The derelict warehouse was a crypt of dust and shadow, its walls shuddering as clanker patrols closed in, their roars echoing through the Ascendancy city’s alleys. Killy crouched behind a rusted crate, his breath shallow, the Trident humming in his pocket, nanobots buzzing in his veins like a second heartbeat. Junior clung to him, trembling but his eyes fierce with trust, cradling Sprocket, whose cybernetic eyes darted nervously, glowing a soft blue in the dim light. Lane peered through a crack in the wall, his gray eyes sharp, the LEDs on his high-tech jacket casting a faint glow as he scanned the streets. The Ascendancy’s tallest spire loomed in the distance, its eerie pulse a beacon—the Lattice, where Clay, Nora, and Reese were held, their suffering a weight Killy carried in his bones.

  “No front door,” Lane said, his voice taut, the citywide alert straining his usual intensity. “Spire’s on lockdown—force fields, clankers, turrets. There’s a sewer service entrance used for drones, but it’s got defenses—sensors, turrets. My device can spoof the protocols, but it’ll be a tight window.”

  Killy’s jaw clenched, the kids’ suffering driving him forward, their faces—Clay’s quiet fear, Nora’s tears, Reese’s fragile hope—etched into his mind. “We move now,” he growled, his blue eyes burning with determination. “I’m all they have. We’re not waiting.”

  Lane’s gaze darkened, his voice a harsh whisper. “You’re risking this kid’s life, Killian. Sewers, spire—it’s suicide. Junior’s just a boy.”

  Killy’s grip on Junior tightened, his heart twisting at the words, but his glare was fierce. “You and Sprocket are in deep too, Lane. Why stay? What’s your stake?” Lane hesitated, his eyes flickering with a mix of anger and resolve. Sprocket, nestled in Junior’s arms, let out a soft chitter, his LED-fiberoptic tail flickering yellow, sensing the tension.

  Lane’s jaw tightened, his voice low. “I planned to ditch you at the tunnels,” he admitted, the confession heavy. “Get you in, then walk away. But your talk about the Shill—it’s tied to my mother’s affair, something that’s shaped my whole life. I need answers, Killian. I can’t let it keep twisting lives.”

  Killy nodded, recognizing the personal fight in Lane’s words, a mirror to his own. “Together then,” he said, his voice steady. “We save them, and you get your answers. Let’s move.”

  They dropped through a grate in the warehouse floor, landing in the sewers below with a splash, the fetid stench of waste and chemicals slamming into them. Lane’s UV light cut through the shadows, revealing slime-slick floors and rusted pipes that dripped with condensation, the air thick with the buzz of Ascendancy tech and the damp, earthy scent of decay. Killy led Junior through the maze, their boots splashing through filth, the tunnels twisting into dead ends or collapsed sections that forced them to backtrack. The walls seemed to close in, the ceiling groaning under the city’s weight, each sound amplifying the tension in Killy’s chest.

  A chasm loomed ahead, a narrow pipe crossing over a rush of oily, black water that churned below. Killy tested the pipe, his heart pounding as it creaked under his weight, but it held. He guided Junior across, the boy clutching Sprocket tightly, his small frame trembling but balancing with care. Sprocket’s tail flickered a steady blue, his soft chitters a quiet reassurance as Junior inched along. Lane followed, his movements precise, his eyes scanning for threats. The sewer grew colder the deeper they went, the hum of conduits growing louder, a constant reminder that the spire was near.

  Defenses appeared around the next bend—motion sensors and plasma turrets, their blue sensors glowing ominously in the dark. Lane’s device hummed as he worked to spoof the sensors, his fingers moving quickly over the screen, but the turrets whirred to life, their barrels snapping toward them, plasma bolts sizzling through the air. “Down!” Killy shouted, shoving Junior behind a rusted pipe, the Trident flaring to life in his hand. Nanobots surged, a green gauntlet forming around his arm, a plasma shield shimmering into existence to deflect the incoming bolts. The heat of the plasma singed the air, the acrid scent of burning metal filling the sewer as the shield strained under the barrage.

  Lane hacked furiously, his device glowing, but the turrets kept firing, their relentless assault pushing Killy’s shield to its limits. Junior peeked out from behind the pipe, Sprocket nestled in his arms, the squirrel’s tail flashing red in alarm. Junior’s eyes darted to a gap in the turrets’ firing arcs, a narrow blind spot. “Killy, there!” he yelled, pointing, his voice sharp with urgency. Killy trusted the boy’s instincts, leading them through the gap, his shield still raised, the plasma bolts narrowly missing them as Lane finally disabled the turrets, their barrels whining to a stop.

  They collapsed against the sewer wall, panting, the air heavy with the scent of ozone and damp earth. Junior clutched Sprocket tighter, the squirrel nuzzling his chest, letting out a soft chitter of relief, his glowing eyes warm in the darkness. Killy managed a faint smile, ruffling Junior’s hair, while Lane’s gaze softened, a rare warmth breaking through his intensity. They pushed forward, reaching the service entrance—a reinforced door marked with the Ascendancy’s insignia, its metal surface cold to the touch. Lane’s device interfaced with the lock, a hiss echoing through the sewer as the door slid open, but a silent alarm triggered, its countdown unnoticed by the group. They stepped into the spire’s lower levels, the sterile corridors a stark contrast to the sewer’s decay, the air scented with ozone and the hum of machinery. A pulsating light guided them up a narrow stairwell, their footsteps ringing against the metal steps, each one bringing them closer to the Lattice.

