Synthetic Soul

His eyes shot open. He gasped, sucking in air, his chest heaving with panic. He realized he was in something—smooth, cold. His senses were sluggish, his body uncooperative.

Where am I?

Who am I?

As soon as he started pondering his predicament, a bright green light suddenly flashed before his eyes. His breath hitched, and his heart raced as his mind scrambled to make sense of it, A thought popped into his head. Words? The light flickered with words—clear, yet somehow foreign. How did he know what words were? His thoughts spun in confusion. But there it was, it spelled something out: Matteo. Was that... his name?

The alarms began to blare, their sudden, shrill noise vibrating through whatever he was in and into his ears, drilling into his skull. A red light flickered to life, illuminating the pod's interior for brief, disorienting moments. Sparks scattered across his vision, and panic gripped him tighter with each jolt. 

Then, a loud crash echoed through the space, a violent sound that jolted him into action. His heart hammered in his chest as his body froze for a split second.

I can move?

 Realization rushed through him. Whatever that red light was, it must have shattered whatever restraints were keeping him still. The pounding of boots against the floor followed, heavy, purposeful steps reverberating down an unseen hallway. They were coming.

I have to get out!

But before Matteo could put his newfound freedom into action, a sharp pain flared through his body. It originated from his back, a deep, gnawing agony that made him gasp in shock. He gritted his teeth, trying to brace himself, but the pain only grew more intense.

Ouch!

Tears welled up in his eyes as he struggled to not pass out. But then, amidst the burning pain, something else caught his attention—his lower body felt... wrong. He tried to move his legs, but they remained completely still, unresponsive.

I can't feel my lower body!

Panic surged through him, and the weight of his situation began to settle in.

I have to get out before this pain gets any worse.

Matteo braced himself as he punched as hard as he could at the wall of whatever he was in.

Huh?

To his surprise, the fist easily tore open his container, but before he could revel in this joy, a sudden sharp pain shot through his back from the strain, returning him to reality.

As Matteo crawled out of the broken, the world around him was a blur of chaos. The lab was in ruins—cracked tiles littered the floor, shards of glass and twisted metal strewn across the ground. Red emergency lights flickered above, casting an eerie glow that pulsed in time with the blaring alarms. Water from the sprinklers above fell in steady streams, splattering against the debris and pooling in small, uneven puddles. The air smelled of burning plastic and something else, something metallic and sour. Fires smoldered in some corners, smoke curling up toward the ceiling, and broken pipes hissed in protest as steam escaped.

Matteo's heart raced as he heard the unmistakable sound of boots pounding against the broken lab floor. His breath quickened, and he instinctively crawled behind a pile of shattered glass and rubble, trying to make himself as small as possible. His body trembled, not just from the pain but from the fear.

From his place beneath the rubble, his eyes locked onto the approaching figures. Three guards moved with heavy steps, their forms encased in thick, plated armor that gleamed under the flickering red emergency lights. White and deep crimson interwove across the metal, forming a stark contrast against the ruined lab. A sigil was embroided on their chest plates a circular emblem with a horizontal eye in the middle. Their helmets, sleek and featureless, obscured their faces, the only opening a thin, red visor that pulsed faintly, scanning its surroundings like a machine. In their hands, they carried large, rifle-like weapons, the barrels lined with faintly glowing engravings, humming softly with an ominous energy. These weren't ordinary guns. Siegfried didn't know why, but something about them felt wrong—unnatural, as if they carried something far worse than just bullets.

And then, as if stepping out of the darkness itself, a figure appeared.

A girl.

She stood amidst the wreckage, silver-grey hair cascading down to her hips, strands swaying with each measured step. Even in the flickering red emergency lights, her presence was striking—ethereal like a ghost, yet unnervingly solid. Her skin was pale, almost luminous, but it was her eyes that seized Siegfried's breath. Deep, glowing orange—like embers smoldering beneath ash—casting an eerie light against the smoke-filled air. She wore the same tattered test subject clothes as him, yet unlike him, she moved with quiet certainty, unshaken by the chaos around her. There was no fear in her gaze—only something cold. Something resolute.

Matteo watched, heart pounding.

Who was she?

Why wasn't she running?

Was she the same as him?

Before the guards could react to the new visitor, the girl lunged at one of them. She moved like a trained fighter—sudden and unstoppable. Her bare feet barely touched the ground as she closed the distance in an instant.

The nearest guard barely had time to raise his rifle before she struck. Her hand clamped onto the barrel, forcing it down as her knee rocketed into his gut, fracturing and denting his armor. The impact sent him stumbling, the air leaving his lungs in a choked gasp. Before he could recover, she twisted her body, bringing her elbow down onto his helmet with a sickening clang. He dropped like a stone, blood streaming from where the blow landed.

