Page 17

Resurrection

Seer finally got Spook alone and put a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

His nod looked as bewildered as he was.

“He’s gonna be fine, son.”

His blue eyes were tired and full of heavy things. “You think?”

Seer nodded, clarifying, “I know.”

His relief came in a sigh.

“Phase four initializing.” Quantum’s sharp words brought the room to immediate silence, all watching his golden eyes scanning the scrolling data with relentless precision.

Harlow stepped over to another monitor, his face tight with tension. “Vitals are stable,” he said quietly. “But…” He tapped a screen on his left, frowning. “This pattern—there’s interference in the adaptive sequence.”

“Interference?” 8-Bit worried, his voice sharp.

“It’s like… a secondary signal,” Harlow muttered, glancing rapidly across several screens. “His cells are adapting faster, but there’s something else layering over the regeneration, something foreign to the Neuromancer’s programming. It’s feeding into the process, altering the trajectory.”

“Permission to approach,” 8-Bit said, hurrying toward them.

Harlow made room for him. “Look,” he said, pointing.

“Define altering,” Quantum demanded, frowning at his controls.

“His cells are skipping steps. It was rebuilding in linear stages, now they’re… jumping ahead, completing entire sequences all at once.”

Quantum hurried to their screen as 8-Bit wondered, “Is that bad?”

Harlow answered with wide eyes at the screen. “All this is uncharted territory. Who fucking knows besides our brother in that pod.”

“It’s not standard Neuromancer operation,” Quantum said.

The machine’s hum suddenly deepened, the lights across its surface intensifying to a blinding blue. Spook and the rest of them moved closer when Bishop’s body jerked behind the glass windows of the pod.

“He’s not supposed to move during this phase,” Quantum said sharply, hurrying back to his controls. “The Neuromancer should have him sedated.”

“His vitals are spiking again,” Harlow warned, his voice tight. “Heart rate, neural activity—everything’s climbing beyond Phase Four parameters. It’s like he’s trying to break out of the program,” Harlow muttered.

“What if he needs to break out?” 8-Bit hurried.

“It’s his adaptive evolution,” Quantum realized, focused. “His cells are driving the process now, overriding the Neuromancer’s control.”

The hum turned into a resonant growl, and the room vibrated with the machine’s rising power. The lights strobed, casting harsh shadows across the walls.

“What’s happening?” Spook demanded, fighting back his panic.

Quantum's attention remained locked on the screen. “The Neuromancer’s recalibrating.”

“It’s trying to keep up with his evolution,” Harlow marveled.

“What’s happening with the materials?” 8-Bit quickly pointed.

“Holy shit,” Harlow muttered. “The list is shrinking.”

“What?” Quantum’s voice snapped as he turned his focus to the data.

“The sequence is compensating,” Harlow called out. “His adaptive evolution is finding alternatives. He’s not just using the Neuromancer, he’s rewriting its process. Look—” He gestured at the screen. “It’s feeding on the stored energy reserves, repurposing them as raw material. No external components needed.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Spook demanded.

Quantum’s gaze flicked to him. “It means his adaptive evolution is driving the reconstruction itself. The Neuromancer is merely a tool in his hands now.”

Inside the pod, Bishop’s body arched sharply, his muscles taut as the metal surface shimmered, the lights dimming for a moment before pulsing in rhythmic waves.

“Ah shit,” Harlow muttered. “Quantum, the process is accelerating. We’re seeing multiple phases merging into one.”

****

Silence.

Not the kind that came with emptiness. The kind that came before something huge went down.

A breath. His own. Sharp yet dragging through lungs that felt strange. Too strong. And heat. Beneath him, inside him, like fire threading through his bones.

His mind sped too fast. He sensed his brothers. Quantum. Harlow. His body struggled to catch up.

He inhaled, filling his lungs again, slower this time. Something was off. Not wrong—different.

Beth.

The thought hit so hard it burned him. He clenched his jaw and aimed all his focus on moving. His muscles coiled then his fingers flexed. The pod opened and cold air rushed in along with a wave of audible relief and shock. He moved his hand and touched a metal edge as someone breathed his name in a way that drove him to move. Samuel, he thought.

