Juzo and Vicky had intercepted Adam White at the entrance to his loft after he returned from the B-Crush nightclub. They had told him about the project.

  Afterward, Vicky went off to track down the Eddanian woman at Juzo’s request, while Juzo and Adam tried to evade the enemy by driving around the city.

  The Cyclops didn’t take long to find them, triggering a chase through the city skies that forced the brothers to take refuge in a park.

  The calm didn’t last. The A60 tracked them down again, this time bringing two mercenaries along.

  Now, in the darkness, among the trees, shattered pedestrian paths, and craters in the grass left by attacks, Adam lay unconscious after a clumsy attempt to flee. Meanwhile, Juzo was on his knees, having taken a shot to the back. The blast had torn through his combat jacket and scorched his skin.

  He was gasping for air, the wound burning as though it were being stitched shut with a red-hot iron. But Juzo had survived worse, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t let him fall so easily.

  The mercenaries circled around him, the weapons on their thrusters primed to fire; a single move on his part and he’d be showered with energy discs. He knew Simon—a ruthless rat who took pleasure in having his opponent at a disadvantage. The other guy, the giant, he only knew by reputation, but his record alone was enough to tell they were cut from the same cloth.

  Then he noticed it. Both mercenaries’ eyes were half-lidded, their gazes vacant, with thin trails of blood trickling from their noses. The Eddanian woman. Where was she?

  He reached up to his nose—blood there too. Had she gotten to him as well? When?

  It didn’t matter anymore. Whatever the answer, both he and his twin were now at the mercy of their enemies.

  “Broga…” he murmured, addressing the A60. “Why are you doing this? Stop.”

  The Cyclops stood next to an unconscious Adam, a small arsenal of surgical tools extending from his left palm—a long needle, a scalpel, and three clamps—while his right hand held an energy cannon.

  Juzo doubted the enemy planned to dissect Adam, but there were gaps in his knowledge—in his memory—and it was wise not to rule anything out.

  He needed to stop Broga, but first, he had to deal with the mercenaries. He stood up, preparing to launch a Fotia at them. Sparks danced along his fingers as electricity built up in his hands.

  On three, he thought to himself. One… two…

  “What are you waiting for?” Broga’s voice cut through, halting his charge. “Come closer,” he added, ordering the mercenaries to step aside.

  The two thugs complied, though neither seemed fully aware of what they were doing.

  With his senses on high alert, Juzo walked slowly toward Broga, and the hand-to-hand fight they had engaged in at Fort Bellatrix just hours earlier flashed through his mind.

  There he was, standing in the Level Five storage room, in front of the console of that grotesque computer—the Totem—after uncovering the truth. On the screen was the three-dimensional image of a guy identical to him, missing almost the entirety of his left arm and leg, as well as half of his right arm and leg. Broga, according to the data.

  There he was, turning to see Vicky defeated on the ground, and the enemy in a trench coat closing in from behind. Juzo could see himself, fists wrapped in energy, striking Broga again and again—not just forcing him to retreat but also ripping the scarlet crystal from his eye and dislodging one of the front panels of his chrome helmet.

  In that moment, he caught sight of a human face peeking through the gap in that Cyclops head. The same face displayed on the monitor: a face with amber eyes identical to his—perhaps slightly narrower—a nose just as prominent, and a coppery beard similar to his own, though much fuller.

  ‘You’re him, aren’t you?’ Juzo had asked, needing confirmation.

  ‘I am,’ the enemy had replied, resetting the loose pieces of his helmet to conceal his identity once more.

  Now, a few hours after that encounter on Bellatrix and halfway across the world from there, that face still remained hidden behind that large, gleaming red eye.

  “You really fooled everyone into thinking you were an android,” Juzo said.

  Broga raised his cybernetic arms. “Technically, I’m a cyborg. And don’t act so surprised. We’ve all dressed up as something we’re not to achieve a goal,” he replied, gesturing at Juzo’s uniform. “Or am I speaking to a Troublemaker who decided to enlist in the Empire?”

  Juzo paused.

  “The bunker in the Tropical Canyon… I saw the pictures of that operating room. The Military thinks you killed those people and students, but I accessed your operational records in the Totem. That place was your lab. There’s no way you were aiming for that outcome. What happened there?”

  “Atrocities I have to fix,” Broga replied.

