The air in Sector Seven tasted like rust and old blood.
Not the kind that stains your clothes — the kind that stains memory. The deeper we moved into the trench-line ruins, the less it felt like a place and more like a scar the world forgot to heal.
Cree didn't speak. She moved ahead of me, her shadow long and twitching in the flicker of half-dead floodlights. Her scanner chimed soft and rhythmic, the only sound besides the low crunch of boots over shattered meshplate. Every few steps, she tapped the surface with her knuckle, like she was listening for a heartbeat in the walls.
The Rusthouse emerged from the haze — a squat dome of alloy and decay, half-swallowed by collapsed scaffolding. A broken sign jutted from the ground like a snapped bone: A-13 Outer Relay Node. Letters peeled. Lights long dead.
It wasn't much. But it would do.
Cree paused at the entry port and pressed her palm to a rust-locked interface. The wall blinked, stuttered, then groaned open with a mechanical sigh. Faint green light spilled over her face.
"Still has a pulse," she said. Voice like dry smoke.
I followed her inside. The bunker stank of ozone and datarot — that particular stench of tech that's been kept alive too long, like a lung machine wheezing without orders. Cables dangled like veins, severed and sparking. One twitched once, then went still.
I pulled the shard fragment from my coat. Dull since Emeric's death… but now, here, it pulsed. Not bright. Just enough. Like it recognized the metal around us. Like it remembered.
Cree crouched beside a half-dead terminal and synced her neural lens into the old system's spine. Her pupils flicked left and right, chasing phantom signals.
"We're above the entry line," she said. "Vault A-13's spine runs straight under this grid. Low-level chatter's dormant, but the infrastructure's still listening."
"Any eyes?" I asked.
"None that blink."
I nodded. "Good. Get what you can. Map the grid nerves, listen for buried locks. The others will meet at the secondary point in four hours."
She didn't answer right away. Just kept syncing. Then:
"You really think the vault still holds a key?" "Emeric thought so." "He was half-dead when he said it." "Still more alive than most."
She cracked the faintest smirk. "Spoken like someone who's seen the other side."
I didn't answer. I was staring at the shard again. Its pulse timed perfectly with something deeper — not in the room, but beneath it. Like a drumbeat. Slow. Patient.
Emeric's voice flickered in memory:
"Beneath Sector Seven… you'll see it."
Cree unplugged from the console and stood. "Mapping started. I'll stay wired until signal loss. Watch your back on the next drop — they're shifting frequencies again."
"Noted."
She looked around once more, then whispered under her breath:
"This place remembers things it shouldn't."
I didn't ask what she meant.
Some truths echo louder underground.
We met beneath a broken relay tower, somewhere past the sector's old exchange lines. A cluster of dead machines ringed the room like rusted gods, silent and slumped, cables hanging like entrails. They used to move data across cities. Now, they just watched us.
"Charming," Vex muttered as he stepped over a melted rail panel, pulse hammer slung low across his back. "Smells like something died here. Twice."
"Don't tempt it," Reisya chimed, hopping down from a broken control dais like she'd been waiting. Her coat trailed soot. She flipped a coin in the air — not currency, but a keyed override disc. "Sector ghosts don't like jokes."
"And yet you're still talking," Vex growled.
I ignored them both and stepped into the center ring. Cree's relay map synced to my interface a second later, overlaid in flickering blue — vault access lines, power node skeletons, four buried layers with blind zones in between. The plan was clear enough.
We'd die if we rushed. And worse if we hesitated.
"Where's Tanek?" I asked.
"Late," Drayce answered, emerging from the far stairwell without a sound. He moved like a memory — you only noticed him when he wanted it. His coat was reinforced weave, matte gray with no markings. He carried a pulse-scope and a blade he never unsheathed.
"He said five minutes," Drayce added. "It's been seven."
Right on cue, Tanek crashed through a side vent, coughing and smeared with grime. He stumbled forward, flung a data pad onto the table, and grinned like someone who had no idea how close he was to being shot.
"Map. Entry points. Pulse fluctuation logs," he wheezed. "I had to slice through two sub-locks and a literal rat's nest to pull this from the grid spine. Be impressed."
"Be grateful you're still breathing," Vex muttered, not even turning.
Tanek smiled harder. "Oh, I am. Terribly."
