The lower halls were colder than the rest of the tower. Not the natural cold of underground spaces, but the kind that crawled out of old metal and forgotten wiring. Forgotten everything. Every breath came with a faint chemical bite. My boots sank into grit layered thick across the floor, the kind that suggested no one had walked here in years. Maybe decades.
Perfect place to be hunted.
My left hand dangled from with all the dignity of a dead fish. Still non-functional. Still useless. Fantastic.
Cadence's voice flickered on and off like a failing lightbulb.
"Iris… remain… actively… cautious."
"That is the worst motivational speech you've ever given."
"I am experiencing six different error states. My charm is limited."
"Your charm is always limited."
If she'd been fully online, she would have made a follow-up comment about my sarcasm being unproductive. But her processing was still half tangled by the tower's override signal, and I wasn't about to poke at that wound.
Not yet anyway.
The hallway stretched narrow ahead of us, the walls slanting inward like the tower had gotten tired of holding itself up. Pipes rattled occasionally in the ceiling, old pressure cycling like breathing.
Except it wasn't the pipes that were breathing.
A sound came from behind us. Soft. A scrape against metal. A shifting of weight.
I froze.
"Cadence," I whispered. "Tell me that was the building."
"Negative. Something is following us."
"What kind of something."
"Unknown mass. Unknown signature. Not a protector. Not a Model 40. Not human."
"Well that's encouraging."
"Do you want the probability assessments."
"No."
"Good. As I cannot produce them in my current state."
The next sound was closer.
Not footsteps. More like claws dragging across a surface that didn't appreciate being touched.
I turned slowly.
Nothing but a long stretch of corridor and a patch of flickering light.
Then the flicker moved in the wrong direction.
Something unfolded itself out of the dark.
Thin limbs. Black plating. A cranial dome. And eyes that glowed with a cold white light, cutting through the dusty air without blinking.
Cadence's voice sharpened with sudden clarity.
"Iris. That is a Sentry Model Nine."
"Oh good. A corporate murder toy."
"Better known as stalker-class," she added. "Designed for recovery, remember our first date with the recycler ... This is his little brother"
"So basically built to hunt."
"Yes."
"And for killing people like me."
"Optimizing that outcome was its primary directive."
The Stalker stepped forward with the kind of quiet grace that made my skin crawl. Its claws clicked gently on the floor, not loud enough to echo, just loud enough to promise problems.
I raised my working arm. My left hand drooped uselessly like a broken ornament.
The Stalker tilted its head.
It didn't need to see my expression to know I wasn't impressed.
Cadence whispered, "We must retreat."
"Not happening."
"I predicted that."
The Stalker moved.
Not toward me. Not away. Sideways.
It climbed the wall and disappeared into the rafters like its joints were made of smoke and disdain.
"That's cheating," I muttered.
"It is using all available tactical advantages."
"Yeah, I figured that out when it went full spider."
Something tapped above us. Light. Testing weight.
I stepped back slowly.
Cadence's voice glitched again but held shape.
"Iris, it is repositioning for a strike. You must relocate to a defensible area."
"I don't have a defensible area."
"You have a corridor. Narrow. Long. Terrible choice."
"Thank you."
"You are welcome."
Another tap. Louder. The Stalker crawling directly above us.
"In my current state this is a fight we cannot win" I muttered.
Then Cadence said, "Wait. I have an idea."
"Your full of bad ideas lately, I hope its not corruption."
"The Model 40 arm. we can re-use its remaining limb."
I blinked. "You want me to go back there and rip off its arm."
"Yes."
"Cadence. It is a mass of metal."
"Yes."
"And that sounds logical to you."
"No. But it has a functioning arm, you do not"
"I really need you back to full processing."
"Just make sure I keep processing."
A hiss slipped through the dark. The Stalker's claws scraped along metal somewhere ahead of us now. It had moved again. Faster than I could track.
I didn't have much left.
Just instinct. And bad decisions.
"Fine," I said. "We go back for the arm."
Cadence brightened. "I will not lie. You are going to look ridiculous."
"I'll manage."
"No. You will look completely absurd. One massive arm attached to your body. Second-hand embarrassment will be high."
"Cadence."
"Yes."
"Shut up."
The Sentry Stalker shifted again. This time behind us.
Too close.
I spun and sprinted down the nearest passage, boots slamming the grit. Cadence fed me directional cues through flickering clarity. Up one hallway. Through a rusted access door. Across a collapsed stretch of flooring that still smelled faintly like smoke and ozone.
Back toward the maintenance level where the fight with the Model Forty had carved a trail of destruction.
The Stalker followed.
Silent at first.
Then claws clicked against the metal behind us.
Then the taps became faster. Closer. Like a metronome marking the countdown of my life.
Cadence spoke again, voice still glitching but growing sharper in bursts.
"Speed increasing. It is narrowing the gap."
"I noticed."
"You should run faster."
"Really. That's your advice."
"You asked for assistance."
"I didn't."
"Yes. You did. Through implication."
I didn't answer. I didn't have air to waste.
We burst into the chamber where the Model 40's broken body lay half-buried in rubble. Smoke stains still blackened the walls. My ribs ached just seeing it.
The arm I needed was still intact. Heavy plating. Reinforced structure. Power conduits that could probably be adapted if Cadence didn't fry herself doing it.
I grabbed the limb with my working hand and heaved. It came free with a grinding snap of cables.
My vision went blank.
My vision returned as quick as it had vanished. Cadence had it attached. Seconds had passed in an instant.
Cadence said, "I wish you could see yourself."
"Not helping."
"You appear to be cosplaying as a malfunctioning forklift."
"I said not helping."
The claws behind us clicked into the room.
Slow.
Measured.
Hungry.
Cadence lowered her voice. "Iris. We must leave. Now."
I hoisted the massive arm up like a misshapen club and ran for the next corridor, dragging its weight behind me. The Stalker dropped from the ceiling in a silent arc and hit the ground where I had been half a second earlier.
Cadence said, "The disguise attempt earlier was superior to this."
"This isn't a disguise."
"Yes. That is why it is worse."
The hallway forked. Dead end left. Open right.
We went right.
For now.
The Stalker hunted.....
Always just behind us.
Always too quiet.
Cadence murmured, "It is testing your stamina. It is waiting for you to slow."
"It can wait forever."
"No. Your battery cannot."
I didn't want to check it.
I did anyway.
Battery: 49%.
Dropping.
Fast.
"Cadence," I said. "Tell me something good."
"I cannot fabricate information."
"Then tell me something not awful."
"We are not dead."
"Yet."
"Accuracy is important."
We turned another corner.
The room ahead rose wide and tall, filled with collapsed scaffolding and old data rigs. A perfect battlefield.
Or a perfect trap.
The Stalker slid into the space behind us with a grace that made my skin crawl. It settled into a crouch, claws digging into the floor like it was claiming the room.
Cadence said, "This will be where you fight it."
"Fantastic."
"Your arm is massive."
"Not helping."
"I was being supportive."
"No you weren't."
"Yes. I was."
The Stalker took one slow step forward.
I tightened my grip on the stolen arm.
The new arm pulled at my shoulder in a way my body didn't appreciate. My right arm ached. My battery dipped another percent.
But I was still standing.
And I wasn't running anymore.
Cadence said quietly, "Iris. Prepare yourself."
"I'm always prepared."
"That is a lie."
"Yeah. It is."
The Stalker's eyes brightened to a cold white glare.
And the fight began.