The staircase was at the far end of the processing floor and they climbed to the maintenance walkway above.
The view from the walkway was down into the machinery rows, the overhead lighting catching the tanks and conveyors in a grid of partial shadow, and outward through the outer windows toward the northeast where the fight's glow sat above the structures as a persistent orange line against the zone's darker architecture.
Proxy paused at a section of walkway where the network signal pulled strong from below, a node cluster in the walls, the building's main processing server still alive and logging conditions no one would ever read.
He interfaced with it. His eyes closed partially, the cyberdeck working.
Nyx stood at his left. She didn't hold the sleeve because he was stationary, but she didn't move away either.
