The seven days bled together in a fog of grim preparation. Our sanctuary, the workshop that had once been our whole world, now felt like a tomb we were waiting to escape. Every scrape of my shock-baton against the whetstone, every hum from the terminal Mira was methodically wiping, was just another tick on the countdown.
I focused on what I could control: the weight of my pack, the edge on my weapon, the routes etched into my head. My mind wouldn't stop running scenarios, painting threat vectors across the map of our journey to Sector 14. It was exhausting, this constant, unconscious calculation. For the first time, I saw it not as instinct but as a machine in my head, always whirring, always plotting paths through chaos.
Mira was in her element, communing with the dying tech around us. On the last night, she handed me a tiny, cool crystal drive. "Everything we are," she said quietly. "Everything we know. Keep it safe." The weight of it in my palm felt heavier than my entire pack.
We left an hour before dawn, the door groaning shut on the only life I had ever known. The air outside was a familiar assault of dust and decay. We moved through the corpse of the city like rats in a wall, my internal grid flaring with every shadow and choke point. Mira was my silent partner, her hand occasionally brushing a rusted pipe, her eyes going distant.
"Clear," she would whisper, or "Just a faulty conduit. Nothing living." She was listening to a world I could only see, and for once, I was grateful I couldn't hear its dying screams.
Sector 14 was a graveyard at dawn. We stood in the vast, empty plaza, the frozen clock tower watching us like a judge. 6:59 AM. The silence pressed down on us.
Then the ground answered. A deep hum vibrated up through my boots. A perfect circle of pavement thirty feet wide slid away without a sound, revealing a void. A platform rose from the darkness, seamless and silent. On it stood a figure, hooded and impersonal, holding a softly pulsing blue orb.
No words. Just an invitation to the abyss.
Mira's hand found mine, her grip tight. Together, we stepped onto the platform.
The descent was swift and silent. The sky vanished above us, replaced by a darkness so complete it felt solid. I lost all sense of speed and direction. Then, with a gentle sigh, we stopped.
Cool, sterile air washed over us, smelling of ozone and metal. The hooded figure gestured with the orb, herding us off the platform onto a smooth, cold floor. Harsh white light stabbed my eyes. We were in a featureless room. Two more figures, identical to the first, stood waiting. In their hands were not orbs, but simple black cloths.
Blindfolds.
One of them stepped toward me. I tensed, my hand twitching toward my weapon. A gloved hand rested on my arm, not aggressive but immovable. The message was clear: resistance was not an option. The rough cloth was tied tightly over my eyes, plunging me back into darkness.
Hands guided me forward. A door hissed open. I was turned, pushed gently down onto a cold metallic seat. The sound of other bodies, soft shuffles and nervous breaths, reached me. I could feel the press of people all around. The van, I guessed. The door slid shut with a clunk, and an engine hummed to life. We were moving.
The silence inside was thick with fear. No one spoke. I could hear someone's quick, shallow breathing a few seats over. I focused on my internal grid, trying to track the turns, the incline, but it was useless. We were utterly lost.
Then I smelled it. A faint, sweet scent, like rotting fruit mixed with chemicals. At first it was subtle, then stronger, flooding the compartment.
A girl near me gasped, a short, surprised sound that ended in a wet gurgle. To my left, a body slumped against my shoulder, heavy and boneless. A thud from the front as someone slid onto the floor.
No. Not like this.
Panic, cold and sharp, lanced through me. This was the ambush. This was Darius, or something worse. My lungs burned. I held my breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. My head began to swim, a cottony haze wrapping around my thoughts, trying to pull me under. I fought it, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my palms, using the pain as an anchor.
But the pull was too strong. The sweet smell was inside my head now, a syrupy tide rising to drown me. My grip on consciousness slipped.
And then something else clicked.
It wasn't a sound, it was a feeling, deep in the core of my brain. A switch thrown. The internal grid that always mapped threats and paths shifted. It stopped processing the outside world and turned inward, visualizing the chemical as a toxic pink fog flooding my system. My mind's eye saw the neural pathways beginning to dim, to shut down.
Without conscious thought, my ability responded. It wasn't about fighting or willing it away. It was about navigation. My consciousness wasn't a fortress to defend, it was a path to preserve.
I watched from somewhere deep inside as my mind charted a single, narrow course through the shutting systems of my body. It found the clearest route, bypassing the failing synapses, rerouting essential functions, maintaining a thread of awareness down a corridor the chemical couldn't reach. It was the ultimate application of my survival instinct: not to overcome the threat, but to find the one way through it.
The haze didn't vanish, but it retreated to the edges of a small, clear center. My body was limp, slumped in the seat. I could feel the cool metal against my cheek. But I was still here. Trapped inside a paralyzed shell, fully awake.
I heard the driver mutter, "All vitals are down. Proceeding to campus."
Campus. Not a ditch. Not a pit. Campus.
The van drove on in silence, filled with the unnerving quiet of ten unconscious—or in my case, perfectly still—bodies. I was a prisoner in my own flesh, riding a wave of drugged stillness into the heart of the mystery, utterly alone and terrifyingly awake.