Zuri followed him. She just stood there at the door, arms crossed, her gaze still on him. It wasn't a look of pity, and that irritated him more than if it had been.
"You're running," she said simply.
His fists clenched. "Shut up."
She hummed, tilting her head. "You don't even know from what, do you?"
His body moved before he could stop himself—one step forward, energy crackling just beneath his skin. It wasn't a full threat, but it was close. She didn't flinch.
He hated that.
He hated all of it.
This feeling. This situation.
These people.
These memories that shouldn't even exist in his head.
Neo. Zuri. Aniyah. Danso.
They weren't part of his life. They weren't supposed to be.
And yet—
The echo of something familiar gnawed at him.
"Tell me, Neto," Zuri continued, her voice quiet but firm. "What do you think is worse? Forgetting everything or remembering just enough to know you lost something?"
His breath hitched. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but she caught it.
He had lost something.
And now, despite everything, he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him.
His body was screaming at him to end this conversation. To walk away. To shut everything out.
But his feet didn't move.
Zuri sighed, her smirk fading. "You don't have to answer me now. But you will. Eventually."
She turned, intending on leaving the room.
Then she paused.
"No matter how much you try to act like it, Neto... you're not a machine. You never were and even now ,you still aren't. "
Then she was gone, leaving him standing there, fists clenched, jaw tight, that same gnawing feeling burrowing deeper into his mind.
He hated that she was right.
Neto stood there for a long moment, his breath ragged as the silence stretched on. The weight of her words hung in the air, pressing against him like a physical force. His mind was racing, images flashing of everything he had endured: the beast attack, his mother's death, the prison fights, the experiments, and now, the memories he couldn't shake. He clenched his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms.
"I'm not a machine," he muttered under his breath, the words tasting like poison on his tongue. He didn't want to believe it, didn't want to admit that there might be a sliver of truth in Zuri's accusation.
But deep down, he felt it. The raw, gnawing pain of everything he had buried inside. It wasn't just the memories—it was the weight of who he had become because of them.
A machine would have been easier to live with.
A machine didn't feel.
He shook his head, as if to shake away the thoughts, the feeling.
His gaze drifted toward the door, the one Zuri had walked through moments ago. He could still hear her voice in his head, the words replaying over and over again. "You're not a machine."
His anger flared again, but it wasn't just at her anymore. It was at himself. At the fact that he couldn't just shut everything out like he used to.
"What the hell do you even know?" he growled, slamming his fist into the wall beside him,breaking through it.
He felt nothing.
He turned away, pacing the small space of his room.
He couldn't escape it.
He couldn't escape the memories that weren't even his.
The ones that had been forced to have by someone who took away his.
"Damn it…" he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he sounded, hated how weak it made him feel.
He stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the floor. For a moment, everything was still. Then, without warning, he muttered to himself,
"Maybe I am just running from it all."
But admitting it out loud felt like an admission of defeat.
And Neto had never been one to admit defeat.
The silence in the room was oppressive now. The weight of the unanswered question in his mind lingered. The same question Zuri had left him with.
"What do I do now?"
He didn't have an answer.
And it terrified him more than anything else.
Neto's thoughts raced, his hands tightening into fists again as he stood there, rooted to the spot.
The oppressive silence in the room pressed on him, the memories swirling like a storm in his mind. He could almost feel Zuri's presence lingering, even though she was long gone.
Her words had cut through him in a way he hadn't expected.
"You're not a machine," she had said, and it echoed in his mind like a broken record.
But what was he then? A broken person? A soldier made of shattered pieces? Was he a monster, a product of his past, the pain that had twisted him into what he was now?
The room felt smaller as he paced again, the walls closing in on him. He stopped, his breath ragged, staring at the window across the room as the compound outside buzzed with life, oblivious to the internal storm raging inside him.
His fingers brushed over his neck ,and he began scraping at it.
He had developed the habit due to that beast.
In certain situations he would calm himself by scratching at his neck vigorously.
It was a reminder that he had been forced to grow up quickly—too quickly.
The beast attack, the death of his mother, the brutality of prison, and the horrors of the experiments had all taken their toll.
But through it all, there was one thing that remained constant: the urge to survive.
But survival at what cost?
His breath hitched, a dark realization settling in. He didn't want to be this way. He didn't want to be the person who couldn't connect, who pushed everyone away. He didn't want to be the person who was defined by his pain and his anger. But it felt like that was all he knew anymore.
The anger, the coldness, the constant edge he kept himself on—maybe it was the only way he could keep the fear at bay. If he let it all go, if he allowed himself to feel...
His mind stumbled over the possibility. Would he break? Would it all come crashing down if he let himself feel again?
A knock at the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
"Neto?" It was Zuri's voice, soft yet firm, carrying through the wood.
He hesitated before slowly walking to the door, his body stiff with hesitation. Should he let her back in? Would she understand what he was going through, or would she just see him as a broken tool, like everyone else?
"Neto?" Her voice came again, more insistent this time. "Do you have an answer for us now?"
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair as he stood there, facing the door. He could either open it, let her in, and face the questions that still haunted him—or he could turn away, lock himself in and let the silence consume him.
He could already feel the coldness creeping back, threatening to shut him off from everything. But deep down, he knew. He couldn't keep running forever. He needed to face it.
Slowly, he reached for the door, the heavy weight of the decision settling in his chest.
He opened it.
Zuri stood there, looking at him with those sharp, knowing eyes. She didn't say anything at first. She didn't need to.
She just stood there, waiting.
Neto sighed, stepping aside, allowing her to enter.
"What answer do you want?" he said, his voice low and steady, yet strained. His hand rested on the doorframe as he watched her, feeling that gnawing sensation of wanting to push her away, but also wanting—no, needing—to understand.
Zuri didn't respond at first. She just crossed the room and stood by the window, looking out at the compound outside before she turned back to face him. Her gaze softened, but her voice was firm.
"I want to know if you're ready to face it."
Neto felt a chill run down his spine, but he didn't flinch. He knew what she meant. It wasn't just about the past—it was about what he chose to do with it now.
He didn't have an answer right away. He wasn't sure he had one at all. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn't sure he had to have it all figured out.
Maybe for once, he could let someone else in.
And that scared him more than anything.