Kane moved fast—but not recklessly.
He took alleys, service corridors, places the city forgot to watch closely. The baby cried against his chest, small fists gripping his jacket like it was the only stable thing left in the world.
Every cry felt loud.
Too loud.
"Risk assessment," Kane said quietly.
"Acoustic signature exceeds optimal thresholds," the AI replied.
"Surface-level exposure probability increasing."
"I know," Kane muttered.
He adjusted his grip, pulling the jacket tighter, trying to shield the sound. The crying softened but didn't stop.
The maintenance hatch opened smoothly. Kane slipped inside and sealed it behind him, descending back into the underground network.
The moment the hatch closed, the city noise vanished.
The baby cried louder.
The sound echoed.
Kane winced.
"This base isn't designed for this," he said.
"Confirmed," the AI replied.
"Human infant requires environmental adjustments: temperature control, sanitation, nutrition, auditory comfort."
Kane stopped walking.
"In other words," he said flatly, "she doesn't belong here."
No answer came immediately.
That pause was new.
"Classifying human presence," the AI said finally.
"Entity is non-hostile. High mortality risk without intervention."
Kane exhaled slowly and continued moving.
He reached a secondary chamber—unfinished, sterile, empty. Machines paused as he entered, sensors locking onto the new heat signature.
"Restrict all machine access to this room," Kane ordered.
"No heavy equipment. No power tools."
"Command acknowledged."
He set the baby down carefully on a folded jacket atop a crate. She cried, face red, breath hitching between wails.
Kane stared at her.
She was impossibly small. Soft. Fragile in a way that had no place in his world of steel and calculations.
"This is temporary," he said, more to himself than the AI.
"Temporary parameters undefined," the AI replied.
Kane ignored it.
"Run a supply check," he said. "Food. Formula. Medical items. Anything usable."
"Available resources insufficient," the AI said.
"Acquisition required from surface-level facilities."
Kane's jaw tightened.
More exposure. More risk. More complications.
The baby's cries weakened slightly, turning into tired, hiccupping breaths. One hand reached out blindly, fingers brushing Kane's sleeve.
He froze.
For just a second, the memories tried to surface—of the end, of abandoned streets, of screams that sounded just like this but never stopped.
He stepped back.
"No emotional modeling," Kane said sharply.
"Emotional analysis is already in progress," the AI replied.
"Anomaly detected."
Kane turned away.
"I didn't save her," he said.
"I removed her from an unsafe environment. That's all."
"Statement accepted," the AI replied.
But it recorded the hesitation.
Machines resumed work outside the chamber. The base continued expanding. Steel met stone. Progress didn't slow.
Inside the small room, Kane stood alone with a problem that couldn't be dismantled, optimized, or ignored.
Aboveground, the world went on pretending.
Below it, Kane Mercer realized something uncomfortable.
Variables like this didn't disappear.
They stayed.