I scanned the data. Tanek's schematics confirmed Cree's findings — a neural control vault deep under grid line A-13, six stories below ground level, protected by isolation gates, burst-flood failsafes, and something he labeled "Reactive Obstruction Field – Unknown Origin."
"You don't label something unknown unless you're scared of it," I said.
Tanek blinked. "I label things unknown because they eat people who think otherwise."
Reisya clapped once. "Okay, children. Daddy Riven's serious. Let's pretend this isn't going to end in fire and screaming."
Drayce looked at her like she was a bad riddle. "You talk too much for someone whose job is silence."
"And you think too loud for someone who never smiles," she shot back.
Tension prickled, but I let it simmer. They needed pressure — not peace.
"We move in two waves," I said, voice cutting through the noise. "Cree and I take the forward relay line. We secure the entry zone and prep the breach scaffold. Vex, Reisya, and Tanek go wide — break the grid anchor and keep the failsafe doors from snapping shut."
Drayce nodded. "And me?"
"You watch from above. You see anything move near that vault that wasn't on this map… you shoot it."
"Understood."
"Questions?"
"Yeah," Vex grunted. "When this is over, can I punch Tanek?"
"Only if he lives," I said.
Tanek gave a sheepish thumbs-up.
We stood in silence for a moment. This wasn't the kind of job that left survivors. But it was the kind that found truths buried in blood. The kind that changed things.
The kind I was born for.
"Gear up," I said. "We breach at midnight."
The breach hissed open like a throat clearing in the dark.
We dropped in pairs — Cree and I first, then the wide flank crew to reroute the anchor grid. Above us, the old sector groaned like a dying giant. Rust flaked from the walls. Our lights barely reached ten meters.
"Still feel confident?" I asked Cree, my boots echoing softly over plated descent stairs.
"Confidence is for people who've never met God in a dead machine," she said.
The first passage was tighter than expected. A collapsed comms spine forced us to crawl, pushing through fibrewire loops like vines. My shard glowed faintly as it synced with the interior tech — not unlocking, not resisting — just pulsing. Watching.
Cree paused as we reached the main threshold.
"Something's off," she whispered.
"It's supposed to be."
"No. The field's bent wrong. The energy's not decaying — it's learning."
I didn't like the sound of that.
We entered Layer One — the Driftfield.
Everything warped.
The walls shimmered. Cree's scanner flickered static. My HUD stuttered, displaying three versions of her, none matching the one in front of me. My grip tightened on the shard. It bled light for a second, and the visions snapped into place.
"Stabilizing pulse," I muttered. "Focus on your heart rate. The Driftfield feeds on neural overactivity."
"You're unusually poetic when hallucinating," Cree murmured.
We moved fast.
At the anchor node, she dropped into a crouch, fingers flying over corroded circuits. Sparks danced along her arm like silver insects. Her breath synced with the rhythm of the vault's old heart — low, slow, hungry.
Behind us, the hallway flickered again.
"Riven…"
I turned.
Nothing.
No — not nothing. A shape. Just past the shimmer line. Watching.
I blinked, and it was gone.
"Don't stop," I told her. "It sees curiosity."
"Then we're both dead," she replied, fingers still flying.
The node clicked. Power dropped across the hall — gravity locks released with a seismic hum. Somewhere in the vault's deep, I heard metal scream.
We weren't alone anymore.
We regrouped two levels down, inside what used to be a maintenance rotunda. Now it looked more like a half-digested cathedral — warped scaffolds rising like ribs, piping fused to organic tech that pulsed faintly under the walls like veins.
Drayce was already there. He hadn't spoken since comms went fuzzy, but the fact he was breathing meant the upper grid hadn't eaten him yet.
"Where's the rest?" I asked.
"On the way," he said. "Vault shifted again. They're rerouting."
Behind him, something like a melted interface frame buzzed, flickering between red and blue code. It wasn't language. Not anymore. Cree stood over it with her tools out, scanning.
"This wasn't here before," she muttered.
"What is it?"
"Reactive lock. Modified. Vault's learning again."
A thud echoed behind us. A service hatch crashed open, followed by Vex, drenched in sweat and swearing. Tanek tumbled after him, barely upright, eyes wide.
"The walls moved," Tanek gasped. "I swear on every rat in this sector, they moved."
"They do that," I said flatly.
"Why are we still in here?" Vex snapped. "This place wants us dead. I can hear it humming."
