The chase keeps going with that sharp, sinking feeling—you're not getting a single extra second.
We're flying through the tunnel.
Too fast to be comfortable.
Too slow to survive.
Behind us—interceptor drones.
Heavy.
Mean.
Far too smart to give second chances.
They fire.
I exhale slowly. Evenly.
"Of course," I say under my breath, holding the course. "Fair play is for people who've already lost."
The module shudders under the hits.
Systems shriek.
Warnings flash like a holiday light string gone feral.
CRITICAL DAMAGE
HULL BREACH
RECOMMENDED—
"Recommended you shut up," I mutter.
I don't look at them.
I look ahead.
And a little further than that—
to the place I'm not yet, but already have to be.
I feel the drones.
Not fully.
But enough.
"Come on," I tell myself quietly. "Just once—no stupid mistakes. For variety."
A sharp maneuver.
The module snaps sideways.
A shot slips past—
too close.
Heat bleeds through the hull.
Liara and the squad behind me stay silent.
Strapped in.
Compliant. Ready for anything.
And that… still cuts deeper than any hit.
"After this, I'm installing a 'complain' mode," I throw over my shoulder. "Premium package. Emotions. The right to argue with me."
Silence.
I nod to myself.
"Yeah. I know. Ambitious update."
And then I see it.
A narrow corridor.
A branch.
A hard ninety-degree turn.
Small.
Unremarkable.
Perfect.
And completely insane.
I hang there for half a second.
If I'm wrong—we slam into the wall.
If I don't try—we're atomized in five seconds.
Impressive choice.
"Right," I whisper. "I love it when things are simple."
Decision made.
"Got it."
And immediately—
I slam the brakes.
Not smooth.
Not rational.
Absolute.
The module stops like it hits an invisible wall.
My body wants to keep going.
The straps disagree.
Reality disagrees harder.
Liara, Kel, the whole squad lurch forward.
Inertial systems try to compensate—
—and fail.
I register them at the edge of awareness.
All alive.
All operational.
Good.
Plan holds.
"Sorry about the service," I toss out. "Complaints accepted after we survive."
The drones don't make it in time.
A fraction of a second.
They overshoot.
I let myself a brief, almost invisible smile.
"Thanks for the assist," I breathe. "You're on my side today."
I'm already moving.
"Out! Now!"
The hatch screams open.
I jump into the corridor—
no checks,
no guarantees,
just absolute certainty there's no other option.
They follow.
One step.
Another.
Another.
Too narrow.
Too dark.
Too close.
"Faster," I say quietly. "If you want to live, now's a great time to start."
A second—
and the drones are back.
Flashes.
Impacts.
The module behind us takes it all.
I don't look back.
Because if I do—I slow down.
And if I slow down—we die.
But I hear it.
Metal tearing.
Systems screaming.
Something inside the structure breaking the way things break when they're never getting fixed.
And then—
the explosion.
The shockwave catches us.
Slams into our backs.
Throws us forward.
I shut my eyes for a split second.
"Thanks," I say quietly. "You did good."
Not sentiment.
Accounting.
Anything that buys me time matters.
We're already around the corner.
Here—it's tight.
Dark.
Cramped.
And… quieter.
The drones can't follow.
Too big.
I exhale.
"Sometimes it pays to be inconvenient."
We stop.
For the first time—almost silence.
I lean against the wall.
Exactly one second.
Inhale.
Exhale.
My heart's racing.
I count the beats.
Control—check.
Clarity—check.
Still in the game.
"Good," I say quietly. "We're alive. Plan's working."
Pause.
I pull up the map.
The network flares across my vision—
lines,
connections,
layers.
The Archive.
It's… everywhere.
Like a nervous system
threaded through the Dyson sphere.
Deeper.
Deeper than I'd like to understand.
And somewhere in there—
the center.
The main node.
The central nerve.
I study the route.
Calculate.
Estimate.
Survival probability—low.
Success probability—even lower.
I nod.
"Of course," I murmur. "Why not."
Pause.
"On foot."
The word almost sounds like an insult.
Liara stands beside me.
Kel.
The squad.
Waiting. Silent. Empty-eyed.
I look at them—
a second too long.
And it almost breaks my rhythm.
Because for a moment I remember
what they used to be.
Alive.
Not now.
I cut the thought off.
Later.
If there is one.
"This is going to be a long walk," I say. "Bad mood, no guarantees, high chance of death."
A faint smirk.
"Standard day."
Silence.
But they move.
Immediately.
Perfectly.
And I feel that sting again—
pride.
guilt.
responsibility.
A great mix for terrible decisions.
I push off the wall.
"Move."
One step forward.
Into the narrow, dark corridor.
Each step echoes dully.
And somewhere deeper—
the system already knows.
I feel it.
Like a gaze on my back.
Like attention you can't fool.
I don't stop.
"Alright," I say quietly. "Let's see who's faster."
Pause.
"Me… or their need to erase me."
We move.
And with every step, it becomes clearer:
either I reach their nervous system—
or they're already reaching for mine.
And honestly…
I'm not sure which is worse.
**
I go first.
Each step echoes inside me a little louder than it should.
As if the structure itself is listening to the way I move.
Recording.
Counting.
The corridors stretch ahead like the insides of something too vast to be just a machine.
Too complex to be called a construction.
Too… alive to feel comfortable in.
The walls breathe.
Not a metaphor.
I see segments expand and contract.
Panels shift, adjust.
