They returned to the mountain house not with triumphant cheers, but with the quiet, efficient movements of soldiers after a recon mission. The fire was stoked, the doors barred, and their haul laid out on the worn wooden table.
Derek and Leo had grabbed armfuls of physical files from an administrative office—personnel logs, supply manifests, shipping schedules. Dry, bureaucratic stuff, but Jordan was already sifting through them, his analytical mind looking for patterns, weaknesses, hidden routes.
Maya and Jordan had raided a storage locker, returning with bundles of grey, durable uniforms—better than their worn clothes—and sealed packets of high-calorie nutrient paste. Practical, if uninspiring.
"No weapons," Leo grumbled, holding up a file labeled 'HVAC Maintenance Quarterly Review.' "Just paper and… goop."
"Information is a weapon," Jordan said, not looking up from a shipping log. "And these uniforms lack trackers. That is a tactical advantage."
Wolfen placed the black watch and the crystalline comms chip in the center of the table. They glinted in the firelight, small keys to vast, dangerous locks.
The discussion was swift. Vietnam. Lab B3. Eva's sister, Lily, had a location. It was the clearest lead they'd ever had.
"And your sister?" Eva asked Wolfen, her voice gentle. The ghost in the records.
Wolfen stared into the fire, his face unreadable. "Congo is a black box. 'Vanished from records' could mean she's dead, reborn, or hidden even from their own systems. It's a puzzle with no edges." He looked at Eva. "Your lead has walls, a room number, a country. We follow the solid ground first. Find Lily. See what's in Room 4. It might give us light to see into my darkness."
It was logic, but Eva heard the tension beneath it. He was prioritizing her hope over his own. It was a debt, and it hung heavy in the room.
The decision was made. They would prepare, study the watch for the safest route, and head for Vietnam. The mountain, their sanctuary and their forge, would be left behind.
---
Back in the subterranean lab, the air was thick with the ozone smell of shorted electronics and the coppery scent of blood.
In the medical bay, Architect 328 sat on a sterile cot, her left forearm now wrapped in a thick, white synth-skin bandage. The wound Wolfen had given her was deep, convincing. A med-drone whirred nearby, its scanners confirming the "severe laceration from falling debris during structural collapse."
Her white mask was back in place, the perfect symbol of anonymous, low-ranking diligence. No one saw her eyes behind it, sharp and calculating. No one knew that an hour earlier, she had taken a crowbar from a maintenance closet and, with precise, brutal blows, had shattered the lens of every security camera in the data core corridor and its adjacent junctions. The feeds showed only static at the critical time. The destruction was blamed on the "violent seismic event" caused by the intruders.
The door to the med-bay hissed open. Another white-masked Architect stood there, but the subtle grey piping on the shoulders of their uniform marked them as a Superior-1, a direct superior to the lab's department heads.
"Architect 328," the figure said, its voice genderless and cold through the mask's modulator. "Superior-1 demands your presence. Immediately."
A cold trickle, unrelated to her injury, went down 328's spine. Demands. Not 'requests.' This was not a debrief.
She stood, her posture the picture of pained obedience, and followed the messenger through the still-chaotic corridors. Technicians scrambled to repair walls. Clean-up crews hauled away debris. The story was holding: a surprise attack by powerful rogue hybrids.
They arrived at the Superior's office, a stark room with a single desk. Behind it sat Superior-1, his grey mask more angular, more severe than the white ones. He did not invite her to sit.
"Architect 328," he began, his fingers steepled on the desk. "Your report stated you were conducting a routine data-backup in Core Delta when the ceiling collapsed, killing your partner and injuring you. You saw nothing before the loss of camera feeds."
"Yes, Superior," she replied, her voice filtered to a meek monotone.
"The intruders bypassed three security checkpoints to reach the core. They inflicted maximum damage and exfiltrated without a trace. A highly coordinated strike." He paused, the silence stretching. "Yet, the only surviving witness in the vicinity… is you. With a conveniently non-lethal injury."
328's heart hammered against her ribs. She remained silent.
Superior-1 leaned forward slightly. "The watch. The encrypted comms chip from Locker 7A. They are missing from the evidence log. The locker was in your sector."
They knew. They had inventoried the wreckage faster than she anticipated.
She had no answer that could save her. Any lie would be shredded.
Superior-1 stood up, slowly walking around the desk until he stood directly before her. He looked down at her white mask, as if he could see the sweat beading on her forehead beneath it.
"Architect 328," he said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I have only one question for you."
He leaned in, until the cold grey polymer of his mask was almost touching the white of hers.
"Are you ready to die?"