The tunnels sloped downward for hours, winding like veins beneath the broken city. My sensors mapped every corridor, though the rebels needed no such guidance. They moved with the practiced steps of those who had walked this path a hundred times.
Finally, the dark broke into light.
The tunnel opened into a cavern so vast I thought, for a moment, I was standing under the open sky. Glowpanels scavenged from forgotten tech illuminated an underground city—ramshackle towers of steel and stone, bridges strung between concrete pillars, smoke rising from cooking fires.
It was crude, improvised, but alive.
Children darted between stalls. Water trickled from hacked Authority pipes into reservoirs. I heard laughter—thin, weary, but real. Against all odds, humanity had carved out a heartbeat in the machine's shadow.
Yet the moment my armored frame stepped into the light, that heartbeat faltered.
Every eye turned to me. Mothers pulled their children close. Men reached for weapons. Even the elders stiffened, their eyes wide with fear. Whispers rippled like static through the crowd:
"Subject-09."
"The Hunter."
"Why would Lira bring it here?"
Lira raised her hand sharply. "Stand down! He's with us."
The words quieted the mob, but the fear did not vanish. It clung to me like smoke. I could feel their stares—accusing, desperate, pleading. To them, I wasn't a savior. I was a nightmare in alloy and chrome.
A boy no older than ten stepped forward, trembling. His voice cracked, but the words were steady. "You killed my father. I saw it. Authority's Hunter tore him apart. And you look just like it."
The silence was suffocating.
I wanted to tell him I wasn't that machine, that I hadn't chosen this body. But when I looked down at my reflection in a pool of water, I saw the truth. He wasn't wrong.
Lira placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Not this one," she said firmly. "Not anymore."
Her words steadied him, but the doubt lingered in his eyes.
Later, in the rebel council chamber—a hollowed-out metro station lined with flickering consoles—the leaders gathered. Hardened men and women stared at me like I was a weapon left on the table, safety off.
One of them, an old man with half his face scarred by plasma burns, leaned forward. "Do you even know what you are?"
The AI's voice stirred in my skull, eager, mocking. "Tell them. Show them. Let them kneel before what you were built to be."
I clenched my fists until servos whined. "I'm Kieran Vale. I was a man. A scientist. I never chose this."
The scarred man slammed his hand on the table. "Kieran Vale is the man who destroyed the world."
The words hit like a plasma bolt to the chest. Around me, the council murmured.
Destroyed the world.
Not saved it. Not even failed it.
Destroyed it.
For the first time, I realized the rebels didn't just fear me because of what I was. They feared me because of what I had done.
And perhaps… they were right.