Rain poured in slanted lines across the rooftops of Budapest, drumming steadily against the pavement. Ash stood beneath the dim light of a flickering streetlamp, his coat soaked through, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. His eyes were fixed on the domed cathedral in the distance — the signal location Rika had chosen.

It had been four days since they escaped the cryo-lab. Four days since they learned the child wasn’t just a test subject, but the prototype for something far worse — the global replication plan. And now, they had word from an inside source: one of Solomon’s lieutenants was in Budapest. If Ash could intercept him, they’d have the next puzzle piece.

Rika's voice came softly through his earpiece. "You're early."

Ash smirked. "So are you."

She stepped out of the shadows nearby, wearing a black hooded cloak. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her tone was more clipped than usual.

"I hate this city," she muttered.

"You hate every city," Ash replied. "But tonight, we find Emil Karvas."

Karvas — the last living scientist who worked on the cloning serum. Solomon’s right hand in biological operations. Their only real lead since the cryo-lab collapse.

---

Inside the cathedral, candlelight flickered beneath stained-glass windows. Rows of empty pews stretched into the darkened sanctuary. Ash and Rika moved silently down the aisle, eyes scanning every corner. The place was empty — at first glance.

Then came a whisper.

"You shouldn’t have come."

Ash turned sharply. From the altar steps emerged a man in a long white coat, flanked by two guards. Emil Karvas.

He looked older than expected. Fragile. But his eyes gleamed with madness.

"You’re Ash. The failed one. The forgotten piece."

Ash’s fingers twitched toward the weapon at his belt.

Karvas raised a hand. "Relax. I won’t fight. I came to offer you something."

Rika stepped forward. "There’s nothing you have that we want."

"Wrong. I have Solomon’s blueprint. His entire plan. Where he’s hiding. The key to ending all of this. But it comes at a price."

Ash narrowed his eyes. "Name it."

"You let me live."

---

They didn’t have time to weigh morality. Karvas’s life meant nothing in the grand scheme. But his information — that was priceless.

Within the hour, they were back in the safehouse, a crumbling apartment above a bakery. Karvas spread out documents, maps, flash drives.

"He’s not hiding. He’s expanding. Solomon is building another facility — in Morocco. Underneath the desert. Using the ruins of a Cold War bunker. They call it ‘The Mirror.’"

Ash leaned over the files. "What’s in it?"

Karvas tapped the photograph. "Version 0. Zero."

Rika froze. "The original prototype?"

Karvas nodded. "The only clone ever made from a living world leader. The one Solomon has been perfecting."

---

The plan was insane — replace global figures with manufactured replicas, designed to follow Solomon’s commands. The cryo-child had been a test. But Version 0? That was the real weapon.

Ash exhaled slowly. "Then we go to Morocco."

Karvas raised a finger. "You won’t make it far without help. But I know people. Survivors. Former engineers. There’s a man in Berlin named Lev. He’ll take you underground."

They took the files and left him behind.

---

Two days later, Berlin.

The city was alive with its own kind of tension — old Cold War scars, heavy eyes watching from windows. Ash and Rika found Lev working in an abandoned subway station, surrounded by circuits and half-finished machines.

Lev was built like a wrestler and spoke with the calm of a monk.

"You’re going after The Mirror," he said, setting down his tools.

Ash nodded. "We need to get in before they move Version 0."

Lev looked at them carefully. "Then we go tonight. But once we enter that world, there’s no coming back. Solomon doesn’t forget."

Rika glanced at Ash. "Neither do we."

---

They traveled in silence, through hidden rail lines, decommissioned tunnels, and freight crates. Ash thought about how far they had come — and how deep this war went. It wasn’t just about clones anymore. It was about control. Identity. The fear that even your own reflection might be your enemy.

When they reached the Moroccan desert, the sky was a canvas of stars. Heat still rose from the sand. In the distance, they saw it — an unmarked bunker door, half-buried in the dunes.

Ash reached for his comm. "Lev, we’re here."

The reply was static.

Then a new voice came.

"I’ve been waiting for you."

It was Solomon.

And he was already inside.