The second guard reacted faster, abandoning his firearm for a blade. He slashed at her quickly with no delay, aiming for her throat. She tilted her head back just in time, the blade missing by mere inches. Using his momentum against him, she caught the blade and wrenched it to the side, forcing him off balance. With surprising strength, she kicked him in the abdomen, sending him flying into some broken lab equipment.

The third guard had already drawn his sidearm. His finger tightened on the trigger—

But she was already moving.

But the gunshot never came.

Pain. A scream. The last remaining guard watched as a blade buried deep in his throat. Blood sprayed across the ruined lab floor, mixing with the water still raining from the sprinklers.

Damn it.

He took a step back, his breath quick and uneven. As his lungs filled with blood, he could only lament. He always knew he would end up like this, but regret still gnawed at him in his final moments.

He had been briefed on how dangerous the subjects in the Pupil were, even receiving a list in his database of those to watch out for. But he never thought he would actually encounter one. They should have either escaped or been dealt with by the False Angel.

He was just one of the many disposable Cleaners sent in after the False Angel had done its job—to eliminate the injured stragglers.

I stood no chance. 

Matteo watched as the girl finished off the armed men swiftly and skillfully. Fear gripped his chest, but alongside it, something else stirred—hope... and a flicker of confidence.

Since we are the same, am I also that strong?

Matteo shifted slightly in his hiding spot, his body still aching from the earlier pain. His mind was a storm of emotions—fear, awe, confusion—but above all, a desperate need to move.

I have to get out of here.

His hand brushed against a loose shard of metal in the rubble. The sharp edge bit into his skin, and he winced, sucking in a breath through his teeth.

The girl's head snapped in his direction.

Matteo froze.

Her glowing orange eyes locked onto his hiding place, unblinking. For a moment, there was only the sound of water dripping from the sprinklers, the crackling of broken machinery. Then, slowly, she started walking toward him.

She had heard something—a sharp intake of breath, the faint scrape of metal against stone. Someone was hiding.

Her eyes adjusted to the dim light, locking onto the pile of rubble where the noise had come from. A presence. Small, weak. But alive.

She stepped forward, water pooling at her feet as she closed the distance. Whoever was there… they had been watching.

Isis. That was her name—one of 63 subjects kept in the Pupil. She had been undergoing a routine monthly examination when everything fell apart. The alarms, the screams, the fire. A spy had infiltrated the facility, attempting to sabotage the Apotheosis Project— A project focused on creating and develeping Symphonies, Artifacts and creating talents. When they realized escape was impossible, they chose destruction instead—detonating explosives at the heart of the test site, right when most of the staff was present.

Isis only survived because of her Symphony—Machine Monarch—a secret she had kept from the staff. At her current level, it only allowed her to turn on and off the machines at a distance, but only if she understood how they worked. She had spent months secretly studying the Restrainer, the device placed on each subject to regulate when and how much Ro they could use.

This allowed Isis to deactivate the Restrainer and use Ro to reinforce her already durable, lab-developed body, enabling her to withstand the blast and survive with only minor injuries. It was the perfect opportunity to escape, but she chose not to. There was something she needed after all the pupil contained some of the most advanced info and artifacts, if she could get even one it would her a lot in her escape.

Though the explosion killed many people, Isis remained indifferent to their deaths. In the Pupil, there were 12 sectors, and she belonged to Sector 11. Her sector was still in the early growth phase, with most of the subjects still waking up and undergoing development. Isis had only been here for a month, and in that time, she had formed almost no bonds. The closest thing she had to a friend—if you could even call it that—was a guy named Jacob. He lived in the neighboring cell and was completely insane, constantly rambling to himself about himself. She had no idea why he needed someone to listen to his endless monologues, but in a strange way, it was some kind of friendship. In the Pupil subjects were seen as mere things to be developed, so there was little concern for their needs. The staff made them undergo extensive training and tests, leaving them little room for anything beyond their conditioning. This was why Isis cared little for the people who had died. She felt something, but not much. Jacob hadn't been at the scene of the explosion and had probably escaped—not that she cared much either way.

As Isis traveled through the halls of the Pupil, trying to find her way to its storage, she heard distant gunfire and the sharp cries of those caught in the chaos. She avoided them where she could, slipping through dimly lit corridors, her pace steady but cautious.

