Chapter 1086: Deals in Dark Corners.
The archive’s inner halls smelled of damp paper and ozone, as though centuries of records had absorbed the city’s storms. Dust lay thick on the floor, disturbed only by the recent passage of security patrols. Cain led with his blade low, the steel catching the faint green of emergency lights that pulsed overhead. Susan trailed behind, her breathing shallow but steady, while Steve whispered in their ears through the comms like a ghost unwilling to quiet.
"You’ve got four guards stationed near the central server. Light armor. Expect heavy reinforcements if alarms trip. Grid isn’t asleep anymore. They know something’s wrong."
Cain answered without breaking stride. "Good. Let them know. Fear works better when they taste it early."
Susan shot him a look that was half disbelief, half admiration. "You really don’t do comfort speeches, do you?"
"Comfort is for the dead," Cain said. His eyes scanned every corner, every flicker of shadow. The building had once been a municipal library, long before the grid repurposed it into an archive hub. The tall shelves still stood, books left to rot while servers hummed deeper inside. History smothered beneath cables and blinking lights. A mausoleum of truth, buried alive.
At the first junction, two guards emerged. Their helmets gleamed in the half-light, visors reflecting Cain’s outline. They didn’t shout a warning. They raised rifles.
Cain moved first. His blade flashed once, severing the rifle barrel of the closest guard. A follow-up strike split the helmet, sparks flaring as metal and flesh collapsed together. Susan dropped to one knee, firing a silenced sidearm into the second guard’s chest. The man staggered, wheezing, before Cain ended him with a merciless thrust. Both bodies hit the floor with heavy finality.
Silence returned, deeper now, as though the archive itself had swallowed the noise.
Steve’s voice cut through the comm. "Two down. But Grid knows. Internal sensors lit red. You’ve got maybe seven minutes before they box you in."
Cain wiped the blade clean against a dead guard’s sleeve. "Seven minutes is enough."
They pressed on. Deeper halls wound toward the server chamber, walls lined with half-broken terminals that still flickered with ghost data. Susan’s steps faltered once, her face tightening with pain, but she refused help. She kept moving, jaw clenched, hand never far from her pistol.
The chamber itself was a cathedral of machines. Towering servers stood like black pillars, fans whirring with constant hunger. Lights blinked in long, synchronized rows, giving the impression of a thousand eyes watching from the dark. In the center, a terminal pulsed with a faint blue glow—the control hub.
Cain approached, but Steve’s voice rose sharp in his ear. "Stop. They’ve rigged it. Tripwire programs. The second you touch that console, they’ll flood the grid with false feeds and wipe everything we need."
Susan exhaled a curse. "So it’s bait."
"Yes," Steve said. "But it’s also the artery. You sever it clean, you’ll force a failover. Backup nodes will light up across the city. That’s when we catch them in their lie."
Cain’s hand hovered near the blade, but Susan stepped forward first. "You can’t just carve through machines like they’re flesh. Let me."
Her fingers worked quickly, pulling wires, slicing into ports with a tool she kept hidden in her coat. Sweat streaked her brow, every motion deliberate but strained. "Buy me two minutes," she said, voice tight.
The archive obliged with violence. Heavy boots thundered from both entrances as reinforcements poured in, rifles blazing. Cain became motion. He cut through the first line, blade severing steel and bone alike, sparks leaping where bullets struck his sword. Susan kept low, muttering curses as she tore into the system, screens flaring with error codes that reflected across her pale face.
Steve shouted through the comm, his voice cracking. "They’ve sealed external exits! You’re caged unless you finish it!"
Cain roared, not in rage but in defiance. His blade drew wide arcs, slicing through armor and bone, each motion precise yet merciless. Blood slicked the server floor, mixing with oil that leaked from shattered machines. Still, more guards pushed in, their visors glowing cold in the gloom.
Susan screamed suddenly—not in fear but triumph. "Got it!" She slammed a final cable into place. The servers convulsed, lights cascading down like a dying star collapsing in slow motion. Then, across the city, a thousand hidden feeds burst into life. Screens in boardrooms, slum taverns, and forgotten corners all lit with the same images: documents, transactions, recordings long buried. Truth clawed its way back to the surface.
The guards faltered. Even in helmets, their hesitation was clear. They had seen what their masters wanted hidden. Cain didn’t hesitate. His blade cut through their pause, dropping two more before silence reclaimed the chamber.
Breathing heavy, Cain turned to Susan. She was on her knees, coughing blood, but alive. The servers behind her still flickered, their death throes casting wild shadows across her face. She smiled weakly. "Told you we could make them bleed."
Steve’s voice was low, almost reverent. "The whole city’s watching, Cain. They can’t bury this. Not anymore."
Cain looked around at the carnage, the servers, the truth now spilling uncontrollably into the veins of the city. His voice came steady, iron-clad. "Then the war just changed. They wanted silence. We gave them a chorus."
Outside, alarms howled. The city stirred, restless, furious. Cain gripped his blade tighter, eyes fixed on the path ahead. This wasn’t the end. It was the beginning.
The storm thickened, lightning tearing ragged scars across the sky. Cain pressed forward, boots ringing against steel, his blade leaving streaks of light in the darkness. The enemy surged around him, disciplined formations breaking into chaos under his relentless advance. Each movement felt rehearsed, not by training but by fate itself, as though every strike was already written in the sea’s memory. Behind him, the flagship’s wounded engines bellowed smoke, the vessel listing slightly. Susan steadied herself against the rail, pain etched deep across her face, yet her voice cut through the storm. "Cain—don’t stop now."