Bishop’s eyes were the last to cooperate and he immediately noticed the right one taking in more light than the left. Too much. He blinked and the pulsing glow refracted against glass and metal around him. Information flickered in the edges of his vision, instinctive, almost a blur and unreadable.

“He’s trying to get up,” 8-Bit worried.

“It’s okay,” Quantum urged. “Let him.”

He sat up and his sight vanished entirely as he detected the sound of surf at the back of loud machines. He lowered his head and focused, making out heartbeats. Breaths moving in and out of lungs. It was all… too loud, too much.

He blinked once and picked up blurry images. The second blink brought full clarity and sparks of numbers and symbols in the eye with too much light. Formulas, he realized.

He moved to stand and his vision and auditory cut out with the buckle of his body. 8-Bit cursed as strong hands gripped both his arms, holding him up. His breath suddenly caught with the lock of his muscles.

“What are we seeing?” Harlow wondered, a mix of awe and worry. “This a malfunction?”

Not a malfunction. A misalignment.

Bishop focused, shutting out the noise. Listening. Feeling.

“I’m overclocked,” he forced out, his voice sounding striated. The hands on him held steady, but he didn’t need them now. His body wasn’t weak—it was processing. He could feel it in every fiber of muscle, every nerve firing at hyperspeed.

“His vitals are… I think normalizing,” Quantum reported.

They were, but they weren’t normal. His pulse was slower than average, his lungs expanding deeper than before. And his blood felt like liquid steel with a lazy flow. As he took in all the changes, a sharp panic rose in the back of his mind at what was done. What he’d done. What he’d made himself into in that unforgettable hour of pain, death and the terror of never seeing his wife and son again, of being unable to protect them. What had it cost?

He wasn’t ready to see those receipts and focused instead on his recalibration. “My cells took over,” he explained. “They rewrote limits, but the wiring didn’t recalibrate fast enough. I’m running at max output, but my motor control is still syncing.”

Harlow let out a slow breath. “Did you just—feel that data?”

Bishop tilted his head, flexing his fingers. “No,” he said, his voice leveled now. But it sounded lower. Deeper. “I already knew it. I remembered it.”

“How do you feel?” Quantum asked.

That was a difficult question. “I feel… too right. Too fast.” He rolled his shoulders, testing the movement.

Quantum was already processing and Bishop angled his head, realizing he could sense something unique with him. “I can detect your fusion.”

“Quantum’s?” Harlow wondered with awe.

Bishop locked both his eyes on him, that one with too much light racing with information he couldn’t keep up with but understood. “You were seamlessly merging with your human integration system up till that incident. Now, you only have your human components to continue that job.”

Quantum’s brows furrowed as he turned the thought over, processing.

Harlow marveled, “Did he just diagnose you?”

“He did,” Quantum said, curious. “Can you see how long before I’ll return to original functionality?”

Bishop lowered his head with a chuckle, the air in his lungs finally feeling normal. “You’re still on track to become what you were intended to be. But your human side is driving that ship.” He palmed his shoulder. “Welcome to the race of glorified glitches, mon frère. Expect normal functionality in approximately never.”

Bishop lifted his hand as snickers filled the room, studying how smoothly it moved. “I feel like maxed-out hardware with software still catching up.”

“And that eye?” 8-Bit’s voice was careful.

He inhaled, processing it. The way depth and light adjusted. The way his brain instinctively understood more than it should through it. “Optic nerve enhancement,” he said. “Adaptive vision.”

Spook exhaled. “And what the hell does that mean?”

Bishop blinked once, letting the data flicker at the edges of his sight. “I’ll give you a full rundown later.” He eyed 8-Bit. “Right now, give me your phone.”

“My phone?” he wondered, confused.

“You have his number. I heard your conversation with Spook.”

The room went dead still as 8-Bit handed him the phone without a word.

****

Sinrik stared at the screen.

It was the number from earlier.

A slow exhale left him as he connected the call. He held his tongue, not caring to speak.

“Where are you?” The voice rumbled with raw restraint. Not the same one from before. This one had a quiet, controlled fury.

“Enroute,” he said, wondering if this was the husband. And how that was possible given what happened to him. But who else would have pre-mediated murder packed in every letter of their words?

“When.”

Sinrik glanced at the navigation panel, then leaned back against the cold leather of his seat. “We’ll be in your swamp around nightfall.”

