The door didn’t just open — it detonated.
Metal buckled inward with a deafening shriek, sending sparks across the dim room.
09 was already moving, shoving 404 toward the corner.
Then the silhouette filled the doorway.
Argo.
He stepped inside with that same cold, calculated grace, his body more machine than man — arms plated in matte black alloy, lenses adjusting with sharp clicks as they locked on to 09.
“You’ve been busy,” Argo said, voice low, metallic. “Hiding anomalies from the Network. Feeding them.”
His gaze slid to 404.
“And this one… is very valuable.”
09 stepped in front of 404, jaw tightening.
“You’re not taking him.”
“Still pretending to have a choice,” Argo replied.
His arm shot out with inhuman speed, slamming 09 back against the wall.
The sound of the impact was sharp enough to make 404 flinch.
Argo’s face was inches from his.
“Tell me why you erased him. Tell me why the Network rejected his integration. And tell me why you didn’t finish the job.”
09’s breath was ragged, but he didn’t look away.
“Because you don’t know everything you think you do.”
That earned him a sharper slam against the wall, the steel groaning behind him.
404 took a step forward before he even realized it.
“Stop!” he shouted — but Argo didn’t even glance at him.
And then—
HISSSK–THUNK!
The far door burst open.
A boy stepped in. Not much older than 404 — maybe the same age. Short, dark hair, eyes steady, and a white band strapped around his wrist.
404’s breath caught. Him.
The image flashed in his mind — the boy from before, the one in the white band who had watched him silently in the corridors of the priest class, then vanished. He hadn’t expected to ever see him again.
The boy’s eyes locked on Argo, voice calm but firm.
“The Archon knows you’ve been keeping this from him.”
For the first time, Argo hesitated.
Something shifted behind his mechanical eyes — calculation.
“The Archon doesn’t interfere in my—”
“Not until now,” the boy interrupted. “And he’s coming.”
That landed.
Argo’s grip on 09 loosened. It wasn’t fear, exactly — but there was weight in the name Archon.
The boy didn’t break eye contact.
“Leave. Or be replaced.”
It was the smallest pause — but it was all they needed.
The boy tilted his head, almost imperceptibly, toward the maintenance hatch in the corner.
09 caught it instantly, grabbed 404’s wrist, and pulled him toward it.
Argo’s head snapped toward them.
“Don’t—”
Too late.
They were through the hatch, the sound of the boy’s voice booming in ritual scripture behind them — a shield of words meant to buy them seconds.
Seconds were all they had.
YOU ARE READING
INPUT REJECTED
Science FictionHe woke up in a scrap chamber - no name, no memories, no identity. Just a flickering message on his wrist: "INPUT REJECTED." In the cybernetic city of SYNAXIS, where every soul is scanned, sorted, and assigned a function by the all-seeing AI ARG0, h...
