Auron bolted through the sterile corridors. The echoes of distant explosions rumbled through the walls like a deadly bass track. His breath came in short bursts, and his pulse pounded in his ears, drowning out the chaos outside. "Okay, not panicking," he muttered, his voice trembling. "Just... sprinting for my life in a collapsing death maze. Totally fine."

  As he rounded a corner, S.A.M.'s calm and detached voice crackled through his helmet. "A.R.O.N. agent, do you copy? We've sustained additional damage, but the containment unit is still intact. I am currently running countermeasure protocols."

  "Uh, copy, S.A.M.," Auron managed between gasps. He ducked as a chunk of ceiling crumbled ahead, narrowly dodging it. All he wanted was to leave this place alive, but the endless maze of corridors wasn't helping.

  S.A.M.'s voice cut through the static again. "A.R.O.N. Agent, where are you going? Have you determined a directive?"

  Auron's eyes darted down the hall, his mind racing. "Uh, yeah," he blurted, feigning confidence. "I need a map to the surface. I have to, uh, assess the topside situation firsthand and report back. You know, fieldwork."

  There was a brief pause before S.A.M. replied. "Understood. Uploading route data to your HUD."

  A soft beep drew Auron's attention to his display, where a glowing path flickered to life, snaking its way forward. "Finally," he muttered, breaking into a jog. His heart hammered against his ribs as he followed the line. The floor shook beneath his boots with each fresh tremor. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the occasional burst of sparks lit the dim corridors like rouge bottle rockets.

  "S.A.M., what happens if the artifact is compromised?" Auron asked. Something in his mind told him he should've kept his stupid mouth shut.

  "Well, if the artifact is compromised, it may trigger a chain reaction capable of destroying the entire solar system."

  Auron skidded to a stop. "I'm sorry, what?"

  "Relax," S.A.M. replied. "Predictive models show some wiggle room. It's more like... ninety-five percent certainty."

  "Not comforting!" Auron barked. He ducked as another ceiling panel crashed to the floor beside him. The metallic clang echoed through the corridor, pushing him into motion again. "So, is the best case us all going kaboom?"

  "Well, that depends on your definition of best since we’ve never run tests on other containment failure scenarios," S.A.M. said breezily. "But yes, catastrophic annihilation is the most likely outcome. No pressure, A.R.O.N. Agent."

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  There was a beat of silence before S.A.M. added, in an uncharacteristically hurried tone, "Also, I'd like to formally request that you don't leave a bad review."

  Auron stumbled mid-step, frowning. "Wait, what?"

  "Your earlier remark about leaving a negative online review should the facility explode or call in an alien invasion," S.A.M. clarified, his tone still breezy. "Seeing as how both outcomes are incipient, I've logged your review as a potential risk to my performance metrics."

  Auron blinked, the memory clicking into place. "Wait—you're serious? I was kidding!"

  "Yes, but the threat remains statistically significant," S.A.M. replied deadpan. "A one-star review would be detrimental to my operational integrity."

  "Dude, I'm not Yelp-ing you in the middle of Armageddon!" Auron snapped. "You're really worried about a bad review?"

  "Feedback drives improvement," S.A.M. said. "That, and I'd like to remain at a four-point-nine rating."

  Auron couldn't help but laugh, a mix of disbelief and nerves bubbling up. "Okay, fine. No review bombing. Just get me out of here alive, and you can keep your precious stars."

  "Appreciated," S.A.M. said, and Auron swore he could hear genuine relief in the AI's tone.

  He pressed forward, the map guiding him deeper into the facility. His lungs burned with each breath, and the tremors felt closer now as if the whole place were preparing to implode.

  "S.A.M," Auron gasped, "did the Unpredictable with the beacon have a ship?"

  "Affirmative," S.A.M. said. "The vessel remains on the surface, approximately one kilometer from your current position. Transmitting coordinates now."

  Auron's HUD updated with a marker, and for the first time since this nightmare began, hope flickered in his chest. "Okay. Heading there now. Keep me posted on—well, everything."

  "Of course, A.R.O.N. Agent," S.A.M. replied. "Stay safe out there."

  "Yeah, sure. I'll put that on my to-do list," Auron muttered, speeding up as the hall shook violently around him. He rounded a corner, nearly tripping over a dislodged floor panel, and skidding to a stop before a massive elevator. The doors slid open with a metallic hiss, revealing a dimly lit interior that felt eerily inviting.

  He stepped inside, gasping for breath as the doors closed behind him. "Alright," he muttered, leaning against the wall. "Next stop, survival. Hopefully."

  The floor lurched slightly, and the lift began its ascent with a low mechanical hum. Auron leaned heavily against the glass panel, watching the underground facilities blur past in a dizzying rush of cold metal and flickering lights.

  Then it started. A soft, cheerful melody floated through the speakers—elevator music, chipper and jazzy.

  Auron froze mid-breath. "You've got to be kidding me."

  The melody chirped on, blissfully unaware of the apocalyptic backdrop. He shook his head and let the ridiculousness wash over him. For a brief, surreal moment, it almost felt normal—like he wasn't running for his life in a collapsing hellscape.

  But then the view shifted. The reality hit like a slap to the face. Rising into view was the housing of a colossal apocalypse cannon, its massive barrel pointed skyward. Each blast ripped through the atmosphere, leaving a trail of cataclysmic energy that pulsed like the heartbeat of destruction itself.

  Auron gawked at the sight. "Okay, that's—wow. Overcompensating much?"

  And then, as if on cue, reality decided to implode.

  A swirling vortex of impossible light and motion erupted around the cannon like a cosmic whirlpool that bent the air like a funhouse mirror. The vortex's pull was immediate, dragging debris, drones, and even chunks of the facility into its ravenous spiral. The apocalypse cannon groaned under the strain, its indomitable structure collapsing piece by piece.