Booger cracks a bottle rocket between two fingers—bright hiss, a sputter of sparks. Burnout hits play on a speaker; first chords of a Slayer cover blast—harsh strings ripping open the morning quiet. The HOA guards jerk, stagger—hands over ears.
Booger’s rocket arcs up. Pop. Crack. Fizz. It explodes in a flare of red light above guard #1’s head. The guard yelps, golden light bouncing off his skin like lava. Burnout’s voice screams in the music, distortion heavy—every riff a dagger swung at perfect cadence.
The other guards flock, drawn by the chaos. They don’t know whether to curse or worship.
I seize the moment.
“Olivia—garage!” I hiss, tugging her sleeve. She doesn’t hesitate.
We sprint toward the right side of the house, where the garage juts out—a steel maw with motion sensors that pulse dimly. The Spear shard in my pack hums louder: the house’s heartbeat, its corrupt power source. I swear I feel the floor tremble with it.
Glass doors slide open with silky hiss. From behind them, I see tidy rows of smart devices—touchscreens, hovering drones, holographic projectors. They flicker, glitch; mouths form in screens. A thermostat panel shudders, a crack appearing like a wound. From the speaker in the corner, an AI voice splutters: “Good m---or....ning, Mr. Ca----” then cuts off.
I crouch beside the garage entry point. Olivia drops next to me, breath visible, chest tight.
“Be careful,” she says. Her voice is quiet.
I nod. Spear in hand, I slide inside. The air inside is cold, sterile. Smell of sanitized plastic. The walls leak faintly—sweat from wired panels, liquid pooling along the baseboards, dark and reflective.
The architecture moans. Doorways twist into several mouths—wood or metal folds like jaws unhinged. A ceiling light flickers, then pulses; droplets of something grey drip from where an overhead panel has split.
Inside the garage, car doors are open. Smart vehicles, chrome and LED strips, sensors chirping. One opens a door. I duck behind it. The vehicle’s headlights flare like eyeballs.
“Burnout, Booger—where are you?” Olivia’s voice crackles through comms, but distant.
I glimpse them: Booger across the drive, lighting more rockets. Burnout at the gate, pummeling a security panel so it sparks.
I press forward, boots slipping on spilled oil, stepping over wires that writhe on the floor like serpents. The hub of the house is here—power conduit glowing faint green, feeding from the Spear shard embedded in a pedestal at center room. The shard pulses, cracks, dark veins snaking across its surface.
My mouth is dry. Panic uncoils in my chest.
“Olivia,” I whisper, pressing my back to a garage wall, cold metal biting through cloth.
She joins me, breath warm on my ear. “We’re in,” she says quietly.
I nod, blade ready.
We step into the garage deeper, every echo magnified, every flicker of light feeling like a trapdoor.
Outside, the distorted cover of Slayer is still thrumming through the air—Booger and Burnout’s distraction working too well.
Something moves in a mirror. Smoke. Or flesh. I barely make it out before it fades again.
I tighten my grip on the spear.
Olivia draws closer. Her hand presses into mine.
We edge forward.
The corridors stretch and twist like a wound. Concrete bleeds into metal, metal into flesh, wires drooping from the ceiling like veins. Every hallway we pass throbs with pulse, as though the house itself is alive, breathing, waiting. My ears ring with the hum of corrupt energy—too loud tones, a whisper of electricity and dread. Olivia grips my hand tight; her fingers ice but steady.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper.
She nods. Her other hand presses against her ear—listening.
The Spear shard in my pack burns so hot it’s nearly a blister. Every step closer to the core feels like stepping into a furnace of distortion. The walls’ surfaces ripple—digital screens malfunction, revealing veins of darkness under the gloss. Thermostat panels drip molten plastic, doors weep hydraulic fluid. The smell is antiseptic and acrid and something like old rot together. I want to puke but I don’t. I have no right.
We round a corner, the smell of iron strong, and then we see him.
