More soldiers came.
So many soldiers.
Zayne floored the stolen car through Linkon's ruined streets, engine screaming, tires screeching around debris and corpses. Behind them, military vehicles gave chase—jeeps, armored transports, even a *tank* rolling through the destruction with its massive cannon tracking their movement.
This wasn't evacuation. This was annihilation.
Nana leaned out the passenger window, dual guns blazing. Shooting soldiers who tried to follow. Shooting hybrids that dove from the sky, wings spread, claws reaching for her. Shooting vampires that landed on the car roof, trying to tear through metal.
"Left!" she shouted.
Zayne swerved hard, avoiding a crater. Ice formed on the road behind them—slick and treacherous, sending the first pursuing jeep into a spin that ended in a violent crash.
One down. Dozens more coming.
A helicopter swooped low, machine guns opening fire. Bullets tore through the car's back window, through the seats, *through everything*. Zayne manifested an ice shield overhead without taking his hands off the wheel—crystalline barrier deflecting rounds while he drove with reckless precision.
"We can't outrun them!" Nana reloaded, still shooting. "There's too many—"
"I know!" Zayne's eyes scanned ahead desperately. "I know, I just need to—there!"
The collapsed bridge.
It had fallen weeks ago—maybe during the initial outbreak, maybe from giant damage. The center section had dropped completely, leaving a fifty-foot gap over the bay. Deep water below. No way across.
For normal people.
Behind them, more military vehicles closed in. The tank fired—BOOM—shell exploding ten feet to their left, crater appearing in the pavement.
Zayne's lips curved into a dangerous smile.
"Nana," he said, voice eerily calm. "Sit down. Belt in. Hold on tight."
She looked at him, saw the wild determination in his hazel eyes, and understood immediately.
"You're insane," she said.
"You trust me?"
"Always."
Nana holstered her guns, dropped into the passenger seat, and buckled in. Zayne reached over with one hand—still steering with the other—and gripped her hand tightly.
"Don't let go," he said.
Then he accelerated toward the broken bridge.
The car hit the intact section at ninety miles per hour. Zayne's ice evol *exploded* forward—crystalline bridge forming in mid-air, spanning the gap in impossible architecture. Solid enough to drive on. Transparent enough to see the water far below.
They flew across.
The military vehicles followed without hesitation—four jeeps, two transports, the tank bringing up the rear. All of them committed to the chase, committed to capturing or killing the witnesses.
They reached the halfway point.
Zayne melted the ice.
The bridge dissolved in an instant—gone as if it had never existed. The vehicles plummeted, drivers screaming, metal shrieking. They hit the water with massive splashes, disappearing beneath the surface.
Some soldiers would escape. Would swim to shore. Would report back.
But for now, they were clear.
Nana laughed—wild and relieved and slightly hysterical—as Zayne guided the car onto the opposite shore.
"That was—that was—"
She slumped forward.
"Nana?" Zayne's voice sharpened. "Nana!"
He screeched to a stop in front of the shipping harbor—abandoned docks, dead bodies everywhere, hybrids still hunting in the shadows. Didn't care about any of it. Just turned to Nana and saw the *blood*.
So much blood.
Her shirt was soaked. Dark red spreading across fabric, dripping onto the seat. Multiple gunshot wounds—he counted at least five—scattered across her torso and legs.
"When—how did you—" His hands shook as he reached for her.
"Can't feel it," Nana mumbled, eyes unfocused. "Facility modifications. Can't feel pain anymore. Didn't realize I was..."
Bleeding out.
Zayne's medical training kicked in with cold precision. He dragged her from the car, laid her on the dock, and started triage immediately. Pressure on the worst wounds. Checking for arterial bleeding. Counting her pulse—too fast, too weak, failing.
Her aether core was still glowing but flickering now. Depleting rapidly as her enhanced metabolism tried to heal multiple catastrophic injuries at once.
"Stay with me," he ordered, pulling out his medical supplies. "Nana, stay awake. That's an order."
"Bossy doctor," she murmured, trying to smile. Blood on her teeth.
Zayne worked frantically. Tweezers extracting bullets. Antiseptic cleaning wounds. Stitches—so many stitches—holding torn flesh together.
He didn't notice the older soldier approaching from behind the shipping containers.
Didn't notice the specialized weapon raised, aimed carefully.
Thwip.
The tranquilizer dart hit Nana in the neck.
She went slack immediately—not unconscious, but paralyzed. Eyes wide and terrified, body completely unresponsive. Like a doll. Like a specimen prepared for examination.
"No—" Zayne lunged for her.
The soldier grabbed Nana before she could fall, hauling her into his arms with professional efficiency.
"Target One secured," he said into his radio. "Specimen 21 neutralized with enhanced tranquilizer. No casualties."
Zayne's ice evol manifested in pure rage. Spears forming, ready to impale, ready to *kill*—
Movement behind him. He spun—
Another soldier. Hidden. Waiting.
The specialized gun fired.
Not a tranquilizer dart this time. Something else. Electric pulse? Frequency disruptor? Zayne didn't know, just felt his ice evol collapse, felt his enhanced physiology shut down like someone had flipped a switch.
