The outer facade of the hangar door was camouflaged with rocks and plants, so well hidden it became part of the surrounding landscape. Once closed, it was nearly impossible to distinguish it from the other canyon walls, even for someone who knew its secret.

  Broga descended from a gray sky on the brink of bursting, carrying Brun in his arms like a child—a child in his thirties, of course. He had wrapped him in his lab coat because, once again, his brother had lost his clothes in the forest. He had likely stripped to run naked through the woods—or perhaps had unintentionally vaporized his clothes while releasing his energy. Who could say?

  Standing next to the massive door, which was ajar, waited Clemente—a young albino man with a radiant beard and wild white hair, almost as white as his long lab coat.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you,” Clemente said. His voice barely left his lips before it scattered in the wind and among the trees.

  Still, Broga’s helmet was equipped with auditory receivers, allowing him to hear the question as clearly as if it had been whispered in his ear.

  “I had to keep the radio channel shut,” he replied. “Brun’s electromagnetic waves were amplifying so much, they interfered with my arm circuits.”

  “Where did you find him this time?”

  “Near the swamp by the entrance to 68-K,” Broga replied, reaching the ground with his brother. “I lost the signal from his tracking chip after the trees, so I followed the trail of scorched branches.”

  Clemente sighed, exasperated. “I suppose we’ll need to implant another chip.”

  “You suppose correctly.”

  “Hiii Clemennnteee,” Brun greeted with a slurred drawl.

  “Hello, Brun. We’re glad you’re back,” Clemente replied with a polite smile, though there wasn’t a shred of joy behind his glasses. His violet eyes, framed by long white lashes, rarely masked what he felt.

  The gray sky above them rumbled. Clemente watched as the first raindrops fell onto the rocky terrain and let out an annoyed huff.

  “Get ready to discover more leaks.”

  Broga’s large red eye pulsed once. “The cryochamber pipes—have they been repaired?”

  “They’re working on it,” Clemente replied, shrugging. “It’ll take a few days, though. You know, short-staffed, and this place has so many structural flaws it’s hard to cover them all.”

  “We’re inside a mountain in tropical terrain,” Broga replied. “There will always be structural flaws.”

  But even Broga knew that was just an excuse to avoid certain topics. His own voice, distorted by the helmet’s vocal synthesizer, had already given him away.

  Clemente, for his part, was tired of pretending everything was fine. “Structural flaws that started when sneaking out of here became a regular thing,” he remarked.

  He waited for Broga and Brun to enter the hangar, then turned the crank with his own hands to close the door behind the twins. He pointed to the now-charred electronic lock they usually used to activate the mechanism.

  “That’s the third one he’s destroyed this month,” he noted, his tone thick with reproach.

  Among the scientists and doctors in Broga’s team, Clemente was the only one who could address him like that without choking on his words. Perhaps because he was the most skilled of them all—or maybe because his relationship with Broga was somewhat more personal. Too personal, some of the other doctors would have said, had they been asked.

  Broga adjusted his gloves. He hated having his cybernetic hands—or any part of his prosthetic limbs, for that matter—exposed. Pressing the device on the back of his neck, he retracted the helmet’s components until they disappeared, leaving his head bare. His clean-shaven face welcomed the touch of the breeze sweeping through the hangar.

  He wrapped his arm around Brun, grabbed hold of the lab coat with the other, and guided his brother down the corridor. In that moment, Broga was the very image of a guardian filled with love and compassion for his troubled protégé.

  After checking that the radar interceptors by the gate were operational, Clemente patted one of the pockets of his white coat, as if to reassure himself it was still there, and followed the brothers.

  The corridor lights watched them go, their shadows shifting along the off-white paneled walls. Pipes and air ducts ran overhead.

  Clemente noticed the scratches and cuts on Brun’s legs and what little was visible of his arms—injuries likely caused by thorny bushes and tree branches. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “The guards are in the infirmary,” he said. “They just suffered minor burns, but I’m afraid we’ll have to give them a raise. I overheard one of them talking about quitting.”

  “No one leaves here until their contract is fulfilled—or I’ll execute them myself,” Broga said.

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  “Then we should consider a contingency plan,” Clemente sighed, “because next time Brun escapes, we might not be so lucky.”

  “If you’re so scared, there’s the door,” Broga gestured with his head. “You can quit. I’d allow it to you.”

  Clemente tilted his head, as if to say, ‘C’mon, you know me better than that.’ “Please. You know I’d never do that.”

  “Then shut up.”

  “Broga, this isn’t just about our safety; it’s about the Project. These escapes have to stop. Last time, your brother came back with clones of you two. Where do you think they came from?”

  Understanding he was the topic of conversation, Brun chuckled softly.

  “I went to Columdia and took dem from Bernaardo’s lab,” he admitted.

  Clemente nodded, though he didn’t bother explaining that his question had been rhetorical.

  “You went to Columbia and took them from Bernardo’s lab to help you look for more potions,” Clemente clarified. “We know, Brun. And you brought one of them into the forest, didn’t you?”

  Brun nodded, and Clemente turned back to Broga.

  “That body’s still missing, and it’s been two weeks. Do you understand the risk that poses?”

  Broga stared at him. “I understand you should look harder for him.”

  Clemente got so furious his radiant white face turned deep red, and he nearly choked on his own saliva. “We’re scientists, not forest rangers or babysitters,” he said.

