CHAPTER — PRIORITIES

  There was no breather.

  The city didn’t allow one.

  The staff twisted in Cameron’s hands before anyone spoke, its pull skidding across bad directions like a needle hunting north and finding nothing worth trusting.

  Arthur checked the tablet, checked it again, like the numbers might flinch.

  “Five.”

  Tony barked a laugh, sharp enough to hurt. “Five what?”

  “Five failures lining up,” Arthur said. “All small. All the kind that turn nasty the moment we blink.”

  Lenny rolled his bad ankle. The boot lagged, then corrected with a sulky whine.

  “Pick the ones that bite.”

  Cameron scanned the street. Phones were up now—not for them, but for what they left behind. Water spreading where it shouldn’t. Lights hesitating. A bus stalled mid?exit with its doors hanging open like a held breath.

  “Tony. Depot.”

  Tony was already moving.

  “Arthur. Grid again. Separate feed.”

  Arthur hesitated half a step. “Without the staff—”

  “You’ll buy time,” Cameron said. “That’s enough.”

  Arthur ran.

  Lenny shifted his weight, boots humming unevenly.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Guess I get the mess in between.”

  “Stay high,” Cameron said.

  Lenny grinned and kicked for the air.

  They split wider than Cameron liked.

  ---

  The depot was noise and diesel and impatience.

  Tony vaulted the fence and landed in a snarl of cables and shouted instructions. A bus sat skewed across two lanes, engine coughing like it wanted to quit on principle.

  A driver waved frantically. “We’ve reset it three times!”

  Tony didn’t slow. He swung once.

  Not at the bus.

  At the concrete under it.

  The hammer hit and the shock rippled outward, settling the chassis just enough. The engine caught clean, roaring back to life.

  Cheers broke loose.

  Tony turned—

  —and saw fuel dripping in a steady, deliberate line.

  He sucked his teeth. “Of course.”

  ---

  Arthur reached the junction breathless.

  Nothing dramatic. That was the problem.

  A soft overload, systems politely disagreeing while heat crept up behind the walls.

  He stepped into the middle of it and started talking.

  Not shouting.

  Explaining.

  “Two minutes,” Arthur said, fast and certain. “No resets. No optimizations. Let it cool.”

  A scoff. Then a pause. Then someone nodded.

  The load eased.

  Arthur slid a hand down the wall and stayed there, shaking.

  ---

  Lenny went up.

  Awning. Signpost. Fire escape. His boots caught edges that didn’t exist last week, gravity negotiating late and badly with every step.

  Below him, a streetlight flickered, then went dark. A small crowd gathered, restless but calm.

  Lenny dropped beside the junction box and popped it open.

  The timing chip inside gleamed, overclocked and proud.

  “Oh, you’re the problem,” he said, and yanked it free.

  Light snapped back on.

  Applause drifted upward.

  Then the boots screamed.

  Lenny pitched sideways, caught the lamppost in a shower of sparks, and slid down hard.

  He hit the pavement and stayed there a beat too long.

  “Still alive!” he shouted before anyone asked.

  ---

  They regrouped by gravity, not choice.

  Slower.

  More spread out.

  Tony smelled like fuel and hot metal. Arthur looked hollowed out. Lenny kept his left foot hovering, like the ground had personally offended him.

  Cameron counted heads.

  All there.

  For now.

  Phones tracked them openly now. Not cheering.

  Counting.

  A man pushed through the loose ring of people. “You skipped our block,” he said. “Transformer blew.”

  Arthur stepped forward—

  Cameron’s look stopped him cold.

  “We didn’t skip,” Cameron said. “We couldn’t reach.”

  The man laughed, bitter. “Same thing.”

  Sirens threaded through the air again. Two voices this time, offset, finding harmony.

  Tony looked up. “Okay. That’s new.”

  Pressure settled behind Cameron’s ribs. Not heat.

  Expectation.

  “Not aimed at us,” Arthur said, too carefully. “Not yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Tony replied. “They’re moving.”

  Lenny forced weight onto the bad leg. The boots protested, then held.

  “City’s done asking nice.”

  Across the street, a public screen refreshed. Headlines blinked, changed, blinked again too fast to read.

  Cameron closed both hands around the staff.

  “Next wave,” he said, “we don’t chase.”

  Tony’s grin cut feral. “We hold?”

  “We choose,” Cameron said.

  The sirens sharpened.

  The city lined up the failures.

  Waiting to see what they would let break.