The woods outside the DC stronghold were a graveyard of shadows, skeletal trees clawing at the gray dawn. Killy led the way, his boots sinking into the damp earth, each step a quiet promise to the kids back at the lab. Clay’s voice crackled through the comms in his ear, small but fierce. “Finch 2, all clear!” A beat later, Nora’s steady tone followed. “Finch 3, drones live.” Killy’s jaw tightened, the weight of their trust heavier than the Trident strapped to his wrist. He glanced back at Lane and Kimmy, their silhouettes sharp against the fading light. They were a mismatched trio—him, the outsider with a vendetta; Lane, the Ascendancy defector with secrets; and Kimmy, the exiled champion still wrestling with her past. But they were all he had, and he was all the kids had.

  The tunnel entrance loomed ahead, a jagged maw of concrete hidden beneath moss and rubble. The air reeked of mold, and a faint hum pulsed from deep within—Ascendancy tech, alive and waiting. Killy knelt, brushing aside debris to reveal the cracked stone steps descending into darkness. “This is it,” he said, voice low, his breath fogging in the chill. “Spire’s straight ahead, three miles underground. Lattice Chamber’s at the core.”

  Lane adjusted the pack on his shoulder, Sprocket perched there like a tiny sentinel, his mechanical tail glowing a soft yellow as he scanned the perimeter. “Three miles of hell,” Lane muttered, his usual smirk absent. “Clankers, traps, maybe wachhunds if we’re unlucky. And that’s before Victor.” His green eyes flicked to Killy, searching for a reaction. Killy didn’t give him one—just a nod, steady as stone.

  Kimmy’s cybernetic eye whirred, its red glow cutting through the gloom as she studied the tunnel. Her face was a mask of focus, but her fingers twitched on her Trident gauntlet, the plasma blade dark for now. “We’re walking into a meat grinder,” she said, her voice clipped, betraying the Ascendancy polish she’d never quite shed. “You sure about this, Barnes?”

  Killy met her gaze, unyielding.

  “I’m sure about the kids. That’s enough.” He started down the steps, the darkness swallowing him like a promise. Lane and Kimmy followed, their boots echoing on the stone, a rhythm of resolve in the suffocating quiet.

  The tunnel walls were slick with condensation, the air growing colder as they descended. Faint emergency lights flickered, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts. Sprocket’s tail pulsed yellow, his sensors humming softly, a small comfort against the unknown. Killy kept his pace steady, one hand brushing the wall for balance, the other hovering near his Trident. He’d faced clankers before, but the stronghold was Victor’s domain—Ascendancy ground zero. Every step felt like a dare.

  Kimmy broke the silence, her voice softer now, curiosity cutting through her usual edge. “Barnes, how’d you get so good with that thing?” She nodded at his Trident, its sleek metal catching the faint light. “You actually had me worried a couple times back there. I was raised with a Trident. How long ago did you pick yours up?”

  Killy glanced at her, surprised by the question. He shrugged, his voice steady but thoughtful. “About a week ago I guess. The nanobots… they kind of talk to me in a fight. Not words, exactly—just ideas, flashes of awareness.” He tapped the side of his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Guess they like me.”

  Kimmy’s brow furrowed, her cybernetic eye whirring as she processed that. “A week,” she said, almost to herself, then louder, “You’ve had it a week? It took me two hours just to focus a blade my first time.” Her tone was a mix of disbelief and something else—admiration, maybe, or envy.

  Killy chuckled, the sound rough but warm. “I read the manual. It was like stereo instructions. It said to just think about the blade. I treated it like a light switch—flip it on, let it do its thing. Didn’t overthink it. Sure as hell didn’t have to focus.”

  Kimmy stared at him, her flesh eye narrowing while the cybernetic one glowed steady red. “A light switch,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re insane, Barnes.” But there was a spark in her voice, a flicker of respect. She looked down at her own Trident, the nanobots inside humming faintly, as if confirming his words.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Killy turned the question back on her, his tone lighter but curious. “What about you? You’ve nearly killed me twice. You’re kind of fucking scary. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  Kimmy’s expression shifted, her jaw tightening as she looked away, her gaze tracing the tunnel’s damp walls. For a moment, she didn’t answer, and the only sound was the drip of water echoing in the dark. Then she spoke, her voice quieter, rawer, like she was peeling back a layer she’d kept buried. “I was ten when the Cutoff hit. My parents were… collateral. ‘An accident,’ the Ascendancy said.” Her cybernetic eye dimmed, the red glow fading to a dull pulse. “They died in the chaos—fires, riots, neutron bombs going off.’ I was alone.”