His legs gave out.
He hit the dock hard, vision blurring, body refusing to obey commands.
*No. No. Not like this. Not when Nana needs—*
Hands grabbed him. Dragged him. He tried to fight, tried to manifest ice, tried to do anything.
Nothing worked.
The facility enhancements that had saved his life, made him stronger, turned him into Version 06—all of it *useless* against whatever technology the government had developed specifically to neutralize enhanced specimens.
Through his failing vision, he saw soldiers securing Nana. Binding her wrists with reinforced restraints. Checking her wounds with detached clinical precision. Loading her into an armored transport.
"Target Two secured," someone said. "Version 06 neutralized. Both specimens in custody."
Zayne's eyes fluttered closed.
His last conscious thought was of Nana—paralyzed, bleeding, terrified—being taken somewhere he couldn't protect her.
Then darkness.
.
.
.
.
.
Zayne woke to fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic.
His head pounded. His body felt heavy, sluggish, wrong. He tried to move and found his wrists secured to a medical table with restraints designed for enhanced strength.
He was in a containment room. White walls. Observation window. Medical equipment on rolling carts.
The facility.
No. Not possible. The facility had burned. The government had demolished it.
But this looked identical. Same layout. Same equipment. Same feeling of being trapped, studied, objectified.
A voice crackled through speakers: "Version 06 is conscious. Vitals stable. Enhanced physiology suppressed at 94% effectiveness."
Zayne turned his head—painful, slow—and saw Nana in the containment cell across from his.
She was strapped to a similar table, still bleeding from the gunshot wounds he'd been trying to treat. Her aether core glowed weakly, flickering like a dying star. Medical equipment monitored her vitals—heart rate, blood pressure, core energy levels.
Her eyes were open. Conscious. Terrified.
She couldn't speak—the tranquilizer still had her paralyzed—but her gaze found his across the space between cells.
*I'm sorry*, her eyes said. *I'm so sorry.*
Zayne tried to respond, tried to say *it's not your fault, we'll get out, I'll save you*—but his voice wouldn't work. The suppression technology had locked down his ice evol completely, and apparently affected his vocal cords too.
Footsteps approached.
A man in a military uniform entered—older, hardened, with the bearing of someone who'd given terrible orders and slept fine anyway. Behind him, scientists in white coats carried tablets and monitoring equipment.
"Specimen 21 and Version 06," the officer said, looking between them like they were interesting lab rats. "Congratulations on surviving this long. You're more resilient than the projections suggested."
He pulled up a chair, sitting casually between their cells.
"I'm Colonel Patterson. Government Oversight Committee. I've been tracking you both since the facility breach." He smiled—cold, professional. "You've caused quite a lot of trouble. Killing soldiers. Destroying military vehicles. Evading capture for thirteen days while decimating the creature population."
Patterson gestured to Nana. "Specimen 21 has a confirmed kill count of over three hundred creatures since the outbreak began. Impressive. The combat modifications really exceeded expectations."
Then to Zayne: "And Version 06—the first successful Avalon escapee, now re-enhanced and demonstrating tactical intelligence far beyond original parameters. Fascinating."
Zayne wanted to scream, wanted to rage, wanted to freeze this man solid and shatter him into pieces.
But he couldn't move. Couldn't speak. Could only listen.
"Here's your situation," Patterson continued. "Linkon City will be sterilized in approximately 48 hours. Nuclear deployment is confirmed and irreversible. Everyone still in the city will die."
He stood, pacing between the cells.
"You two are witnesses to classified government programs. Evidence of illegal human experimentation. Living proof of conspiracy that could bring down administrations."
Patterson stopped at Nana's cell, looking down at her with clinical detachment.
"So we have two options. Option One: You cooperate. Submit to memory modification—similar to what was done to Version 06 six years ago. We reset your memories of Avalon, the facility, the specimen program. Then we release you to civilian life with fabricated identities. You live. We maintain secrecy. Everyone wins."
He turned to Zayne.
"Option Two: You refuse to cooperate. We classify you as lost in the nuclear strike. Two more casualties of the Linkon outbreak. Your bodies are never found because they never leave this facility."
Silence.
Heavy, terrible silence.
"You have twelve hours to decide," Patterson said. "Think carefully. Memory loss versus death. Ignorance versus oblivion."
He gestured to the scientists. "Keep them sedated and monitored. Report any changes in their enhanced physiologies. We'll need full documentation before the procedure."
The scientists nodded and approached with syringes.
Zayne tried to struggle, tried to fight, but the restraints and suppression technology held firm.
The needle pierced his arm. Cool liquid entering his bloodstream.
His vision blurred again. Consciousness fading.
The last thing he saw was Nana—eyes full of tears she couldn't shed, body paralyzed and bleeding, trapped in a nightmare that kept repeating.
Avalon. The facility. And now this.
Always captured. Always studied. Always treated like specimens instead of people.
*I'm sorry*, Zayne thought as darkness pulled him under. *I'm so sorry I couldn't save you.*
Then nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued.