Fletcher's footsteps echoed through the tunnel as we followed. Arthur stayed just behind him, eyes scanning every corner like he expected the walls to move.
We passed broken crates, rusted tracks, a sunken freight cart leaning against the far wall like it had just given up trying.
Arthur's voice was quiet behind me. "So ...Your wife."
I wouldn't have fucking dared to ask such a question after what he have said that happened to her.
Fletcher stopped walking.
"Yeah," he said. "Claire. She was a nurse. Stubborn, loud, didn't take shit from anyone. I thought she was having seizures. Something wrong with her blood, something they couldn't explain. But I saw it. The glow. In her veins, under her skin."
He turned to us, eyes hollow but steady.
"They came for her one night. Three of them. Wore faces like ours. Spoke in a language I'll never forget. She tried to run. I tried to stop them. I was just a bloke with a torch and a kitchen knife. She screamed, and then she was gone."
"Can we trust this guy?" I asked Arthur.
"You can trust anyone who looks like they've been through shit," he muttered, eyes forward, "but not the ones walkin' 'round with their shirts all pressed like your bloody teacher Cadler."
We moved along the narrow path. Ground was soft. Wet. Trees on both sides leaned in like they were eavesdropping.
Fletcher walked ahead, rifle slung tight across his back. Calm, alert. The way he scanned the treeline made it clear—he'd done this before.
Arthur leaned closer to me. "Look at him. That bloke's seen things. Not the kind you walk away from easy."
Fletcher spoke without turning around, tone steady. "If you're whisperin' about me, do it louder. I've got a hearing problem in my left ear."
Arthur gave a dry chuckle.
Fletcher finally turned, slow and direct. "You're not the first pair I've come across. But I'll tell you this right now—if you twitch wrong, I'll put you down faster than I shake your hand."
He paused, then sighed. "Sorry. Force of habit."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Charming fella."
Fletcher walked a bit, then stopped beside a mossy stump. "My wife... was taken. Months ago. They came for her after a scan showed trace levels of Rathadium in her blood. Didn't matter she didn't even know. I've been tracking them since."
Arthur stepped forward. "And?"
"And I haven't gotten close. They're ghosts. I'm just a man. Nothin' more."
Silence dropped over us. Not even the wind dared interrupt.
Then something moved behind the trees.
Fletcher's hand went to his rifle. Arthur froze.
The sound came again. Closer this time. Slow. Deliberate.
A red glint blinked through the branches.
Arthur's voice dropped. "...We need to move."
Too late.
A synthetic voice, distant but growing clearer, echoed through the forest.
["Bio-signatures located. Maintain visual lock."]
Fletcher locked eyes with me. "Run. Now."
We didn't wait.
Behind us, metal footsteps hit the dirt—cold, fast, and far too many.
We ran like hell.
Branches whipped past, thorns tearing at our clothes. The forest blurred into a smear of black and green. Behind us, the metal bastards crashed through it all like it was paper. Unstoppable. Inhuman.
Fletcher led the charge, rifle in one hand, the other pushing aside vines and undergrowth with brutal speed. "Downhill!" he barked. "There's a service line past the gully!"
Arthur was right behind him. "What the fuck are these things?!"
"Not machines," Fletcher called back. "Not alive either. Somewhere in between."
"They're fast," I gasped.
"They're patient," Fletcher snapped. "And that's worse."
We skidded into a clearing. A rusted metal hatch sat in the dirt, half-buried under roots.
Fletcher dropped to one knee and yanked it open. "Underground. Go!"
I hesitated. "How do we know—"
He didn't wait. Fletcher grabbed me by the collar and threw me down the hatch. I hit the ladder hard, boots scrambling for a grip.
Arthur came next, sliding straight down. Fletcher dropped in last, slammed the hatch above, and everything went black.
Then a hiss of light. He cracked a flare and shoved it into my hands.
The tunnel ahead was narrow. Concrete. Barely wide enough to walk two across.
Fletcher didn't waste breath. "Keep moving."
"Where's it lead?" I asked, limping after him.
He didn't turn around. "The Ashmoore line. Abandoned before all this started. But they used it. At least once."
Arthur's boots thudded beside me. "Used it for what?"
Fletcher's voice dropped. "Extraction."
A cold silence fell over us. Only the drip of water echoing ahead.
Then something moved in the shadows. Not behind.
In front.
Fletcher froze. "No. No, that's not—"
The flare flickered.
And the thing stepped into view.
It wore human skin.
Torn. Wrong. Like someone had stretched a face over wire.
Its head cocked. Watching us.
Arthur lifted his blade. "What in god's name is that?"
Fletcher didn't answer. His face had gone pale.
The thing spoke in Claire's voice.
"Darling?"
My blood turned to ice.
Fletcher stepped back, eyes wide, chest heaving.
It took a step toward him.
Arthur stood between them in an instant. "That's not your wife, mate."
The creature blinked.
Then all the walls in the tunnel lit up—red sensors, tracking lights, laser sights.
We were surrounded.
Fletcher raised his rifle slowly. "Get behind me."
"No chance," Arthur said. "We do this together."
I backed up, heart pounding so hard I thought I'd drop. "What the fuck do we do now?"
The thing smiled—Claire's smile—but there was nothing behind it.
Then it spoke again, softly.
"You all are mistakes, fractures in the reality"
"What the fuck" i grunted
The air dropped cold like something had sucked all the warmth out of the tunnel.
Fletcher didn't lower his rifle. "That's not her. That thing is not her."
But his voice cracked. Just a bit.
The creature took another step, still wearing Claire's face like a mask it didn't quite understand. "You shouldn't be here. None of you. You're bleeding across timelines you were never meant to touch."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to mean something to us, love?"
The thing turned its head. Clicked its jaw sideways. The skin around its mouth stretched like old leather.
Then its chest split open.
Not bleeding—unzipping. Clean and silent. Inside was a writhing, twitching bundle of nerves and wire, pulsing with dull light.
Arthur flinched. "Christ."
"Something massive moved below us. Not walking—turning. Like the earth itself was shifting awake.
Fletcher's eyes snapped to the ceiling. "Shit."
"What?" I asked.
He looked straight at me.
"This line we're on. It's not a tunnel."
The walls groaned. Cracks formed above. Steam hissed through the seams.
Arthur looked up, alarm growing. "Then what the hell is it?"
"It's a spinal column," Fletcher said flatly.
"How do you know all these stuffs?" I doubted.
"Ain't the time for an explanation, we gotta run" he snapped.
The flare died.
Pitch black.
Then a heartbeat—deep, and slow—and not ours.
Far ahead, two massive yellow lights blinked open in the dark.
Not lights.
Eyes.
The tunnel breathed.
Arthur whispered, "Tell me that's not—"
Then the floor cracked wide beneath us.
And we fell.
TO BE CONTINUED