  Juzo clenched his fists. “By committing another one? You asked me to surrender, said the Binary Project must be completed. Why keep working on something so vile? You’ve spent most of your life hiding from the people who experimented on you as a child. You should be helping me, not working for them. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I have my reasons,” Broga answered. “My own project.”

  “I know. Project BRUN. This is all about your brother Brun, isn’t it?”

  Broga scoffed. “If you’d read the Totem’s last files before blowing it to hell, you’d know,” he said bitterly. “I hid from those bastards for years, stealing their machines and rebuilding them into a supercomputer to aid my project. The Totem was an engineering feat that took me almost a decade to complete, and you ruined it with one shot.”

  Juzo stayed silent, haunted by the strange compulsion that had driven him to pull the trigger on the machine.

  “Then again, I can’t entirely blame you,” Broga added. “What you did was more their will than yours.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The computer I used to create the central board had a built-in defense mechanism, programmed by its original owner. Any Binary who opened it in search of what you’re holding would be hit with a burst of Tau radiation, which would write a mission into their brain: fulfill their purpose and prevent the machine and its contents from falling into the wrong hands… at any cost.”

  Juzo remembered the intermittent purple sparks that leapt from the Totem’s screen the moment he removed the small object from the computer.

  “I managed to avoid the trap thanks to this,” Broga said, tapping his helmet. “But you… how could you have known?”

  In shock, Juzo touched his fingers to his nose, coming away with blood. That blood was proof—he hadn’t been entirely in control of himself for hours now.

  “The Director and his team… Am I still under their control?” he asked.

  “The Director? Huh!” Broga snorted. “It’s been ages since I’ve heard someone call him that. Templeton. Templeton was the Director’s name. And no, he’s already dead. Everything you’ve done up until now has only benefited the Order.”

  “The Order?”

  “Yeah. An ancient lodge—the ones who pushed the project forward.”

  “A lodge?!” Juzo was growing more and more confused. “What kind of madness is this?”

  “Exactly that. Madness. One they don’t even fully understand themselves, so don’t waste your time trying to figure it out.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Juzo, speechless.

  “Why… why are you telling me all this now? Why didn’t you tell me back in Bellatrix?”

  “Because keeping secrets about the project no longer matters. And because you have the right to know what they did to you—what they did to us.”

  Juzo cleared his throat. If this were a different situation, he might have said ‘thank you.’

  “Your plans… did you…? Did you have something to do with shutting down the second Binary Project? With the disappearance of those doses?”

  Broga shook his head. “You can thank my brother for that. Speaking of doses, show me the one you took from the console.”

  Juzo reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the metallic, cigar-shaped object he’d been hiding. Just as the Totem’s computer had shown him, he pressed the cylinder’s surface. The metal casing retracted to reveal long needles on either end and a crystalline chamber in the center filled with a glowing, white fluorescent liquid.

  “The original spark,” Broga said, pointing at it. “Something known as the Primary Plasma—the Order’s most prized treasure.”

  Juzo lowered his gaze. What he held in his hands, inside that container, was liquid white fire. There was no better way to describe it.

  “I thought…” he began but had to gasp for air before continuing. It was as if the Primary Plasma had drained all the oxygen around him. “I thought there weren’t any doses left of this Primary Plasma.”

  “The Order,” Broga said with a nod. “It was the Order who ran out of their supplies. I stole the console with that last dose inside before that happened. I tried to use it, but all I got were accidents and losses.”

  The pieces of Broga’s helmet slid back, revealing his real face. He gazed at the radiant substance with his own eyes. “The Primary Plasma is a living organism,” he said. “Something so unique that Templeton and many others tried for years to reproduce it… and failed.”

  Juzo’s expression hardened—not because of Broga’s words, but because of the shock of seeing him. It was like staring at himself in a mirror.

  Broga’s amber eyes, though, framed by dark circles, were distant—far removed from Juzo, far from this moment. His gaze was fixed on the syringe’s strange contents. Drawn by the whitish glow of the liquid, he stepped toward it—until a sharp alarm blared from his cybernetic prosthetics, bringing him to a halt. He shook his head, regaining focus.

  “I can imagine how much you’d love to get rid of it,” he said to Juzo.