The only strategy she had for navigating was the restricted zones—areas they were never allowed to enter. It made sense that the most valuable data would be hidden where no subject could normally go. Each metallic gate she encountered fell easily before her Symphony. The security system was sophisticated in theory but simple in execution—access was granted based on a person's Ro, a unique signature as intricate as DNA. Nearly impossible to replicate. Nearly.

To her, it did not matter since she just had to turn it off, She had studied the facility's technology extensively. The Pupil encouraged learning one specific knowledge path, so the staff was happy when the subjects showed interest in something, they held general knowledge classes for this exact reason, then they drilled the specific thing it into them until absorbing that knowledge felt less like a privilege and more like a chore, it was quite an effective formula and it worked. But that didn't mean she hadn't made use of it. After all, her Symphony was based on tehcnology, and what better study material than one of the most advanced places in the world?

As she moved through another gate, she glanced at the bodies littering the floor. Guards. Scientists. Some were still alive, coughing, gasping for breath. She ignored them. They were irrelevant. That was what they always told her, wasn't it? That people were irrelevant, since most of them would be discarded anyway.

Another turn, another empty corridor. She was getting close. Probably. If not, she would keep going. 3 Cleaners found her, there was no turning back now.

One of the Cleaners raised his weapon. Isis moved before he could fire.

She dashed forward, weaving through their gunfire, and quickly ended them.

The fight lasted seconds. She straightened, flicking blood off her hands, her focus already shifting back to her path forward—until she heard it. A sharp inhale. A scrape of fabric against metal. Someone was still here.

She turned her head slightly, her gaze locking onto a pile of debris near the corner. A person. A subject or a cleaner? He was injured, his stance uneven, his breath ragged. He had been hiding, watching.

Isis didn't move immediately. Her thoughts clicked through the possibilities. He hadn't attacked. He could've tried to shoot her during the fight if he was a cleaner, but he hadn't. A coward? A survivor? Or something else?

Her voice, when she spoke, was calm, almost indifferent.

Matteo tensed. The moment her gaze locked onto him, he knew there was no use in hiding. He had barely shifted when she spoke—blunt, indifferent.

"Are you waiting for me to leave?"

Her voice was cold, but not hostile. She wasn't pointing a weapon at him. Yet.

Matteo swallowed, his throat dry. His body felt heavy, sluggish, like it wasn't fully his. The burns on his arms stung, and his legs were weak, barely supporting him as he shifted against the debris. He had no idea where he was or how he got here. He just was.

He met her gaze. Dark eyes, unbothered, calculating. His gut twisted.

What…

His voice cracked. He swallowed again, trying to steady himself.

Where—who am I?

She exhaled through her nose, stepping closer without hesitation.

she said flatly.

You were still in stasis. That's why you don't remember anything.

Matteo blinked, the words washing over him in a slow wave. Lab-grown? His stomach twisted further. He looked down at himself as if seeing his body for the first time.

He wasn't injured—at least, not as badly as he should've been. His hands were steady, fingers long and rough at the joints but otherwise untouched. His skin was slightly tanned, not pale like someone who had just woken up from a coma. His arms, though lean, had an underlying strength as if he had been trained—but he didn't remember training. His clothes were standard-issue. Gray. Durable. A subject's uniform.

He reached up, touching his hair. Thick. Brown. Curly. His fingers trembled slightly as he tried to piece together something—anything. But there was nothing. A void where his memories should have been.

Still, there were… facts. He knew what a hallway was. He knew what a body was, what blood was, what death was. How?

Isis turned away slightly, as if losing interest.

Basic knowledge was uploaded into your brain while you were in stasis. Standard procedure. You can identify things, but you don't actually remember anything because you never had memories to begin with.

Her voice didn't carry an ounce of sympathy. It was a statement. A fact.

Matteo stared at her, his breath coming faster now. His mind reeled, but his body knew it couldn't stay here. His legs were shaking. If he stayed on his feet much longer, he'd collapse.

Isis must have noticed because she sighed.

You're too slow.

Then, without warning, she crouched down, grabbing his arm and slinging it over her shoulder.

Matteo barely had time to react before she hoisted him up onto her back. She was smaller than him, but she moved effortlessly, as if his weight was nothing. It should have been impossible—but then again, she had just killed three people in seconds.

He felt himself jostled as she adjusted his position.

Don't struggle,

she said simply. 

I don't care if you collapse somewhere else, but I need to move, I am only helping because I can, if you're a hindrance I will leave you behind.

Matteo swallowed his panic. His body felt foreign, his mind empty, and yet somehow, despite all of that, he knew one thing for certain.

If he stayed with her he had a much better chance to live.

-Author's note the editors for this chapter were my friends online, this is also my first novel, and the plot is a bit wierd but there is alot of thing I want to do so be patient