"Another white room?" Houston's voice broke the eerie silence.

Alonso stood still, shirtless, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath, muscles taut from nearly 18 hours of constant exertion.

His face remained unreadable, an empty expression that mirrored the emptiness of the room. His body, though unmarked by wounds, was drenched in sweat.

His eyes flicked across the room, catching the details but not really absorbing them.

It was pure white and plain. Empty, but for a few deliberate objects. The table, a chair, and—his gaze lingered momentarily—an array of food. Meat, piled high, along with vegetables, rich in color and scent, arranged in almost mocking perfection. The kind of feast that would've made his mouth water. But now, it was just another thing. Another damn trophy after complying with The Tower's challenges.

A couple of barrels sat beside the table, filled with water. He could tell without checking. His EM senses were sharper now.

A dish filled with fruit sat beside the barrels, another indulgence for someone who cared.

His focus shifted to the wall directly ahead. The only thing that drew his real attention.

7:00:00:00

The numbers glowed coldly, stark against the plain background. Below them, in smaller text:

1/7

Alonso stared at the numbers, unblinking. Seven hours? But why so many zeros? Was it counting down to centiseconds, or perhaps seven days?

Whatever it meant, he would eventually find out.

He walked calmly to the container with fruits, his movements slow and deliberate.

He picked up one of the fruits—a bright red apple—and sank down to the floor, cross-legged, as he bit into it. The crisp skin gave way to sweet, juicy flesh, but he hardly registered the taste. One by one, he consumed the fruits, methodical in his hunger.

A ripe orange, its juice dribbling down his chin. A pear, soft and grainy, followed by another apple. He ate quickly, almost mechanically, the flavors blending into nothingness.

It wasn't until he had eaten at least a couple dozen of them that he stopped. His stomach felt heavy, and his body, still soaked in sweat and exhaustion, slumped back against the wall.

He was tired. So damn tired.

He gave the numbers on the wall one last look.

He probably had to wait.

He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep.

Time passed in silence, his breathing gradually steadied as Houston subtly influenced the EM field, calming his mind and body, allowing him to sink deeper into much-needed rest.

While Alonso slept, Houston stayed vigilant. He extended their EM senses through the room, hoping to pick up something—anything—that could provide more information. But there was nothing. And, strangely enough, the EM waves he sent out bypassed the walls entirely, as if they weren't even there.

Houston sighed internally. He was tired too, not physically like Alonso, but mentally drained. Alonso had been through hell lately, and now there was something worse lurking beneath the surface—something that Houston absolutely did not like.

"Oh, you should be glad instead," a voice echoed in the back of his mind.

Houston frowned, the name coming to him on a strange impulse, one that simply seemed fitting. Darius.

The new seed of a potential third mind, the one creeping into Alonso's consciousness like a parasite. He had barely started to take form, but even now, Houston could feel his presence growing, whispering from the edges of Alonso's mind.

"Just shut up, will ya," Houston snapped internally, dismissing the voice as best he could. But he knew it wouldn't be that easy later on. Darius might only be able to talk garbage now, but this was only the beginning. As Alonso's stage progress grew, so would Darius. And that was the problem.

Why was this happening? Why was another mind being born inside Alonso? They had initially thought it was a one-time thing—just some freak occurrence. But if this continued... the consequences could be disastrous. Alonso's very essence could be at risk, his self-identity threatened by a sea of invading minds.

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Houston didn't want to think about it, but the more he tried to push it away, the more the reality settled in.

Right now, Alonso had more than enough on his plate, and his mind was understandably in turmoil. Fuck that Chiara!

But well, what's done is done. He had to do his part now. Alonso couldn't be influenced by Darius—he had to contain this new mind, crush it even. Because while a third brain acting in perfect conjunction could bring unimaginable power, it was a double-edged sword—one Alonso was certainly not ready to wield.

But the question was: how could it be stopped? Could it even be stopped?