  Still in that spellbound state, Juzo gazed at the Primary Plasma. It was true. Ever since he’d pulled the cylinder from the Totem, he’d wanted nothing more than to destroy it with a Fotia, or abandon it back on Level Five of Bellatrix before jumping through the Kappa Point. Since arriving in Proxima, he’d thought about tossing it into a city sewer or handing it off to Vicky so she could deal with it for him. How many times had he reached into his pocket to pull out the container, only to come up empty? He’d lost count.

  And yet, there it was—still intact in his hands.

  Just as Broga had described, that milky, luminous liquid stirred in him a feeling both captivating and disturbing—like the morbid urge to gaze at something grotesque.

  “I couldn’t,” Juzo confessed, gripping the syringe with frustration. “I couldn’t even tell my partner I had it.”

  “And you pushed her aside so she wouldn’t interfere,” Broga added.

  Juzo bit his lip and nodded.

  “The machine’s Tau energy bombardment did its job, but so does the Plasma,” Broga said. “It’s a living organism that speaks directly to your genes. We Binaries were given a dose of Plasma at birth. Templeton’s logs claimed it was to prepare us to withstand the full dose when the project was completed. But I think it was his way of cornering us. Once the Plasma is in your system, you can’t reject it.”

  What Broga said was discouraging—but true. In his hands, Juzo held the key to breaking free of the project that had given him life and might now deliver him to death. Yet, he couldn’t act.

  “No, I…” he tried to deny it, but it was pointless.

  For a few seconds, the distant sounds of the street—the muffled hum of people gathering at a car crash, the wind rustling through the park’s trees, the whirring of the mercenaries’ engines—were all Juzo could hear. But when the grass crunched beneath Broga’s chrome foot, Juzo looked down at Adam—unconscious on the ground—and snapped out of his trance.

  Broga glanced at Adam as well.

  “Did you tell him about me?” he asked.

  Juzo shook his head. “It would have only confused him further. I thought you, as the Binary Catalyst, wanted my Reactor proteins… or maybe to claim Adam’s power.”

  “Me? Why would I want anything from either of you? I would’ve taken it long ago.”

  “Then I don’t get it! Why do you want the Binary Project to end now, after all this time? How does it help your own project?”

  Broga gestured toward Simon and Kitty. “What’s running down these two idiots’ noses should’ve given you an idea why now—of the threat we’re facing.”

  Juzo frowned. “Eddanians?” he asked.

  “Eddanians of the Order,” Broga replied. “They finally tracked me down and discovered the Plasma dose I’ve been hiding—the one you have. The Military raid on my bunker only made things worse, and now they’re breathing down my neck.” He gestured at his worn-out clothes. “Look at me. You think I wouldn’t have liked to take a shower and change my clothes before coming for you? We don’t have time. If White doesn’t get your blood, that Eddanian won’t leave me alone, and I’ll have to take it myself—and I’ve got my own plans—I’m not about to be anyone’s useful idiot when there’s still much left for me to do.”

  “Adam White won’t be anyone’s useful idiot either,” Juzo shot back. Retracting the syringe needles, he slid it back into his pocket, hoisted Adam into his arms, and began to leave.

  “You’re not going anywhere without completing the cycle of the project,” Broga said, aiming the cannon on his hand at him. The pieces of Broga’s helmet reassembled around his head, and his voice took on that chilling, synthesized tone again. “You’re surrounded. Save yourself the humiliation and do as I say, or I’ll blow your head off and harvest the proteins from your corpse myself,” he threatened, exposing the surgical instruments that extended from his left hand. “Don’t think I won’t. I don’t need you alive to finish the Binary Project. I just need your proteins. But I do need the Binary Project completed to wrap up my own plans without interference. Understand?”

  Juzo tensed his hand, but all he managed to summon was a faint blue glow—nowhere near enough to form a Fotia.

  Sweat dripped from his face, running through his beard and soaking into his collar and sleeves. It stung his eyes, blurring his vision. Then, after a rapid blink, he realized with a jolt that he had unconsciously laid Adam back on the ground and retrieved the container from his pocket. His senses, dulled by sweat and other discomforts, were slow to notice that his muscles were, in fact, obeying Broga.

  No. Not Broga. Something else… Once again, the smell of blood in his nose grew overpowering.