Mechanisms inside move like muscles under skin.
I mark the rhythm.
Memorize the pauses.
If it's alive—then it has habits.
"Nice place," I say quietly. "Cozy. Almost like home. If your home hated you and occasionally tried to recycle you into spare parts."
Silence.
Of course.
Behind me—Liara, Kel, the squad.
Step for step.
Perfect.
Synchronized.
Too perfect.
And that's worse than chaos.
I feel them through the network.
Not emotions.
Functions.
Waiting for a command.
And somewhere deeper…
it scratches.
Not now.
"When this is over," I say over my shoulder, "remind me to give you back the 'argue' option. Very useful feature. Sometimes saves you from bad decisions."
Pause.
"For example… mine."
No reaction.
I nod once.
"Yeah. Thought so. Priorities."
Small robots swarm everywhere.
In the seams.
On the walls.
Under panels.
Like ants.
Like blood in veins.
They repair.
Build.
Rewrite the structure itself.
Nonstop.
No hesitation.
I watch their paths.
Not random.
Certain.
"Imagine that," I say. "They work without reports, deadlines, or pointless meetings."
Pause.
"That's not technology anymore. That's a threat to society."
Silence.
I sigh.
"Yeah, fair. Not the best time for reform."
We go deeper.
Toward the Archive.
Toward the center.
Toward the place where my idea either saves us…
or makes everything irreversibly worse.
And then—
a gate.
Solid.
Closed.
Absolute.
Like the system finally said: enough.
I stop.
One second.
Assess thickness.
Structure.
Weak points.
"Well, look at that," I say quietly. "The system's starting to have doubts."
Thought—command.
"Brin Havok."
He's already raising his weapon.
No questions.
A shot.
Fire slams into the barrier.
Metal screams.
Tears.
Shatters into fragments.
They slam into armor.
Hard.
Precise.
I shift automatically, blocking the trajectory toward Liara.
Instinct.
Late—but still there.
"Careful," I say. "I just started getting used to this armor."
The way is open.
I don't wait.
"Move."
We go.
One step.
Second.
And—
silence.
Not normal.
Wrong.
I stop.
The robots.
All of them.
Freeze.
At once.
Like someone pulled the life out of them… to push an update.
Cold runs down my spine.
Real.
Clean.
"…of course," I say quietly. "And I was just starting to believe in luck."
Pause.
I feel it.
They're not looking.
They're analyzing.
Classification.
Threat assessment.
Verdict.
And in that pause I understand—
we're already sentenced.
"Run," I say calmly. "It's about to get loud."
I break into motion.
And in the same instant—
they wake up.
From the walls.
From the ceiling.
From the floor.
From every gap.
A swarm.
Not chaos.
A system.
"Great," I breathe out. "The anthill woke up. And it doesn't like me."
They're faster than they should be.
Closer than I want.
I run the options.
One.
Zero.
"Ilay, hold the rear!"
"Copy."
One second—
and they're on him.
Immediately.
No transition.
Like a wave.
Robots cover his armor.
Force into the joints.
Bite in.
Slow him.
Stop him.
I feel him.
Pain.
Like he's being torn apart—
and I'm forced to hear it.
I'm already turning.
"Get Ilay out!"
Fire.
Flame burns through part of the swarm.
But it's like trying to empty the ocean with your hands.
He's already cocooned.
Moving.
Trying.
Too late.
"AA—!"
The scream rips through the network.
I freeze for half a second.
And in that half—
the decision.
Short.
Hard.
Correct.
And absolutely unbearable.
"…ease him," I say quietly.
Pause.
A microsecond where I could lie to myself.
I don't.
"Fire."
Shots.
Flame.
Ilay disappears.
First the silhouette.
Then the form.
Then—
nothing.
Ash settles on the walls.
I log it.
Store it.
Later.
If there is one.
"Move."
We turn—
and ahead—
the swarm.
A wall.
Alive.
Moving.
I turn back—
same thing.
We're boxed in.
Perfectly.
I nod once.
"Well," I say quietly. "I was hoping for a boring day."
"All directions—fire!"
Flame.
Shots.
Metal melts.
Robots burn.
Fall.
Replaced instantly.
There are more of them.
They don't fear.
Don't retreat.
Don't think.
Pure, perfect function of destruction.
I feel the pressure.
Physical.
Like reality itself is closing in around us.
"Hold!" I snap.
And we hold.
One second.
Two.
Maybe more.
Not enough.
They're closer.
Closer.
I see the first reach the armor.
Then another.
Then a third.
I count distance.
Seconds.
Fractions.
And for the first time—
a thought slips through without a filter:
this is the end.
I don't push it away.
I look straight at it.
"Alright," I exhale.
And in that moment—
the map.
A flash.
Connections.
Layers.
Routes.
I freeze.
Half a second.
"…wait."
An idea.
Bad.
Dangerous.
Almost certainly fatal.
I check it again.
It doesn't get better.
Which means—
it works.
I smile.
Just a little.
"Alright," I say quietly. "I've got a plan."
Pause.
"You're not going to like it."
I raise my gaze.
At the swarm.
At the system.
At the death already reaching for me.
And inside—
not fear.
Clarity.
Clean.
Cold.
Controlled.
"Then again," I add, "neither am I."
I step forward.
Not back.
Not sideways.
Straight into the worst place possible.
Because that's where—
there's a chance.
Either I complete the mission,
or I'm done.
And honestly…
I'm still not sure
which one is worse.