He had to think differently. Why not use himself as a reference? He had started as a split personality of Alonso, just another side of him, engaging in internal monologues. But as Alonso's stage progress increased, unbeknownst to them, Houston began gaining more capabilities. He started to become more independent, able to act even while Alonso slept or send waves on his own. As for when they agreed to "separate," it wasn't that they truly separated then—they already had. They just acknowledged it, and after that, Houston took on a more active, independent role.

But what about Darius? Would he be the same? Would he simply help Alonso and let him be? Or would he try to change Alonso's persona into something he preferred?

It was hard to tell. There was no reason Darius would be like him. Houston sighed internally. Why was everything so damn complicated?

Houston knew he had no choice at this point but to confront this head-on.

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before finally addressing the mind he had been trying to avoid.

"Alright, Darius," Houston said internally, trying to mask the frustration in his voice. "You've been yapping in the background long enough. Let's talk."

Silence followed, but Houston could feel a shift in the mental space they shared. The atmosphere darkened ever so slightly, a sensation that felt almost tangible. Then, slowly, the voice returned, low and amused, like a predator toying with its prey.

"Well, well, well," Darius replied, his tone dripping with smugness. "Look who finally came crawling back. But rest assured, Houston, you are my brother, after all. So naturally, I'm on your side. No need to fear."

Houston grimaced, trying to keep his patience. "Don't call me brother. And don't pretend we're on the same page."

Darius chuckled, a sound that echoed in the recesses of Alonso's mind, rich and unsettling. "Oh, Houston, always so serious. I'm simply offering a little… perspective. You know as well as I do that Alonso has potential far beyond what he currently understands. It's ridiculous for him to be toyed with by others. If he wants Ayu, he should take her. Curse the rest. Let the weak fall—they don't deserve to stand where we do."

Houston bristled. "That's not how it works, Darius. Alonso isn't like that. And… he makes the decisions, not us."

"But of course," Darius replied, his tone dripping with mockery. "Alonso is the main character, and we are merely the supporting cast. But a little advice would do him well, don't you think? And you say he's not like that? Really? Then tell me, Houston, where do you think I came from?"

Houston gritted his teeth. "You're just a reflection of his darker impulses. That doesn't mean it's who he truly is."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong," Darius replied smoothly. "I didn't just spring from nowhere. I am him. The part he hides, the part he suppresses. You can call it darkness if it makes you feel better, but it's still a part of him. The side that knows how to survive, how to win. The part that was there when he treated humans as numbers, when he killed Siddharth and looked into the eyes of many, daring them—no, wishing them to come. I was always there. And I… will always be there."

Houston felt a cold chill run through him, but he stood firm. "That was survival. Nothing more."

Darius let out a dark, amused laugh. "You keep telling yourself that. But deep down, you know Alonso relished it. In those moments, he felt more alive than ever."

Houston's frustration boiled over. "Yes, you're right. For better or worse, that's a part of him, just like it is for many humans—some hide it better than others. But in this case, circumstances forced it out. Still, it's just that: a part, a fragment, a single thread in a much larger tapestry. Every painting has a dark spot, but that doesn't mean the painting is black."

"Oh, Houston, the poet," Darius chuckled. "Weren't you supposed to be a space control center? As for Alonso, I'm not here to corrupt him. I'm not as evil as you think, Houston. After all, we're part of the same mind, working toward the same goals. But let's be real—humanity? That's what's holding him back from the power he could truly achieve. A human will never reach the top of The Tower. A monster, on the other hand… might have a chance."

His tone shifted, sharper now, with a hint of mockery. "And let's not pretend, Houston. You hate Chiara too, don't you? I felt it when you pushed Overdrive. You wanted him to sever her head even more than he did."

Houston remained silent for a moment before sighing. "Darius, I'll just say this: never try to make Alonso more like you. We're fragments of a whole, and one fragment shouldn't pull the entire mind in its direction. That balance breaking would be a disaster. So talk all the shit you want, but when you fully come to be, don't mess this up."

Darius seemed to smile. "So, you admit my arrival can't be stopped. That's good enough for now. And yes, all I want is for Alonso to succeed. In time, you'll see how right I was. For now, I'll lay low. But remember, Houston—when I rise, Alonso had better be ready."

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