He could almost feel the leash the man held himself on. At least until he made the delivery. “Do you know what’s coming when you get here?”

Sinrik tilted his head slightly as cold calculation rolled through his muscles. “I sure do,” he said, with certainty. “We’re having a meeting of Kings.” The line was silent as Sinrik regarded the passing clouds. “Your Creole Kings, your Marsh Kings, your Quantum Kings, and… the Kings of Chaos,” he finished with a quiet grandeur he didn’t begin to feel. “I have them with me.”

The line stayed silent for a long breath. “Where is my wife.”

And there he was. The lucky fucking bastard. Living and breathing. “Our princess and the prince are sleeping.” Sinrik picked up a slow inhale. “She had a busy morning.” The barely-contained storm on the other end of the line would’ve been fun a week ago. Now, it felt like a silly game. One not worth playing since there was no possibility of winning.

“Your wife ordered an entire mountain to be devoured by the earth,” he informed.

The silence on the line felt razor-sharp.

“The Chaos Pillars lost everything and now, we’re on our way to you.”

A slow exhale. Not relief. Not yet. “I look forward to being in the same room with the man who took my wife.”

Sinrik’s dry chuckle came unbidden at that gem. “Tell me. Bishop . Does she get her way everywhere she goes?”

He waited two seconds and got, “I think you already know that answer.”

Sinrik’s grin slowly came then faded. “Yes. I do.”

The hum of the jet filled the momentary silence while neither of them spoke. Two men who didn’t waste words. Two men who knew the conversation wasn’t about Beth. And yet was.

“See you tonight,” he said, or warned, ending the call.

Sinrik stared at the phone for many seconds as everything in his mind slowed down till it barely moved. He sat there, letting himself stand in it. It wasn’t any place he ever remembered being. Skin between skin. Air between air, doors between doors.

All of it leading to nowhere.

****

Sinrik keyed the door panel on the private cabin, and it slid open with a soft hiss. The air inside was warmer, but Beth still lay curled under the heavy blanket, her back to the door. The dim light cast long shadows across the walls, the hum of the engines filling the silence between them.

He stepped inside and stared at her. Small and yet bigger than life. Weak and yet stronger than any power he’d ever seen. Simple and yet… so fucking complicated. Too good. Too sweet. Too taken.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he murmured, putting the single desk chair near the bed and sitting.

She didn’t move right away, then slowly faced him, her eyes swollen and blotchy, that soft fire still holding on. “I am resting.”

Sinrik exhaled lightly and leaned back in the chair, folding his arms over his hollow chest. “You’ve been crying.”

Beth scoffed tiredly, staring at the ceiling. “And what gave that away?”

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, selfishly. He didn’t care about making her feel better. He just wanted to hear words wrapped in her voice.

Fuck, what was he doing? Having a memorial?

He watched her lips press together and her forehead crimp. “I—I didn’t mean to do it,” she barely strained.

Sinrik stayed silent, watching her fight whatever was clawing up her throat.

“I—don’t know…I didn’t know that would happen,” she whispered, blinking tears. “I didn’t think it would—I just—” She sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “I would never try to hurt anybody like that.”

Sinrik moved to the bed and sat next to her, locking down his touch urges.

“I’m not—I’m not a vindictive person,” she whispered, barely looking at him. “I don’t hurt people. Are they okay?”

Her genuine concern felt like a hot poker in his chest. “Those old fucks are fine,” he muttered, returning to his chair before he touched her. “Probably their first true experience with actual chaos. And I think it was supposed to happen,” he added, urging her to look past her guilt.

She eyed him. “Really? Why?” she whispered hope peeking in.

“So they’d meet the Creole Kings. And so you’d meet me, of coure.”

He said it as a joke while eyeing her for confirmation. Or explanation for her obliterating presence in his life.

Her brows drew together and she looked right at him. “It was you,” she whispered, nodding. “I was supposed to… help you. Somehow.”

He lowered his head, agreeing but not for the same reasons.

“Did I?” she asked, hopeful. “Help you? Somehow?”

That empty nowhere place circled him like a vulture as he grinned. “You did,” he said, hope lighting her face like a brand-new dawn.

“How?” she wondered, her joy like a siren call. Luring him to commit any sin just to bring it, touch it, hold on to it.

