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"Don't touch me."
Vera's hands are shaking. Blood on her palms—Iris's blood, too dark, metal flecks catching the light when she wipes it on her jeans.
Iris is slumped against the wall across the trashed apartment. Eyes half-shut. Breathing wrong. The mechanical arms are gone, retracted back into whatever the hell is inside her chest, but Vera saw them. Saw the titanium plating split open under Iris's collarbone. Saw the blue light pulsing underneath.
Their father left ten minutes ago. Took his recovery team and walked out like nothing happened. Like he didn't just try to bag his own daughter.
"Vera." Iris's voice comes out rough. "I can explain."
"Don't."
"I didn't choose this."
"You've been lying to me for weeks."
"I was trying to protect you."
Vera laughs. It comes out bitter, too high. "Protect me? I had your blood in my lab. I was hunting you."
Iris flinches.
Good.
"The subway," Vera says. "The blast. You were there."
Iris closes her eyes. "Yeah."
"You died."
"Almost."
"And someone put that thing in your chest." Vera finally looks at her. Iris looks like hell—pale, sweating, blood crusted on her neck. "Who?"
"I don't know."
"Bullshit."
"I'm serious. I woke up in a med bay. No names. No faces. Just the heart and a mission log."
Vera stands. Her legs feel like water but she makes herself walk over, crouch down in front of Iris. This close she can see the scar. Fresh pink skin running from sternum to shoulder. Surgical. Clean.
"Show me," Vera says.
"What?"
"The heart. Show me."
"Vera, you don't want to—"
"I'm a combat med researcher. I've seen worse." Her voice is steady now. Cold. "Show me."
Iris stares at her for a long moment. Then she reaches up, pulls her shirt down.
The scar runs deeper than Vera thought. The skin around it is still healing, red and tight.
Vera presses her fingers to the edge.
Iris hisses.
"Sorry." She's not.
The scar tissue is thin here. She can feel the metal underneath. Smooth. Warm. Pulsing with something that isn't a heartbeat.
"It's a full replacement," Iris says quietly. "Titanium alloy shell. Neural interface. Weapon deployment system. The AI calls itself Alpha."
Vera's hand freezes. "There's an AI in your chest."
"Yeah."
"Talking to you."
"All the time."
Vera sits back on her heels. Her brain is trying to catalogue this—file it under known tech, match it to prototypes in the database.
Nothing fits.
Full cardiac replacement with combat integration. Neural interface with autonomous AI. That's not experimental. That's not even theoretical.
That's alien tech.
"The bugs," she says. "You've been killing them."
Iris nods.
"How many?"
"I don't know. Fifty? A hundred? Alpha keeps count."
"And Dad knows."
"He knows now."
Vera stands, starts pacing. The apartment is a wreck—furniture smashed, walls cracked, her research notes scattered everywhere. She can see the corner of a blood sample vial under the coffee table. The one she took from Iris three days ago.
She stops.
Turns.
"I ran your DNA through the military database," she says.
Iris goes very still.
"There was a match. Partial. Someone flagged it as a test subject. Missing. No ID, no name. Just vitals." Vera crosses her arms. "Heart rate, oxygen levels, neural activity. All off the charts. Inhuman."
"Vera—"
"Those were your vitals, weren't they."
Iris doesn't answer.
Doesn't have to.
Vera walks to the kitchen, grabs her tablet from the counter. The screen is cracked but it still works. She pulls up the file, shoves it at Iris.
"That's you. Subject X-07. Missing for six weeks. Last known location: downtown subway, car four." She scrolls down. "Cardiac failure. Massive trauma. Declared dead at the scene."
Iris stares at the screen. Her face is blank.
"Except you didn't stay dead," Vera says. "Someone pulled you out. Put that thing in your chest. Turned you into a weapon."
"I'm not a weapon."
"You rip bugs apart with your bare hands. What do you call that?"
Iris looks up. Her eyes are hard now. Angry. "I call it staying alive. I call it keeping this city from getting eaten. What do you call sitting in a lab while people die in the streets?"
Vera steps back like she's been slapped.
"I'm trying to find a cure," she says.
"There is no cure. There's just killing them before they kill us."
"So you're Dad's weapon now. Is that it? You work for him?"
"I don't work for anyone."
"He tried to bag you tonight. His own daughter. You think that was random?"
Iris pushes herself up off the wall. She's shaking—not from fear. From exhaustion. Vera can see the way her knees buckle, the way she has to catch herself on the door frame.
"I need to sit down," Iris mutters.
"No. You need to tell me the truth."
"I did."
"Not all of it." Vera moves closer. "That heart. Someone designed it. Someone built it. Someone put it in your chest. And you're telling me you don't know who?"
Iris meets her eyes.
For a second Vera thinks she's gonna lie again.
Then something in her face breaks.
"The AI won't tell me," she says quietly. "I've asked. It just says the mission comes first."
"What mission?"
"Kill the bugs. Protect the city. Stay off the grid."
Vera stares at her. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"No endgame? No exit plan?"
Iris shakes her head.
