marcus looked at his team.
A mad scientist who could hotwire life.
A corporate defector who knew the enemy's codes.
And a walking tank powered by a star.
"We aren't refugees anymore," Marcus said.
He picked up the twisted remains of the plasma rifle.
"We are a virus," Marcus said. "And we just infected the system."
He looked North, toward the deep mines of the Etruscans.
"Let's go find a forge," Marcus said. "I want to build an army."
Narcissus stood up. The blue light in his chest illuminated the dark tomb.
"Lead," the gladiator said. "And I will break the world for you."
Marcus smiled.
"Let's start with their drill."