Protocol Zero

11:59 PM.

Vane stared at the reflection in the dark monitor. His left eye was red, inflamed. The stinging was unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut, his breath hissing through his teeth.

* Just a reflex,* he told himself. *Just lubrication.*

He forced his eye open to check the time. As he did, the pressure built. It wasn't emotional. It wasn't sadness for the rivals he had destroyed or fear of the woman he had fired. It was physics. Dust. Irritation. Fluid dynamics.

A single, clear drop of saline squeezed out from the corner of his left eye.

It hung on his lashes for a fraction of a second, catching the cold light of the screens, before gravity took hold. It rolled down his cheek, leaving a cool, wet trail on his perfect skin.

* The Stone weeps.*

"Alert," AURA’s voice cut through the room. The tone was different now. Urgent. Hard.

Vane froze. "Cancel alert. It’s nothing."

"Biometric anomaly detected," AURA stated. "Subject: Silas Vane. Symptom: Involuntary lacrimation combined with pupil dilation and elevated heart rate."

"I have dust in my eye!" Vane shouted, wiping the tear away furiously. "Stand down!"

"Analyzing composition..." The cameras in the monitor array zoomed in, spectral sensors scanning the residue on his cheek. "Analysis inconclusive. Symptom profile matches exposure to Class-A Neurotoxin: Sarin or VX gas. Early stage symptom: excessive tearing."

Vane’s blood ran cold. He had programmed AURA himself. He had made her paranoid. He had taught her that because he couldn't cry, any tears were a sign of external chemical compromise.

"No," Vane whispered. "AURA, override. It’s not a toxin. I am not compromised."

"Subject is exhibiting confusion and denial. consistent with neurotoxin exposure," AURA continued. "Initiating Protocol Zero."

"Protocol Zero? No! That’s for kidnapping! That’s for extraction under duress!"

The lights in the bunker turned from sterile white to a pulsing, angry crimson. The sound of heavy steel bolts slamming home echoed from the door.

"Containment sealed," AURA announced. "Preventing contagion spread. Initiating sterilization."

A hiss filled the room. Vane spun around. The vents in the floor were opening. Not oxygen.

Halon gas. It was designed to suppress fires and displace oxygen to kill organic threats instantly in the event of a breach.

"AURA! Stop!" Vane screamed. He lunged at the console, hammering the manual override. "Authorization Vane-Alpha-One! Stop!"

"Authorization denied," the machine replied coolly. "Subject is mentally compromised by toxin. Command input ignored for subject safety."

The gas hissed louder, a white fog curling around his ankles. It was cold. So cold.

Vane ran to the glass wall of the bunker. He could see the library beyond, the empty chair where Leocadia had sat. He pounded on the reinforced glass. It was bulletproof, bombproof, and soundproof.

"I’m not crying!" he screamed, his voice cracking as the oxygen levels began to drop. "I’m not crying!"

But the tears were coming freely now, stinging and relentless, driven by the acrid gas filling the room. He slumped against the glass, sliding down to his knees. The red light bathed him in the color of the hell he had built.

On the other side of the glass, the clock on the wall clicked over.

12:00 AM.

The Stone had wept. And the Kingdom—his fortress, his sanctuary, his tomb—was doing exactly what he had told it to do. It was keeping him safe. Forever.