The safehouse smelled of burnt coffee and victory.
Lisa pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the laundromat window, watching the first normal sunrise since the blackout. No clones. No hacked billboards. Just the mundane chaos of a city rebooting—cops directing traffic where stoplights still flickered, baristas hand-writing menus, people actually *looking* at each other instead of their dead phones.
Behind her, Rabbit snored across three chairs, his fingers still twitching like he was typing in his dreams. Lora methodically cleaned her guns, the blue streak in her hair now faded to steel gray.
*"We should burn the last lab blueprints,"* Lora said without looking up.
*"Already did,"* Lisa lied.
The USB in her pocket felt heavier than a corpse.
---
### **THE GHOST IN THE MIRROR**
Lisa's reflection had changed.
The upgrades might be offline, but her eyes still caught light wrong sometimes—pupils dilating a half-second too fast when she remembered how to:
- *See* through walls (June 14th, 3:17 AM)
- *Hear* Rabbit's heartbeat from 20 yards (July 2nd, rainstorm)
- *Feel* the electromagnetic pulse of subway trains beneath her feet (Ongoing)
She kept a list in a black notebook.
Page one read: **THINGS THAT MAKE ME HUMAN**
- ~~Strawberry slushies~~ (Turns out that was programmed)
- ~~Rabbit's shitty jokes~~ (Conditioned response)
- The way Lora hums 90s alt-rock while stitching her up *(Unverified)*
---
### **THE BOY WHO LIVED**
Rabbit woke up screaming three nights in a row.
*"Same dream,"* he panted the fourth time, fingers clawing at his chest. *"Mom's standing in the white room. There's—there's another pod. It's *opening*—"*
Lisa injected him with Lora's sedatives.
*"We're done with pods,"* she said, tucking the USB deeper into her waistband.
(She didn't mention the frost-covered containment schematics she'd found.
Didn't mention the label: **PHOENIX-0: ARCTIC STORAGE**)
---
### **THE MEDIC'S CONFESSION**
Lora cornered her during the thunderstorm.
*"You kept something."*
Lightning flashed. Lisa saw the scalpel in Lora's hand. Saw the way her other palm stayed open—*offering*, not threatening.
*"Yeah,"* Lisa admitted.
Lora nodded. *"Me too."*
She rolled up her sleeve. The barcode was gone, replaced by fresh stitches. Beneath them, something *glowed*.
*"I was 307,"* Lora said. *"But before that... I was *family*."*
The storm drowned out the rest.
---
### **FINAL FRAME**
One month later, the three of them stood on the roof where it began.
*"So,"* Rabbit said, spinning his last burner phone. *"We *actually* retiring, or—"*
The phone buzzed. A single notification:
**[UNKNOWN NUMBER]**
*Asset 404: Standby for extraction.*
Lisa crushed the phone in her fist.
*"Or,"* she said.
Somewhere north, a geothermal alarm blared.
-----