Vera turns away, runs her hands through her hair. This doesn't make sense. You don't build a weapon like this without a purpose. You don't install experimental tech in a civilian and just let them loose.
Unless.
She turns back. "You're a field test."
Iris blinks. "What?"
"You're a live trial. Someone's testing that heart. Seeing how it performs in combat. How long it lasts. How much damage it can take." Vera's mind is racing now. "The bugs aren't the mission. You are."
Iris's face goes pale.
Before she can answer, she collapses.
Vera catches her before she hits the floor. Barely. Iris is deadweight in her arms, head lolling back. Her skin is cold. Too cold.
"Iris. Iris, stay with me."
No response.
Vera lowers her to the floor, presses her fingers to Iris's neck. No pulse. Nothing. Just the faint hum of the heart under her ribs.
She rips Iris's shirt open.
The scar is glowing now—blue light seeping through the skin. The metal underneath is hot to the touch.
"Come on," Vera mutters. She doesn't know CPR for a mechanical heart. Doesn't know if it even works the same way.
She presses her palm flat over the scar.
The metal burns.
She doesn't move.
"Alpha," she says. "I know you can hear me. Wake her up."
Nothing.
"Wake her up or I cut you out right now."
The glow flickers.
Then a voice. Not out loud.
In her head.
**Vera Chen. Verified.**
Vera freezes.
**Standby mode initiated. Core temperature critical. Suggest immediate coolant flush.**
"I don't have coolant. I don't even know what you run on."
**Standard saline will suffice. IV recommended.**
Vera looks around. The apartment is trashed but she spots her med kit under the couch. She drags it out, pulls an IV kit and a saline bag.
Her hands are shaking again but she gets the line in.
Iris doesn't even flinch.
The heart hums louder. The blue glow spreads—creeping up Iris's neck, down her arms. Vera watches the veins light up under her skin.
It's beautiful.
It's horrible.
Then the glow fades.
Iris gasps, eyes snapping open.
"What—"
"You crashed," Vera says. Her voice sounds far away. "Your heart overheated."
Iris stares at the IV in her arm. "You saved me."
"Don't make it a thing."
Iris sits up slowly. The color is coming back to her face. She touches the scar, winces.
"Alpha said your name," she says quietly.
Vera goes still. "What?"
"When it scanned you. It said your name. Like it knew you."
Vera opens her mouth.
Closes it.
Iris reaches up, traces the edge of the scar. The skin splits—not blood, just light. The heart is visible now, a smooth titanium shell with seams of blue running through it. There's a panel on the side.
Iris presses it.
A hologram flickers to life above her chest.
Medical file. Scanned documents. Surgery logs.
Vera leans closer. The text is half-corrupted but she can make out the header.
**PROJECT HEARTBEAT — IMPLANTATION RECORD**
**RECIPIENT: VERA CHEN**
Vera stops breathing.
Iris is staring at the hologram. Then at Vera.
"This was supposed to be yours," she whispers.
The file flickers.
Deletes itself.
The hologram dies.
Vera sits back. Her whole body is cold.
Iris is still staring at her. "Vera. What the hell is going on?"
Vera doesn't answer.
Can't.
Because she's remembering now. Six months ago. The military contract offer. Experimental cardiac reinforcement for field medics. High survival rate. Full benefits.
She turned it down.
She told them to find someone else.
Iris grabs her wrist. "Vera."
"I didn't know," Vera whispers.
"Didn't know what?"
"They asked me first."
Iris's grip tightens. "What?"
"The heart. The trial. They wanted me." Vera looks up. Meets her sister's eyes. "I said no. I told them to—"
She stops.
Because Iris's face has gone blank. Not angry. Not hurt.
Empty.
"You told them to find someone else," Iris says slowly.
Vera can't breathe.
"And they found me."
The apartment is silent.
Then Iris lets go. Stands. The IV line rips out of her arm—saline spilling across the floor.
"Iris, wait—"
"Don't." Iris backs toward the door. Her hand is on the knob. "Just don't."
"I didn't know they'd use you. I didn't—"
"You didn't care." Iris's voice is flat. "You turned it down and you didn't ask what happened next. You didn't think about who they'd go to. You just said no and walked away."
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" Iris laughs. It sounds broken. "I died, Vera. I died and they cut me open and put this thing in my chest because you didn't want it."
Vera stands. "Iris—"
"Stay away from me."
"Where are you going?"
Iris opens the door. The hallway outside is dark. Empty.
She looks back. Just once.
"Somewhere you're not."
The door slams.
Vera stands there. Staring at the blood on the floor. The saline pooling around her feet. The med kit still open.
Her tablet buzzes.
She picks it up.
New message. Military database. Automated alert.
**SUBJECT X-07 LOCATION CONFIRMED. EXTRACTION TEAM EN ROUTE.**
Vera's hands start shaking again.
Because she knows that alert.
She wrote the protocol herself.
Six months ago, when she was still consulting for the military. When she helped design the tracking system for experimental implants.
When she built the kill switch.
Her tablet buzzes again.
**ETA: 8 MINUTES.**
Vera runs.