  “Clemente, the boy’s body has been out of the cryogenic container for two weeks. Decomposition will have accelerated to the point where it’s just bones by now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  Frustrated, the young doctor scratched at his white beard. He knew Broga had grasped the point but was too stubborn to acknowledge it.

  “You know the Order has Cyclops scouts everywhere, ready to report any sightings of Brun. If they trace the coordinates of his dimensional transport, it won’t be long before they’re banging on the hangar doors.”

  “That’s what the signal interceptors are for,” Broga pointed out.

  “Yeah, until one of his escapes destroys them completely,” Clemente retorted. “Why not just—”

  “Keep him sedated to prevent it?” Broga finished the question for him. “We already sedate him to sleep at night.”

  “Sure, but—”

  “Clemente! Why are we even discussing this right now? I went through hell to steal Templeton’s damned computers and decrypt his files. Every single one of his logs is available to you on the Totem. Don’t waste my effort—read them! Altering the chemical processes in a Binary’s brain with drugs—”

  “I know,” Clemente interrupted. “Altering a Binary’s brain chemistry over an extended period could trigger the epigenetic memory of the Primary Plasma stored in their DNA after receiving the initial dose in infancy. BPP.761. The same goes for a brain intervention or lobotomy, which is why it was never performed again on any of the clones. BPP.854. Yes, Broga, I’ve read the reports. Several times. The question is, have you?”

  Broga spun on his heels.

  “How… dare you?” he muttered, his teeth clenched as tight as his fists. “Say that again.”

  Clemente swallowed hard. “Well… it’s just that… We were preparing to operate on your brother’s brain, and…”

  “Don’t change the subject! Just say what you really mean!”

  Broga’s amber eyes pierced into Clemente’s violet ones, half-hidden behind his glasses—but he saw hesitation, not fear. The young doctor could hold his gaze, and maybe that’s why Broga valued him more than anyone.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Broga said. “That Brun keeps running off because he’s copying me—because there was a time when I used to sneak into Templeton’s lab too. But what really bothers you is why I was there, isn’t it?”

  Clemente’s face twisted into a mix of shock and disappointment.

  “So, what I found in your notes…” he murmured.

  “It’s true,” Broga admitted, lips tight, eyes wide, and a heavy silence cracked open between them, like a void stretching down the bunker corridor. “I was treating Brun with injections of the Primary Plasma. I thought I knew what I was doing, that as long as Templeton kept him under control, my brother would be safe. All I really did was turn him into an addict—and worse, a walking energy bomb, more unstable than ever. I messed up. Big time. But owning up to it won’t give my brother back what those bastards stole from him when he was a kid. My work will. That’s why I steal what we need and make sure no one leaks anything. That’s why I keep covering my damn face—because I don’t want to get caught before I finish what I started.

  “You blame me for what happened to Brun—I get it. But no one blames me more than I do. Now just do your damn job, and I’ll keep you safe.”

  Broga finished, his words hanging in the air, echoing off the laminated walls. Then, steadying a shaky Brun, he kept moving.

  The Doctor stood frozen. He’d never seen Broga so vulnerable, so wound up; never heard him say so much in one breath. The weight of the project was clearly starting to show.

  “Broga…” he called over, watching the brothers walk away. “Your friend Sebastián… He… he sent another container. It arrived while you were out. With this shipment, we can finish setting up the operating room.”

  “Good. I’ll find a way to thank him.”

  “He said he’s been trying to reach you—I told him you probably turned your radio off…”

  Broga stopped. The tone in Clemente’s voice told him there was more. He glanced back over his shoulder. Clemente pulled something from the pocket of his lab coat and held it up.

  “Sebastián sent this with the rest of the supplies,” he said.

  It was a small chrome cylinder, not unlike a metal cigar.

  Broga’s eyes went wide. It was like a shaft of light had broken through the darkness on his face—his copper hair even seemed to brighten. If his emotional walls hadn’t been so high, he might’ve hugged the young doctor—maybe even more.

  “It’s empty,” Clemente said, giving it a little shake. “I know what it’s for. I just don’t know what it means now. I think you do.”

  Broga nodded.

  “It means it’s back,” he said. “Sebastián’s brought back the missing piece to complete the Totem.”

  But Clemente needed more than a cryptic line to be satisfied. His steady gaze and firm stance said it all: ‘No more secrets between us.’

  Broga got the message. It wasn’t about whether Clemente needed an explanation to move forward. It was that he’d earned it.

  “The Order, alarmed by Brun’s intrusions into their facilities,” Broga began, “planted decoy doses of the Primary Plasma—hidden inside containers shaped like consoles. Traps designed to release Tau radiation on whoever got hold of the dose. The idea was for Brun to fall under the effects when he came looking.

  “Of course, the plan failed. By then, Brun was already too powerful—a Tau blast, no matter how strong, meant nothing to him. He ended up taking every single dose. All but one.

  “Ignacio Rotanev, Sebastián’s father, had one of those decoy consoles. Sebastián stole it during the chaos from the attacks and gave it to me. But neither of us had a way to open it without triggering the trap, and with Brun sniffing out every last dose nearby, we figured the safest thing was to send it far out of reach.”

  “How far?” Clemente asked.

  Broga looked up, as if he could see the sky from inside the canyon.

  “Into space. Lunar orbit,” he said. “Now that Brun is with me—stable—and I’ve finished the upgrades to my helmet, the console has returned. I can open it without being affected by the Tau radiation. So now, we’re finally ready to begin the operation.”

  Damn! He remembered that day as if it had happened yesterday.

  Almost as vividly as the day everything went to hell…