  Killy’s chest tightened, his own memories of the Cutoff flashing through him—flames, screams, his own family gone. He knew that kind of loss, the kind that carved you hollow. He stayed silent, letting her speak.

  “The council could have just killed me, or thrown me to live with folks like you. Sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound like that.” Killy nodded to her, a sign of his lack of offense. Kimmy continued, her voice steadying but heavy. “But they saw potential—a kid who’d survived the worst. They raised me, trained me, turned me into their poster child. ‘The future of humanity,’ they called me. Gave me the best—combat drills, tech implants, strategy tutors. I was their proof humans could thrive under them, a champion for their propaganda.” She touched her cybernetic eye, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “They made me a symbol. But symbols don’t get to choose.”

  Lane, who’d been quiet, let out a low whistle, his smirk returning. “You were all knees and elbows back then, tripping over your own ego.” His tone was teasing, but his gray eyes softened as he looked at her. “Don’t be modest, though. Every girl in the Ascendancy wanted to be you, Kimmy. Propaganda or not, you earned it.”

  Kimmy shot him a glare, but it lacked venom, and Killy caught the flicker of warmth between them—a history that ran deep, forged in the Ascendancy’s shadow. He pressed Lane, curious now. “What about you? Were you in the limelight with her?”

  Kimmy answered before Lane could, a smirk of her own creeping in. “Lane was even more popular. Didn’t need a campaign—everyone just gravitated to him. The golden boy who could do no wrong.” Her tone was half-mocking, half-admiring, and Lane waved it off, feigning modesty.

  “I didn’t like the spotlight,” Lane said, his voice lighter but carrying a shadow of something heavier—regret, maybe, or guilt. “Too much pressure. I’d rather work in the dark.” He adjusted Sprocket on his shoulder, the little bot chirping softly, as if agreeing.

  Killy studied them both, the pieces of their past clicking into place. Kimmy, molded by the Ascendancy’s machine, a champion turned traitor. Lane, the insider who’d walked away, carrying the weight of his own rebellion. And him, the outsider who’d lost everything but found a reason to keep fighting in the kids. They were broken, all of them, but together they might just be enough to break the Ascendancy, too.

  The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder, the hum of tech louder now, a menacing heartbeat in the dark. Killy’s hand brushed the wall, his fingers tracing cracks that spoke of age and neglect. The Ascendancy might be gods in their spires, but down here, their empire was rotting. He held onto that thought, a spark of hope in the suffocating gloom.

  They rounded a bend, the tunnel narrowing, the walls pressing in like a vise. Sprocket’s tail shifted, the yellow glow pulsing faster, a warning hum building in his tiny frame. Killy slowed, his senses sharpening, the hairs on his neck prickling. “Sprocket?” he murmured, glancing at Lane.

  The squirrel’s voice was a high-pitched squeak, laced with alarm. “Trouble!” His tail flashed red, the glow casting eerie shadows as a new sound filled the tunnel—a synchronized hum, mechanical and relentless. From the darkness ahead, a pack of sentinel robots scuttled into view, dog-sized, their black frames gleaming under blue sensor lights. Their legs clicked on the stone, a staccato rhythm of death, and their sensors locked onto the trio with a cold, unblinking focus.

  Killy’s Trident flared to life, the plasma blade igniting with a blue hiss, its light cutting through the dark. Kimmy’s gauntlet flickered, her plasma blade forming slower, her jaw set with determination. Lane readied his trident for ranged attacks, his movements swift and precise, Sprocket clinging to his shoulder with a nervous chirp.

  The bots advanced, their hum rising to a menacing whine, and Killy braced himself, the kids’ faces flashing through his mind—Clay, Nora, Reese, Junior. He’d get to the Lattice, or he’d die trying. “Here we go,” he growled, stepping forward as the tunnel erupted into chaos.