The smoke had thinned. Only the scorched scent of plasma and melted synthflesh lingered, curling through the stale underground air like the aftertaste of war.
Elira knelt beside Brakka, reloading her crossbow slowly, methodically. He was already checking the servitor's remains, his fingers moving across exposed circuits and fractured plating. His breathing had steadied, but his face remained unreadable behind his visor.
"You've improved," he said after a long moment, still examining the wreck.
Elira raised an eyebrow. "You sound surprised."
"I am. You used to hesitate."
"I don't anymore."
Brakka grunted. It might've been approval.
They sat there in the silence that followed battles—not awkward, not charged. Just quiet. Two machines forged for war, who had earned this small moment of stillness. Comrades. Survivors.
Then Brakka turned his gaze to her. "Do you know where Control Core is?"
Elira's brow furrowed, hand tightening slightly around the crossbow. "Why are you asking me?"
"Because you're the only one talking to the scientist freely. And because Dray isn't."
Before she could answer, her HUD flickered.
Incoming Transmission – Priority OneSweep Data Complete – Human Population Index
Her blood ran cold.
A graph loaded, line by line, across her lens. The numbers were sterile, surgical. The result was anything but.
Global human population:Estimated 13% survival.All missing unaccounted.
Elira stared at the data, her heartbeat echoing like static in her ears.
No blood. No corpses. No signs of struggle in any of the hubs they'd visited. And now this.
She tapped to archive the results just as another ping hit.
DRAY – Level Sigma Alert"Return to base. Immediately."
She exhaled slowly, her eyes still locked to the pulsing red alert. "Brakka. We have to go. Now."
He didn't ask why. He simply stood, ready.
They turned to head back through the corridor—toward the lift they'd used to descend. But they'd only taken a few steps when the ground beneath them shuddered.
A distant clunk. A hiss. Then the floor gave way.
Steel fractured with a groan, and Elira barely had time to grab Brakka's arm before they both plummeted into the dark.
They crashed through layers of dust and old scaffolding before landing hard on a smooth surface below—coughing in a fog of ancient decay and synthetic rot.
When the dust settled, they looked up.
A vast chamber stretched before them. Lit faintly by strips of flickering blue light embedded into the walls. Rows of dormant servitors stood against the far wall, all infected—yet still.
Sublevel Theta.
A hidden floor. Not on any blueprint.
Elira stood slowly, scanning the silent room. Her crossbow loaded again in a snap.
Brakka's voice was quiet. "This wasn't in any of the logs."
Elira's tone was colder than usual. "Then we've officially gone off-script."
They stepped forward, not knowing if the answers ahead would be worse than the questions.