The ladder rattled with every step they took, vibrating under Nero's hands like it was breathing. The shaft around them stretched downward into a darkness so deep it seemed to swallow sound. The faint hum of machinery echoed faintly from above—the Reconstruction Unit forcing its bulk against the sealed lift door.
Helia kept descending just below him, her movements steady and controlled. But Nero could hear the subtle tension in her breath—the kind that came from fighting panic with pure will.
Metal dust drifted down from above.Nero swallowed. "Helia… how far does this go?"
"As far as the Archive needs it to," she muttered.
Not comforting.
Below them, the shaft swallowed the light from Nero's handlamp, unraveling it into streaks of dim glow. It felt like descending into the lungs of a sleeping giant—one that could wake at any moment.
A metallic groan traveled down the ladder.
Helia froze.
"What was that?" Nero whispered.
"Not the Unit," she said. "Something else."
Before Nero could ask what "else" meant, a thin tremor traveled through the ladder—sharp, vibrating his bones.
Helia hissed, "Grip tight!"
The ladder jerked suddenly, metal grinding loudly.Nero's heart lurched as his boots slipped on the rung—his grip clenched instinctively.
"Helia!" he gasped.
She reached up instantly, grabbing Nero's ankle with one hand, steadying him. Her grip was bruisingly firm.
"I've got you," she called. "Don't let go."
Nero breathed hard, nodding even though she couldn't see it. The tremor faded slowly.
And then—
A pulse.
Soft. Faint. Rhythmic.
Not mechanical.
Human.
A heartbeat.
Nero stiffened."Helia… did you feel that?"
"No," she said. "What did you—"
Another pulse washed through him—this time stronger, like a warm ripple spreading from somewhere deep inside his chest.
Then the world tilted.
Not from the ladder.
From inside his mind.
Nero blinked—and the shaft dissolved.
He wasn't falling.
He wasn't climbing.
He was standing in a long hallway—white walls, soft lights, air clean and warm. The smell was familiar, almost comforting. A distant laugh echoed, small and bright.
A child?
No.
Two children.
Nero's breath hitched as the shapes sharpened—two small figures running through the hall. One slightly older, tugging the younger by the hand.
The older boy turned, smiling—his face blurred, but warm.
Nero…
The voice echoed—soft, affectionate, full of warmth that made Nero's chest throb.
Nero, stay close. Don't let go.
The younger child—him—reached out and grabbed the boy's hand.
Their fingers intertwined.
A feeling washed through Nero so strong he nearly broke apart.
Safety.Belonging.Home.
"Nero!"
Helia's voice crashed into him like a cold wave.The hallway shattered—white walls dissolving into spirals of teal and black.
Nero, don't let go!
An echo of the boy's voice—fearful now, desperate—snapped through the fading vision.
Nero's eyes flew open.
The ladder was there again.The cold was back.The shaft swallowed his breath.
He clung to the metal like it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Helia's voice floated up from below, urgent. "Nero! Answer me!"
"I'm—" He swallowed hard. "I'm here."
"What happened?"
He didn't know how to explain it.A memory so real it ached.A voice so familiar it broke him.
"I saw… someone," Nero whispered. "Someone important."
Helia didn't respond immediately. When she did, her voice was soft, cautious.
"Prototype Eleven?"
"No." Nero shook his head. "Older. Someone from before."
Before the wipe.Before the pod.Before everything.
Helia took a slow breath. "We talk later. Move now."
He nodded and resumed climbing.
The shaft grew wider the deeper they descended—lights appearing along the walls, flickering in pale amber. The air warmed, carrying a faint hum of energy.
Finally, the ladder ended at a grated platform. Helia jumped down first, scanning the area. Nero followed, boots clanking softly.
They stood in a massive cylindrical chamber.Pipes twisted along the walls like roots.Pulses of amber light throbbed between them.
Nero frowned. "What is this place?"
Helia's eyes narrowed. "A pulse channel."
"A what?"
"It regulates the Archive's heartbeat."
Nero blinked. "Heart… beat?"
She motioned to the glowing pipes. "These carry the stabilizing frequency that keeps the Archive's core coherent. Without them, the entire structure fractures."
Nero stepped closer to one. The warm amber light pulsed beneath his palm—steady, rhythmic.
Just like the pulse he felt in his memory.
The realization struck him hard.
"Helia… this rhythm…"
She looked up. "What about it?"
"It matches my memory."
A flicker of uncertainty passed through her eyes. "Nero—memories don't connect to infrastructure. That's—"
She froze mid-sentence.
A harsh metallic screech tore through the chamber.
Both spun toward the upper shaft.
A long, black mechanical limb punched through the ladder above—shredding the metal like paper.
The Reconstruction Unit.
It was forcing its way down.
Helia swore under her breath, grabbing Nero's wrist. "We need to move. Now."
They sprinted across the grated platform, weaving between pipes and dark machinery. The chamber shook as the Unit descended, its heavy claws tearing through the shaft walls.
They reached a service tunnel at the chamber's far end. Helia slammed her hand against the emergency override.
Nothing.
She hit it again.
The panel sparked.Flickered.Died.
"Helia—" Nero began.
"I know!" she snapped.
She ripped the panel open, exposing tangled wires. Her hands moved quickly—rewiring, bypassing, forcing the lock open manually.
Nero stood guard, heart racing as the Unit's massive shape dropped further into view—red sensors glowing like burning coals.
"Helia!" he shouted.
"Almost—"
The door snapped open.
"GO!"
Nero grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. Helia slammed the door shut just as a metallic claw scraped across the outside.
They stumbled through the narrow passage, lungs burning. The sound of the Unit's claws raked against the metal behind them—slow, deliberate, hunting.
They weren't safe.
But they were alive.
For now.
After a long stretch of running, the tunnel widened into a low chamber filled with old terminals and scattered debris. Helia immediately checked the structural integrity.
"It won't break through here," she said, slumping against a console.
Nero caught his breath. "Helia… back there. I remembered something."
Her head lifted slightly. "Tell me."
"I wasn't alone," he whispered. "There was… someone with me. Someone older. Someone who cared."
Helia inhaled sharply, eyes dark. "You think it's him? The man from the chamber?"
Nero shook his head. "This felt different. More… intimate."
Helia said nothing.
Nero stepped closer, voice steadying.
"I think he was family."
Helia looked up sharply—but not with surprise.
With fear.
The kind a person feels when pieces of a truth they've avoided begin falling into place.
She whispered:
"…Nero. If you had a family—why would the Archive erase them?"
The answer hit both of them at the same time.
Because whoever that man was—whoever Nero once was—their connection threatened everything the Architect built.
The memory wasn't random.
It was a warning.
A beginning.
Nero felt something stir deep in his chest—a quiet, dangerous resolve.
"We find him," Nero said softly.
Helia didn't argue.
Because now she understood:
The Archive wasn't afraid of Nero's power.
It was afraid of his past