The pod cracked open with a hiss.
Steam spilled out, thick and cold, swirling at Riven's boots like fog from a grave.
Inside, the figure stirred.
Then stepped out—dripping, eyes open, calm. No panic. No questions.
Just pure, focused awareness.
And a face that matched his.
"Subject 9…K?" Riven whispered.
The Other didn't answer.
It just looked him over, like scanning a target. No emotion. No confusion. It clenched its fists, flexed its neck—and launched forward without a word.
Fast.
Riven barely dodged the first strike. It wasn't just speed—it was precision. Like it knew every move he'd make. Like it was him.
"You don't want to talk?""Fine."
Riven activated his gauntlet—pulse charge primed. He swung wide, aiming for the ribs.
The Other caught it mid-air. Eyes glowing faint blue.
"Hunter Program detected," it said, voice mechanical beneath the surface. "Overriding protocol."
"You're running code," Riven growled. "I'm running instinct."
He kicked the Other back, then blinked—activating cloak mode.
Gone.
For a second.
Until the Other mirrored it.
Two ghosts danced in the dark. Silent. Deadly. Strikes echoing through the chamber, pods shaking with each impact.
But Riven had something 9-K didn't:
Adaptation.
He switched tactics mid-fight. Used angles. Terrain. Threw a drone to blind. Ducked under the counter-punch and—
BOOM.Fist to the chest.Direct hit.
9-K slammed into a wall and short-circuited—twitching, sparking.
Riven panted. Stared.
Then something in 9-K's eye flickered… not aggression.
Recognition.
"You're… not like the others," it rasped.
"What others?" Riven asked.
But it was too late.
9-K powered down. Not dead. But offline.
And Riven?
Now had more questions than answers.
Again.