Richard woke screaming.
Not aloud—his mouth wouldn't move—but inside his skull, the sound shattered again and again like glass breaking in a closed room. His body was suspended, wrists bound by black metal that pulsed faintly, as if alive. The air around him wasn't air at all. It was pressure. Weight. Absence.
He remembered Siara's voice.
Or maybe he remembered the idea of it.
That hurt more than the pain.
A figure stepped forward—not walking, not floating, simply existing closer than before. One of the Collectors. Tall, elongated, its face smooth and unfinished, as if a sculptor had stopped halfway through deciding what it should be. Its eyes glowed faintly violet.
"You survived extraction," it said. Its voice vibrated through bone, not sound. "You were not meant to."
Richard tried to pull against the restraints. The movement sent fire up his already broken ribs. His leg—still shattered from the forest—twisted wrong, bone grinding against bone. He tasted blood
"Good," the Collector said calmly. "Pain anchors you."
The darkness behind it opened.
Not a door. Not a portal. A hollowing. Reality peeled back like skin, revealing something vast and bottomless. Richard's thoughts stuttered when he looked at it. His mind refused to assign shape or color.
This was Nekros.
Not a being. Not a god.
A void that ruled.
"You have been chosen," the Collector said. "Not for your strength. Not for your loyalty. But for your resistance."
Richard laughed—and choked. Blood dripped down his chin. "You… killed people. Hurt my brother. You think I'm helping you?"
The void noticed him.
That alone shattered something inside his chest.
"You misunderstand," the Collector replied. "We do not need your help. We need your survival.
The restraints released.
Richard fell.
He hit the ground hard—stone slick with old blood, bones crunching, breath leaving him in a wet gasp. Before he could recover, the floor moved. Something pulled itself from the darkness.
It was human once.
Now it crawled on too many limbs, skin split open to expose muscle that twitched independently. Its jaw hung loose, teeth clicking as it screamed without lungs.
"Trial One," the Collector said. "Endure."
The creature lunged.
Richard rolled just in time, pain exploding through his ribs. He grabbed a broken metal rod from the ground and jammed it upward as the thing came down on him. The rod pierced its throat—but it didn't die. Its claws tore into his shoulder, peeling flesh, warm blood spilling freely.
Richard screamed this time.
He fought anyway.
Every movement was agony. Every breath tasted like rust. He remembered Devon's laugh. Tango's stupid jokes. Tim's shaking hands. Siara's eyes—soft, warm, alive.
The creature bit into his leg.
Something inside Richard snapped.
Not power.
Not rage
Refusal.
He drove the rod through its skull again and again until it stopped moving. When it finally collapsed, Richard collapsed with it, shaking, broken, soaked in blood that might not all be his.
The Collector observed silently.
"Acceptable," it said.
The void receded.
Siara Halden did not cry anymore.
She had cried when they said Richard's ICU room was empty.
She had screamed when the monitors flatlined with no body present.
She had gone numb when the doctors stopped pretending.
Now she was stone.
She sat at the table in the abandoned lab office, cleaning a revolver with methodical precision. Her hands didn't shake. Her face didn't change.
Devon stood nearby, staring at a paused frame on a VCR screen. The image showed a child—no older than ten—strapped to a chair, eyes glowing faintly as blood ran from their nose.
"They didn't just experiment on kids," Devon said hollowly. "They… fed them something."
Asuka slammed a fist into the wall. "This is sick.
Tango and Tim hovered close, both injured, both silent. No jokes tonight.
Across the room, Pluto and Tanya worked in tense silence. Radios, wires, antennae. Old-school tech scavenged from the lab.
"I'm getting interference," Pluto muttered. "Richard's signal is there—but it's… wrong. Like it's behind static that shouldn't exist."
"Like a dead zone?" Tanya asked.
"No," Pluto said. "Like something doesn't want us close.
Luna sat apart from them, eyes shadowed. Zane Lawson stood near her, arms crossed, jaw tight. He didn't speak much, but he never left her side.
"The tapes mention something else," Luna said quietly. "Not just one Collector."
Everyone turned.
"Three," she continued. "They serve something called Nekros. A void. A king without a crown."
Siara stood, gun sliding smoothly into her jacket.
"Then we kill the Collectors," she said flatly.
Devon looked at her. "And if Richard's alive?"
Siara's eyes didn't waver
"Then he'll find his way back," she said. "If he doesn't…"
She didn't finish.
The radio crackled suddenly.
Static. Then—
A breath.
Pluto froze. "That's him.
For just a second, through the distortion, they heard Richard's voice
Not screaming.
Enduring.
And somewhere far beyond them, in a place without mercy, Nekros watched the boy who refused to break—and smiled without a face.