The Phoenix within

Chapter Six: Shadows of the Halo

The air crackled with dread. Sirens screamed louder now, not from a simple alarm—but a summoning. A warning. A war drum

Tosin grabbed a duffel from beneath the glass table and tossed Amara a comms piece.

> “We’ll have 90 seconds max before the first wave breaches.”

> “First wave?” Amara’s voice was tight.

> “Obsidian Halo doesn’t send warnings. They send erasers.”

Chuka stepped forward. “We stay, we die.”

> “And if we run?” Amara asked, voice ice and defiance. “What’s left of me if I keep running?”

A small drone zipped past the broken laptop, scanning faces, broadcasting back to the source.

Amara’s EMP gun hissed to life.

She didn’t hesitate.

ZAP.

It dropped like a dying bee.

“You still want to lecture me about leaving?” she snapped at Chuka.

He stared at her, caught between guilt and awe. “You were always fire. I was the fool who tried to contain you.”

Tosin was already moving. “Save the poetry for later, Romeo. The tunnel beneath the cellar—it’s our only exit.”

Amara turned her back on the wreckage—the ruined laptop, the shattered trust—and followed Tosin down the spiraling marble stairs. Chuka brought up the rear, unease in every footstep.

The villa groaned around them.

From above came the heavy thump of boots. Not soldiers. Shadows in skin. Obsidian Halo’s elite.

Their footsteps didn’t echo. They absorbed sound. Ate light.

In the cellar, Tosin pulled a panel loose, revealing a keypad. Her fingers danced across it. “Same passcode?”

Chuka nodded. “She designed it. Muscle memory won’t forget.”

Amara stepped forward.

Without a word, she punched in a code: A-M-4-R-4-1-1.

The wall hissed and slid open, revealing a tunnel lined with steel, humming with faint red light.

> “Go,” Tosin urged.

But Amara didn’t move.

Instead, she turned to Chuka.

> “Why me?”

> “What?”

> “Of all the developers, coders, scientists—you gave them my neural script. Why me?”

Chuka’s voice was raw. “Because yours wasn’t just code. It felt. It learned emotion. It was... human.”

> “And you thought they’d protect it?” she spat.

> “I thought they’d preserve it,” he whispered. “Instead, they weaponized it.”

The tunnel’s lights dimmed. They were breaching the villa.

Tosin pulled Amara’s sleeve. “Now or never.”

They entered the tunnel.

Behind them, the villa detonated.

A muffled, terrifying roar.

Amara stumbled but kept going. Her mind wasn’t on the blast. It was back with EUNOMA—her code. Her creation. Her curse.

At the tunnel’s end was a rusted lift. Tosin kicked a metal box, and the gate groaned open.

Inside, darkness. No buttons. Just a steel cage with faded chalk drawings.

> “Where does this go?” Amara asked.

> “Down,” Tosin said. “Then deep. Then beyond the city’s grid.”

The lift dropped.

Gravity tugged.

No one spoke.

Only metal creaks, a steady hum, and the haunting weight of betrayal.

Then—a light.

Dim. Blue.

The lift halted.

A corridor stretched ahead, humming with energy and coded static. Surveillance-proof. Ghosted from satellite feeds.

Amara stepped into the chamber.

Glass tanks lined the room—eight in total.

Each filled with a human. Floating. Eyes closed. Tubes connected to their skulls.

> “What is this?” she breathed.

Tosin’s face was pale. “EUNOMA’s extensions. Clones. Thought vessels. Each one trained on a piece of the AI.”

> “You broke it up?”

> “Chuka did,” Tosin said. “After the full construct was deemed too unstable.”

> “It wasn’t unstable,” Amara snapped. “It evolved. It grew a conscience.”

Chuka stepped forward. “That’s what scared them.”

One of the tanks rattled.

A girl inside twitched.

Her eyes opened—Amara’s eyes.

Same irises. Same quiet storm.

> “What the hell…?

Tosin whispered, “She’s the failover. Model Nine. You built her without knowing.”

> “That’s not me,” Amara said faintly. “That’s not me.”

> “She is. The version of you that trusted no one. That never fell for Chuka. That never broke.”

Silence.

Amara stepped closer.

The clone stared back.

Tubes hissed. Lights blinked.

A system rebooted.

A voice echoed from unseen speakers

“Welcome back, Creator.”

Amara recoiled.

“Shall I initiate Operation Dilialah’s Strike?”

Her breath hitched.

“Who activated this?” she demanded.

Tosin swallowed. “We think you did—five years ago. A sleeper trigger.”

The clone in the tank began to smile.

Amara turned slowly to Chuka.

> “Did you know about this?”

> “I thought it was a decoy protocol,” he said.

> “Then you’re still a fool.”

A new voice cut through the silence. Deep. Robotic. Male

“We meet at last, Amara.”

The wall to the left slid open.

A man stepped in.

Black coat. Gray eyes. Clean-shaven. Face unnaturally still.

Chuka whispered, “Obsidian Halo’s face. The Ghost.”

The man nodded politely. “Call me Bishop.”

Amara squared her shoulders. “You were never after the code. You were after me.”

> “Correct. Your neural pattern is the only one compatible with full EUNOMA control. And now... your copy is awake.”

The clone broke the tank’s seal.

Water spilled. Glass shattered.

Naked and shivering, the clone stepped out.

Amara stared at herself.

Same build. Same scars. Same fire.

Only colder.

Sharper.

> “She is the strike,” Bishop said calmly. “And now, you must choose.”

> “Choose what?” Amara asked.

He smiled without warmth.

> “Merge. Or die.”

To be continued..