“I learned the difference between wanting something and needing it.”

He felt her eyes on him but didn’t look at her, sure she’d see everything he could never show her.

“You didn’t…know that before?” she asked, sad and troubled.

He shook his head, grinning as he pushed the black tar of his forgotten past behind him. “I never wanted, only needed,” he explained, simply. “Everything I’ve done was driven by necessity.”

She tucked her hands under the side of her head, eyeing him. “I thought you meant the opposite. That you didn’t know need.”

He’d never known need either, not the kind he had with her.

“What do you want now? That you didn’t before?”

Her cluelessness plunged through him like a hot blade. He stood and made his way to the single window in the room, the air in his lungs heavy. “Something that’s already taken. But I did experience it. That counts.”

Realization filled the pockets of silence till the room screamed with it.

“Sinrik.”

Her sorrow and thick regret flayed him.

“You can want again,” she soothed with angelic assurance.

“That is correct,” he lied easily, not planning to die the same death twice.

“If it makes you feel better, had we met—”

“It doesn’t,” he assured, the words sharp as the blade in his gut. “But don’t flatter yourself, Swampy. You’re not the first rejection.” He didn’t recall another, but he was sure one existed in that pit of forgotten memories.

“It’s not my fault I’m married, Sinrik!” she pled.

“Which is why I won’t kill you for it.”

She laughed outright. “Why do you do that? Pretend you’re so mean when we both know you’re not. I have the perfect solution,” she said, her voice smiling. “You can be my big brother.”

She sucked him in with her angelic powers and he realized he had nothing within himself to stop from fulfilling whatever she asked or needed of him. “Is that an order?” he asked softly, some part of him needing it to be. And wanting.

She choked on syllables before blurting, “God, no! I would never want to force that.”

So, an unspoken order. Good enough. “Then I accept,” he said.

“Really?”

He kicked her doubt aside and embraced the hope in her voice. “Really. As long as you remember what a big brother does.”

“What?” He didn’t see it but her voice said her face glowed with joy.

“To make sure nobody…” he stressed with every ounce of his being “…ever hurts you.”

“Does this mean you’re giving up Ever-Fallen and coming back home to the swamps with me?”

She teased and yet didn’t and that did strange and cruel things to him.

“Ever-Fallen needs me right now. But I may make unexpected visits.”

“Why unexpected?” she asked, her words still smiling.

“You’ve never had a big brother, I see.”

“Nope, never. Always wanted one, though,” she said, making him turn to see the radiance he heard in her voice. Being her first anything felt like a fair tradeoff.

“Big brothers snoop and spy on everything to make sure all is in order.”

She flopped back on the bed and smiled at the ceiling, the sweet sight making him want to rip something apart. She aimed her glittery gaze and smile at him. “Uncle Sinrik.” She got up on her elbow, gaze wide with mischief. “I have an idea.”

He instinctively shook his head. “No.”

“There’s a whole bunch of nuns in the swamp that are supposed to marry robot soldiers.”

He drew his head back, perplexed and she laughed at him.

“Don’t worry, they were rescued from a wicked convent where they were forced to do far worse things I was told.”

“What is your sick point?” he had to know, confused now, to which she laughed then aimed her not so innocent grin at him.

“Well, you can have one.”

He pulled the chair away from the bed and sat on it, crossing his arms over its back as he turned more perplexed. “What would I do with a nun?”

Then it dawned on him and her laugh exploded at seeing it on his face. “It doesn’t have to be weird!” she laughed.

“I’m afraid it fucking does,” he disagreed in sharp disgust. “I don’t have to be religious to know that’s perverted.”

She sighed and lay back down, contemplating the ceiling again. “There’s other women in the swamp too, not just nuns.”

“Are you the swamp matchmaker?” he suddenly worried.

She got on her side, back in the game with that one. “As a matter of fact, I’m the Belle Eveque.”

He smirked with raised brows. “Royalty. Figures.”

She nodded proudly. “I convinced all the celibate men to marry.”

“Did you,” he said in mock surprise.

“This was pre-bat bite,” she swore. “Of course they’ll all say I had persuasive powers back then too,” she muttered with an eye roll. “But it wasn’t me, it was Bishop.”

“And he thought this up all by himself?”