  “What they did to us is unforgivable, and I’m sorry for you, but I have to play the cards I’ve been dealt,” Broga said, almost apologetic. “Think about it. Adam White is the only one of us without any special abilities, and you won’t always be there to protect him. At least if the project is completed, he’ll have something to defend himself with.”

  “To protect himself?” Juzo shook his head. “And what happens when he starts generating energy? They’ll turn him into a weapon.”

  Broga scoffed again. “You could show a little faith in your brother’s character. After all, no one will take his agency away.”

  Hanging his head, Juzo resigned himself to his fate. He hoped he was doing the right thing, though he wasn’t entirely in control of his body to refuse.

  He stared at the strange syringe with its exposed needles. All he had to do was pierce one end into Adam’s heart and the other into his own to set the intricate system in motion, just as he had seen on the Totem. The proteins in his blood had to be extracted directly from his heart, where the pulse was strongest. Then, that mysterious glowing white liquid would take care of the rest.

  He had no idea how long it would take for Adam’s power to awaken. It wouldn’t be pleasant for him, that was certain. But at least it might give his brother a chance to survive the night—unlike himself.

  Kneeling on the grass beside him, Juzo lifted his brother into a sitting position. Adam’s face lay bare, eyes closed, expression calm. Brushing off the dirt, Juzo reclined him slightly, exposing his chest. With his fingers, he searched for the spot where the needle needed to go.

  “Wait,” Broga interrupted. Adjusting the weapon on his right hand, he reduced its barrel to something as thin as a stylus. He aimed it at Adam, fired a quick laser pulse, then turned it toward Juzo and did the same. One shot marked a point on Adam’s exposed chest, right over his heart, while the other did the same to Juzo, piercing his military jacket.

  Understanding what needed to be done, Juzo aligned one of the syringe’s needles with the tiny wound on Adam’s chest and pushed it in deep. Moving closer to his brother, he allowed the other pointed end to pierce the mark on his own heart that Broga had indicated.

  Strangely, there was no pain, though the pulsing sensation of his blood surging through the small cylinder was deeply unsettling. His blood mingled with the hot, glowing white liquid in the container before flowing into Adam’s heart.

  Overcome by a sense of surrender and a slight stinging in his chest, Juzo thought he could hear crackling flames. Was it the fire from the car crash on the other side of the park? No. The sound came from the Primary Plasma—a sound of power. Power that burned like the sun and pulsed like a living thing.

  The Binary Project had reached its final stage, and Juzo was surrendering to it. His life was ending—not on a battlefield in his homeland during a skirmish against imperialists, but here, in a park in a distant city, surrounded by two lowly thugs and the man from whom his brother had been cloned.

  Juzo was dying in the most humiliating defeat he could imagine, and yet, strangely, it felt like a kind of victory.

  Broga retracted the laser barrel and the sharp instruments from his hands, knelt before the twins, and caught Juzo as he began to collapse.

  “Not too deep,” he warned, as if Juzo could still listen. “Leave some Plasma for me. I need a bit for my project.”

  “Will you… look after Adam?” Juzo asked, his voice faint, hardly audible.

  Broga clicked his tongue again, as if to say, ‘Don’t you know me yet?’

  “I doubt that’ll be necessary,” he replied. “I’m sure you made that bitch friend of yours promise to do just that.”

  “Vicky…” Juzo whispered her name, wishing she were by his side.

  He wanted to tell her how much he appreciated her presence, to apologize for pushing her away at the last moment—the most important moment of his life, when he needed her most—and to warn her about how elusive and dangerous Tau radiation could be, now that he had experienced it firsthand.

  But there was no way to get his message to her now, only a silent farewell from afar, hoping she would feel it in her soul, wherever she was, and trust that everything would be all right.

  Vicky, he sighed one last time as his heart stopped.

  Just before the last drops of Primary Plasma vanished from the container, Broga separated the brothers.

  He laid them both on the grass, carefully withdrew the syringe from Adam’s chest, and retracted the needles, sealing the crystalline chamber. He didn’t want his eyes catching the remnants of the Plasma still inside; it was better not to fall under its spell again.

  Returning the syringe to its metallic cigar form, he slipped it into the pocket of his tattered purple coat. Then, with his robotic fingers, he closed Juzo’s eyes.

  “Rest easy,” he murmured. “If my theory’s right, this won’t be the end for you.”