8 | Pha-pro
His lungs were lined with graphene lattices. His blood carried engineered mitochondria that could metabolize radiation. His eyes saw in spectrums that would shatter a normal retina. Elara had not created a human. She had created a survival engine .
Pha-Pro 8 stopped walking.
But quiet .
Alarms blared. Lights flickered. Elara was thrown back against the wall as a psychic pressure wave erupted from the Descent Chamber. On the monitors, she saw Pha-Pro 8’s vitals spike, then flatline, then spike again. His body went rigid. His copper eyes turned black. pha-pro 8
Lies.
“You are wrong,” he said. “I do not fear oblivion. I was designed without fear. I am here to observe.”
He fell out.
He looked at her. This time, his smile was warm. It was human.
“You are… Elara Vance,” he said. His voice was a soft, dry rustle, like autumn leaves. “Principal Investigator. My progenitor.”
Not fear.
The obsidian cooled. The alarms fell silent.
They were beautiful, in a terrible way. Made of auroras and static, their faces were the faces of everyone who had ever died in grief. His mother. His lover. His child. Pha-Pro 8 felt no grief—he had never loved—but he felt their hunger .
“They remembered being alive, Elara. Before they became the Drowning. They remembered the sun.” His lungs were lined with graphene lattices
“I think… that is enough for today.”
Anger.