[LOCATION: PENTAGON BLACK SITE – "THRESHOLD"]
The footage played for the seventh time.
Oracle.
Motionless in the fire.
Not burning.
Not bleeding.
Just… standing there.
Watching the flames bow around him.
Stryker's knuckles went white on the coffee cup.
It cracked. No one commented.
To his left: a live feed.
#MutantTortureProgram — trending.
Xavier's Institute: calling for UN intervention.
Amnesty: war crimes tribunal.
Public: screaming.
A colonel spoke. Quiet. Shaking.
"Sir, we're losing control of the—"
"Control?" Stryker set the broken cup down with surgical calm.
"We lost control the moment Subject 016 walked through fifty million dollars of steel like it was rain."
The screen split.
Intake photo. Age twelve.
Current frame. Age sixteen.
Same eyes.
But this time? They were awake.
Stryker let the image hang.
Then:
"Project HOUND is reactivated."
Gasps. A few men stiffened.
"Non-lethal retrieval only. Neural dampeners. Psionic nullifiers. Every off-book restraint in the black ledger."
A young analyst — sweat under his collar — stammered:
"Sir… the public thinks we're monsters. If we drag him back—"
Stryker cut him off.
"You know why we called him Oracle?"
He stepped forward. Calm. Quiet.
"He knew things. Things no child should. Things no one could've told him."
He looked across the room.
"Like where we buried the other test subjects."
Silence.
The footage reached the moment.
Missiles, mid-air.
Motionless.
Frozen in a halo.
Then—detonation.
Stryker paused it.
The screen shimmered.
"He evolves too fast."
He turned to face the room.
"This isn't what the cage was built for. He wasn't supposed to change."
"Four years in our facility: no power spikes. No gene flare. No signature."
"But the second he escapes—"
He gestured to the fire.
"…he manifests techniques we don't even have names for."
"Those missiles? They didn't hit him. They just… stopped."
His voice lowered.
"Do you understand what that means?"
A senior analyst whispered it like a sin:
"…he's not just Omega."
"No."
Stryker's voice was steel.
"He's adaptive. Reactive. Self-correcting."
"We're not watching evolution."
"We're watching something rewrite itself."
A long pause.
"If he ever stops running—" Stryker's tone went colder than metal.
No one answered.
They didn't have to.
They'd all read the reports.
They'd seen the footage.
Stryker straightened.
"We don't capture him."
"We outpace him."
"Smother him in protocols. Drown him in sensors. Bleed him with effort."
He pointed at the analysts.
"If he's learning—then so are we."
He walked to the edge of the room.
Paused.
Looked back once.
"If we lose him again…"
He didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
[LOCATION: UNKNOWN FOREST]
+1 EXP — [Six Eyes]
+1 EXP — [Limitless]
+1 EXP — [Six Eyes]
His eyes opened.
No longer glowing.
Just… clear.
Too clear.
The forest didn't move. But it felt like it had paused.
Then—
A pulse.
[Skill Level Up]
Limitless – Lv2 (1/300)
Duration increased.
Atomic slowdown intensified.
Contact: impossible.
A second flicker.
[Skill Level Up]
Six Eyes – Lv2 (1/300)
Full dynamic tracking. Molecular structure now visible.
He blinked.
Space shifted.
Colors separated — not just light and shadow, but truth and shape.
Perception deepened beyond comprehension.
And still—
He felt tired.
"I didn't even start," he thought.
"And I'm already tired."
Tired of killing just to breathe.
Tired of feeding like an animal just to stay upright.
Tired of dirt in his mouth and blood on his hands.
Tired of calling ruins and sewer grates "home."
He curled into himself.
Just to hold something.
Then—
A voice.
Not from the system.
From within.
Low.
Rough.
The kind of familiarity that only pain could birth.
"She didn't raise a quitter."
He didn't lift his head.
Didn't speak right away.
But the breath caught in his throat.
Then—
Quietly:
"She didn't raise a winner either."
A pause.
Then the crack:
"So who the hell did she raise?"
He looked up.
Eyes dim.
Hollow.
"I should know."
"But I don't."
His breath shook.
"I don't even recognize myself anymore."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
But not judgmental.
Even Oblivion didn't answer.
Because sometimes, even survival doesn't know who it saved.
They sat together.
One broken.
One buried.
Both alone.
And in the hush between them—
A leaf drifted from the canopy.
Landed gently in Tristin's hand.