The underground factory no longer felt like a single location.
It felt like a web.
Tunnels stretched outward in all directions, branching, reinforcing, duplicating—each one carved by tireless machines that did not ask why. Structural supports locked into place with surgical precision. Power conduits ran parallel to transit lines above.
The city didn't know.
Kane stood alone in the central command chamber, arms crossed, watching expansion projections bloom through his vision.
"Maximum expansion parameters are approaching," the AI said.
"Current production can support further growth, but strategic limits must be defined."
Kane's expression didn't change.
"How far can we go?" he asked.
"Using current materials and projected acquisition," the AI replied, "we can occupy sixty-eight percent of the city's subterranean infrastructure before instability risk increases."
Kane nodded slowly.
"That's enough."
The AI continued, neutral but precise.
"Expansion beneath civilian sectors will create opportunities to assist human survival once the alien virus activates."
Kane cut it off.
"No."
The word echoed in the chamber.
The AI paused for a measurable fraction of a second.
"Clarify directive."
Kane stared at the city schematics hovering in front of him. Apartment blocks. Subways. Hospitals. Emergency shelters. In the previous timeline, he had died begging for help in streets just like these.
"I'm not here to save anyone," he said calmly.
"People made their choices before. They'll make them again."
Silence followed—then the machines continued working.
"Directive confirmed," the AI said.
"No humanitarian protocols will be prioritized."
Kane leaned against the railing, watching androids move below like ants, efficient and endless.
"I want everything I can reach," he continued.
"Tunnels. Foundations. Utility lines. Data routes. I don't care who lives above them."
"Expansion objective updated," the AI replied.
"City-wide subterranean dominance will be achieved incrementally."
Kane closed his eyes briefly.
In the old world, he had trusted strangers. He had relied on communities. He had believed numbers mattered.
It had earned him betrayal and a slow death.
This time, there would be no alliances. No warning sirens. No rescue operations.
Only preparation.
"When the virus hits," Kane said quietly, "this city will tear itself apart."
"Yes," the AI replied.
"And I don't want to hear about it."
"Information filters can be applied."
"Do it."
Confirmed.
Below him, the machines continued their silent conquest of the earth—expanding wherever there was space, wherever steel could be pushed aside, wherever humans never thought to look.
Above, the city slept.
And beneath it, something merciless was ready.