Kimmy’s cybernetic eye pulsed red, her jaw tight as Killy’s demand hung in the air, the tunnel’s silence amplifying its weight. She shifted her weight, the gash on her calf stinging beneath the makeshift bandage, her frustration boiling over. “Dammit, Barnes. You realize we just met? Alright, I fucking promise,” she snapped, her voice rough, the words a reluctant vow. Her mind churned—Killy’s intensity stirred memories of Victor’s cold dismissal, the moment he’d cast her out, her eye a permanent reminder of her failure. She’d let too many suffer under the Ascendancy’s rule; this promise was her chance to make it right, even if trusting Killy felt like a leap into the dark.
Lane’s gray eyes met Killy’s, a flicker of resolve breaking through his usual caution. “I’m in this now, Killy. Couldn’t stop if I wanted to,” he said, his voice steady, a quiet conviction in his words. A memory surfaced—a mission years ago, following orders to secure a rebel outpost, only to find civilians caught in the chaos, their screams haunting him as he’d walked away. He’d defected to escape that guilt, but it followed him, and Killy’s mission gave him a chance to atone, a purpose he couldn’t abandon. Sprocket, perched on his shoulder, fidgeted, his tail glowing a softer yellow, his movements hesitant after Killy’s stern tone, the little squirrel’s usual cheer dimmed by the weight of the promise he’d made.
The tunnel’s air grew colder, a faint vibration pulsing through the walls, a reminder of the tech that powered this place. Killy nodded at Lane and Kimmy, their promises settling over him like a mantle, his determination to save the kids driving him forward. He checked the comms, but the signal was faint, Junior’s voice crackling through, “Killy… careful…” The interference was worse now, cutting them off further, a growing threat after the clearer signals earlier. He glanced at the rubble blocking their path, the debris a stark reminder of the tunnel’s decay, and motioned for the team to move, their alliance fragile but holding.
A low, rhythmic thud echoed through the passage, each beat a heavy pressure that vibrated through the stone, the sound carrying a threatening edge. Lane tensed, his Trident emitter glowing faintly as he scanned the darkness ahead, Sprocket’s tail shifting to red, his small frame trembling. “That doesn’t sound friendly,” Lane muttered, his usual quip laced with unease, his eyes narrowing as the thud grew louder. Kimmy’s cybernetic eye whirred, scanning the tunnel, her voice sharp but steady, “It’s something big. We’re not done yet.” Her fingers flexed on her Trident, ready to ignite a plasma construct, her mind already racing through the defenses she’d seen in the Lattice room.
The thudding stopped, replaced by a high-pitched whine as the tunnel ahead lit up with a grid of crimson laser beams, crisscrossing the passage like a deadly net. The beams crackled with energy, their glow casting stark shadows on the walls, each intersection a point of lethal precision. Killy’s gut tightened, the obstacle a new threat in this hellish maze, his focus narrowing to the task at hand—getting through, getting to the kids. “Stay back,” he warned, raising a hand, the heat of the lasers palpable even from a distance.
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Sprocket’s tail flashed brighter, his voice a trembling squeak, “Hot! Hot! Bad lines!” The little bot’s sensors whirred, projecting a holographic map of the grid’s pattern, the beams shifting in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Lane studied the projection, his caution evident in his tight grip on his Trident. “They’re on a cycle—ten seconds per shift. We can time it, but one wrong move…” He trailed off, the implication clear, his wariness from the clanker fight still fresh.
Kimmy’s jaw tightened, memories of the Lattice room flashing through her mind—similar defenses, ones she’d seen firsthand, Victor’s handiwork meant to protect their secrets. “Victor’s work,” she said, her voice bitter, the name a reminder of her exile, her eye, her shame. “He always liked his toys lethal. We’ll need to move fast—together.” Her tone carried a grudging teamwork, the promise to Killy tethering her to the kids she was determined to save.
Killy nodded, his focus sharp, his commitment to the kids grounding him. “We go on my mark,” he said, watching the grid’s cycle, Sprocket’s hologram ticking down the seconds. “Three… two… one—move!” The team darted forward as the beams shifted, Killy leading the way, his body low, the heat of the lasers grazing his shoulder as he slipped through a gap. Lane followed, his movements precise, Sprocket clinging to his shoulder with a nervous chirp. Kimmy brought up the rear, her cybernetic eye guiding her steps, the promise to keep fighting burning in her chest.
They cleared the first grid, the beams snapping back into place behind them, but the tunnel floor cracked beneath their weight, a hiss of gas escaping—methane, acrid and choking, a remnant of decayed organic matter trapped in the tunnel’s depths. Killy coughed, his eyes watering, the toxic cloud rising fast, adding a desperate edge to their movements. “Faster!” he barked, the second grid ahead lighting up, its beams tighter, moving quicker, the gas stinging their lungs as they pressed on.
They cleared the second grid, the beams snapping shut behind them, the methane cloud dissipating as they stumbled into a wider section of the tunnel, their breaths ragged, the air still bitter on their tongues. But the tunnel wasn’t done with them yet. The walls ahead shimmered as holographic projections of soldiers emerged, their forms flickering but solid enough to engage, their plasma weapons crackling with energy. Sprocket’s tail flashed red, his voice a panicked squeak, “Ghosts! Bad ghosts!”
Killy’s Trident ignited, a plasma blade glowing blue as he braced for the fight. Lane’s emitter hummed, forming a plasma whip, his resolve hardened by his promise, the civilians he couldn’t save years ago a ghost he’d fight for now. Kimmy’s gauntlet crackled, ready to form spikes, her cybernetic eye scanning the holograms for weaknesses, her guilt now a weapon against her former allies. The soldiers advanced, their forms flickering, the tech’s pulse a constant backdrop, and Killy stepped forward, his voice a low growl, “We’re not stopping now.”