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  The chamber loomed ahead, conical in shape, its walls sloping upward to a glowing apex, the light pulsing like a heartbeat. Hundreds of medical pods lined the space, each containing a child suspended in glowing gel, DMT tubes feeding into their bodies, their eyes vacant and unseeing. Killy’s gut twisted—there were hundreds of kids here, far more than just his three. Clay, Nora, and Reese were closest, their pods glowing faintly, their pale faces half-conscious, trapped in the Shill’s cruel game. The weight of their suffering crashed over Killy, a wave of guilt for every family he’d failed to protect.

  He pressed a hand to Clay’s pod, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I’m here, Clay. I promised I’d bring you home. I’m not leaving without you.” Junior stood close, trembling, his eyes wide with horror at the sight of so many trapped kids. Sprocket, still in his arms, let out a soft chitter, nuzzling Junior’s cheek, his tail flickering a soft yellow, offering what comfort he could. Lane’s face was a mask of cold fury, the Ascendancy’s cruelty a painful reminder of his past.

  The sound of boots clanging against the floor snapped them out of their reverie. Soldiers burst into the chamber, accompanied by a clanker, its spider-like form bristling with plasma-tipped tentacles. Leading them a tall officer in black armor, her visor glowing an eerie green, a twisted smile playing on her lips as she locked eyes with Lane. “Lane Carver, traitor,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. “Your father never bought your death—he’s been hunting you. You’ll pay for this.”

  Lane smirked, his defiance unshaken. “Hey, Kimmy. Looking fit—still hitting PT? Remember that time we—”

  “I remember you chased Grace Kilmartin a week later,” Kimmy snapped, her rage flaring, her grip tightening on her plasma rifle.

  “Now come on Kimmy. Is it my fault if people find me charming?” Lane retorted with a mock innocence lacing his tone.

  Killy saw her distraction and didn’t hesitate, the Trident flaring to life as he charged the clanker, a plasma katana forming in his hand. The clanker’s tentacles slashed toward him, but he parried with precision, sparks flying as metal clashed against plasma. He drove the katana into the clanker’s sensor array, a high-pitched whine escaping as it staggered, its movements slowing.

  Lane seized the moment, wrestling a plasma rifle from the nearest soldier, cracking the man’s visor with the butt of the weapon and dropping him to the ground. He fired controlled bursts, forcing the other soldiers to take cover, his Ascendancy training evident in his sharp, efficient movements. Killy finished the clanker, driving his blade through its core, the machine collapsing in a shower of sparks. He quickly moved to the clanker’s shielding compartment, cutting it open with the Trident and retrieving a Z-PEG unit. He pried the Trident system from the clanker’s front, fusing the two components together with a faint hum of energy, then handed it to Lane. “Take it,” he said, his voice steady. “We need the firepower.”

  Lane hesitated, his eyes wary as he took the humming Trident, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “I’ve never used one,” he said, Sprocket letting out a nervous chitter from Junior’s arms, his tail flickering red.

  “Trust it,” Killy replied, his voice firm. “The nanobots will show you what to do.” Lane nodded, a green gauntlet forming around his arm, his resolve hardening as the Trident hummed in his grasp.

  Kimmy retreated, calling for reinforcements, her voice venomous as she spat, “You’re dead, Carver!” The chamber’s lights flickered, the Lattice’s hum growing louder, a cold, discordant voice echoing through the space—not the Shill’s shadow, but Clay, Nora, and Reese, their voices speaking in unison, their eyes glowing unnaturally, lips moving in perfect sync.

  “You’ve come far, Killian,” the Shill mocked through them, its tone cruel and taunting. “Fighting for your kids—so noble. So futile.” Killy’s grip on the Trident tightened, his voice a snarl.

  “Let them go, you bastard. No more games.” The Shill’s laugh echoed, a chilling chorus from three throats. The conduits attached to the pods hissed, the glowing gel draining away, the kids slumping in their pods, unconscious, the unnatural glow fading from their eyes. “Take them,” the Shill taunted. “They’re yours—for now. They’ll be unconscious for hours, maybe mad later. A burden for you, a delight for me. The Lattice is ready—I’m so close to your world, Killian. Flesh and shadow, I’ll walk soon.”

  Killy’s blood ran cold, the weight of the Shill’s words sinking in. Hundreds of other kids remained trapped in their pods, the Shill’s crossing a looming threat that he couldn’t ignore. He and Junior worked quickly, pulling Clay, Nora, and Reese free from their pods, their limp weights heavy in their arms, a painful reminder of the stakes. Lane barricaded the door with a nearby crate, his new Trident humming, the rifle still slung over his shoulder, ready for the fight as the roars of approaching clankers grew louder.

  The Shill’s farewell lingered in the air, spoken through the kids’ voices: “See you soon, Killian. Very soon.” The hum of the Lattice and the clankers’ approach filled the silence, the Ascendancy and the Shill converging on them, the fight far from over.