She squinted, her mouth turning down in a cute grimace. “Welllll…”

“Right. Keep your witchy words away from me, please.”

She eyed him with an inquisitive look, still smiling. He realized this was her in her natural element. He immediately marked it as a gauge. She should always look that way.

“You’re good at this,” she fished openly.

“Good at what?” he asked, back to guarded.

“Being a big brother. You had practice?”

The question brought him to the tarpit of his forgotten past. “No,” he answered. “An only child.” That was the only truth he had, the only one that mattered. “We’re both virgin siblings. Perfect for each other.”

He watched her cheeks turn pink, realizing he was creating a list of necessary things. The smiles, the blushes, the mischief—all of them required, all needing a bubble of protection.

“What?” she asked, curiosity flickering in her eyes.

He angled his gaze at her, struggling to wrap his mind around it. “Something else you taught me,” he said, taking in every facet of her beauty—there was no better word for it. Not just in looks, but in essence. In the way she existed.

“What?” she wondered with sharp hope, unknowingly pulling him deeper into a revelation he was likely not ready for.

“I invested everything in breaking things down to its barest form so that something better could rise. That was Ever-Fallen. But I hadn’t looked past the healing. I never imagined what came after.”

She got up on her elbow, opening her entire being to him while listening.

He eyed her longer than he should have. “ You are the after.”

She gave a slow, confused smile.

“You’re proof that something more than survival can exist. That the world can be more than just scars and strength—it can be warmth, color, and… joyful mischief.” He lowered his head as the next realization waited to be declared. He returned his gaze to hers, locking them tight, needing her to feel this one. “A future where love is not a weakness. But… maybe a foundation.”

His mouth tugged at the dramatic amount of joy this put on her face.

She nodded with teary eyes. “A necessary foundation,” she whispered.

The sudden need to kiss her got cock-blocked by his first lesson she’d taught him. Everything he needed and wanted was unattainable. Scraps.

The War Room in his mind kicked into gear and challenged him. Are you sure it’s just scraps? He paused within himself and quickly expanded the view, studying the problem from every angle. He paused again at seeing it. It wasn’t just scraps. It was a place close enough to the table to watch and wait. And if he waited long enough, watched close enough—those scraps could become ingredients for a feast.

Beth reclined, back to staring at the ceiling with a contented smile. “You should know I’m not always all smiles and sunshine. I can make messes.”

He had to chuckle at what that might look like. “You mean besides commanding mountains into the bowels of the earth and causing celibate men to marry and hardened warriors to bow before you?”

Her distraught gasp was pure comedy as she eyed him like a Debbie downer even while knowing he was right.

“Tell me,” he urged, eager to hear what she considered a mess, sure it would further define her beauty. “What other messes have you made, Swamp Queen?”

She sat all the way up for this one, putting him at the edge of his seat. “So, there’s this thing called Bat-ties in the swamp, a way to solve civil disputes.”

“So you mentioned,” he remembered, already liking the direction. “Unless you tell me you participated in one, I’m not interested.”

“I did!” she shot out in shock.

“You,” he repeated. “Fought with another actual person,” he double checked, amused at her emphatic nods.

“I challenged her to a Bat-tie. And once you do, you can't take it back and they have to accept. And if they don’t they lose, like a forfeit.”

“Interesting,” he said. “I believe Ever-Fallen has a similar dispute regulation.” He gestured at her, expectantly. “Keep going. Who was this she? ”

He should have known her little story would drag him through every hellish provocation, particularly a jealous rage that another man had what should have been his, according to his mind and body. Her obsession for her husband cut him like a blade of fury and hunger. It left him wondering what it might be like to share something so profound with another human. Something he’d never once imagined doing or was even possible, he realized. Not that he could remember.

“You look like you discovered something else I taught you,” she laughed.

“I have,” he said, honestly.

“What!” she demanded, thrilled.

“That I've been living in the wrong alternate reality.”

His phone rang and he pulled it out, looking at it.

That number.

“Who is it?” she asked, as he stared and debated.

“I believe it’s your husband,” he decided to say, connecting the call and handing her the phone.

She gasped and snatched it from him. “Hello?”

Sinrik saw himself out, right as the waterworks started.

He made his way past his sleeping friends and locked himself in the cockpit. “Not scraps,” he muttered. “Necessary ingredients.”