I rub my temples and lean against the cracked panel, trying not to think about how fast this group is falling apart. “We’ve lost one of the wildcards,” I mutter. “And the maze keeps changing layout. I can’t predict anything if it won’t stay still for five damn seconds.”
Dravven smirks. “Welcome to my dating life.”
I glare at him. “Not the time.”
He shrugs, but the corner of his mouth twitches. He needs humor to survive. I need control. We’re both losing.
The ceiling vents hiss. I freeze. The sound is too familiar—toomechanical.
Something drops from above—metallic spheres with blinking green lights. The civilianscheer.
“Oh thank the stars, rescue drones!”
“No!” I shout, but it’s too late.
The spheres split open midair, revealing sleek, silver bodies that look almost insectoid—multi-limbed, perfect teeth gleaming wet in the light.Swarm bots.They land on the nearest man and begineating.
Not biting.Disassembling.
His screams are animal, raw and unending, until they cut off with a wetsnap.The bots strip him to the bone in seconds. Then, like good little predators, they retract their limbs, clean the blood from their chassis, and fly back into the vents.
Dirk Husker’s cartoon face bursts across every wall panel, smiling so wide it’s obscene.
“Oops!” he chirps. “Someone forgot to check their warranty! Don’t worry, players—free replacements are on backorder!”
Borzen roars and punches a console, shattering it into molten debris. Sparks rain down. The Maze Master throws animatedconfetti.
I tune him out. If I listen, I’ll break.
Instead, I focus on the sealed door at the far end of the corridor. Big, reinforced. It’s not part of the original design. Husker added it.
And I don’t trust what’s behind it.
“I’m opening it,” I announce.
Dravven looks up. “You sure that’s smart?”
“No,” I admit. “But it’s necessary.”
Borzen narrows his eyes. “You shouldn’t go alone.”
I meet his gaze. “You shouldn’t stop me.”
He huffs through his teeth, half warning, half respect. “Your funeral, Engineer.”
“Already RSVP’d,” I shoot back, grabbing my tool gauntlet from the floor. It’s scuffed and half fried, but it’ll do. I approach the sealed door, and the wall hums under my fingertips.
The engineering lock’s Husker’s handiwork—lazy but flashy. Layers of encryption disguised as game code. It’s cute, really, like a toddler trying to hide behind a curtain made of glass.
“I see you, Dirk,” I mutter, running the gauntlet’s prongs across the lock interface. “You’re clever, but I’m meaner.”
A low voice behind me says, “That’s what they all say.”
I ignore Dravven. Focus. The door clicks once. Twice. I’m in.
The chamber beyond is… ordinary.
Square room. Gray walls. One dim light flickering overhead. No traps. No scent of ozone or blood. Just silence thick enough to choke on.