"Because it's hiding something worse."
Reisya followed a moment later, brushing dust off her sleeves. She looked almost amused, which meant she'd either disabled something dangerous or redirected it toward us later.
"Had to slice through a guardian node," she said. "Thing tried to eat my reflection. I won."
"Barely," Vex muttered.
"Did you miss me, darling?"
"I miss silence."
Before I could cut in, the room blinked.
Not lights. Reality.
Everything flickered — sound, weight, color. Like a skipped frame in a bad recording.
Then came the shriek.
Not vocal. Mechanical. A sound that scraped under the skin. Something ancient had awoken in the next chamber. The echo came through every pipe and seam in the floor.
"Reactive system's online," Cree said. "No more scouting. It's watching now."
"What does that mean?" Tanek asked.
"Means it's not a vault anymore," I said. "It's a living weapon."
Reisya's expression shifted. Just for a second. Like something inside her heard that and stirred. I caught it — the tiniest flicker of gold along the edge of her eyes.
"What are you?" I asked.
She looked at me. Smiled sharp.
"That depends. What do you need me to be?"
"Honest."
"Boring."
A tremor rumbled beneath us. Part of the far wall split open — not collapsing, not exploding — just peeling back. Revealing another path downward, into the heart of the vault.
"We're being invited," Drayce said.
"That's never a good sign," Cree muttered.
I drew the shard. Its glow dimmed as if it, too, feared what lay below.
"Last chance to run," I said.
"Nah," Vex said, cracking his neck. "We're already ghosts."
We stepped through.
The vault's spine narrowed into a spiraling descent, walls fused with half-living circuitry. We moved in silence, only the low grind of boots on old alloy filling the dark. My shard pulsed slower now. Not warning. Not guiding. Just… tense.
"Feels like we're walking down a throat," Cree muttered beside me.
"You say that like it's not accurate," I answered.
The corridor opened into a dome — wide, circular, maybe forty meters across — but the space twisted. What should've been solid architecture folded wrong. Angles that defied geometry. Corners that didn't lead to other walls. I blinked once and the ceiling seemed to breathe.
They called these places Echo Chambers in old records. Where memory and matter bled together. Where the first Null anomalies took root.
Tanek stepped forward and immediately flinched. "Something's… off."
"Define off," I said.
"My implant's looping… it's playing my voice, but from last year. Sector Nine. A raid I never made it to."
"Echo bleed," Cree confirmed. "Reality's thin here. Vault's feeding. Sifting."
The air shimmered. A figure emerged from the far wall — not walked, not crawled — just formed.
It was once a man.
Now it was a silhouette built from rusted plates and marrow-warped flesh. One arm was a jagged spike of fused conduit. The other held a rune shard buried in muscle. Its eyes were hollow white and leaking data light.
Vex raised his weapon.
"Nullspawn?" he asked.
"Something worse," Drayce answered, calm as ever. "This one remembers."
The thing opened its mouth and a broken voice poured out — like five voices layered on top of each other, speaking in fractured sync:
"You are not meant… to breach… project containment."
It wasn't attacking.
It was guarding.
"Who programmed this?" Tanek whispered. "This isn't death. This is design."
"This vault wasn't locked to keep people out," I said, stepping forward. "It was locked to keep this inside."
The creature's head tilted.
"S…oul…fracture… confirmed…"
My blood froze.
It saw me. Not just my face. Me.
"Twin Echo recognized… recalibrating memory chain… unlocking phase."
The vault reacted.
The dome walls split in six directions, revealing inner doors — massive, layered with inscriptions in a hybrid of rune-code and machine script. Symbols I didn't understand flickered across the room.
"It just opened a path," Cree said slowly. "Not for us. For you."
I didn't speak.
The Nullspawn knelt.
Not to worship.
To warn.
"One path leads to silence. One to rupture. You must choose."
Then it shattered — not exploded, not erased. Just came apart like it was never truly there, fading into dust and a low, residual hum.
No one moved.
"What the hell just happened?" Vex finally said.
"He was waiting," I said.
"For what?"
I looked down at the shard in my palm. Its glow now mirrored the vault's pulse.
"For me."
We stepped through the opened path like crossing into another mind.
Behind us, the Echo Chamber sealed shut. No clang. No hiss. Just silence pressing inward, like the vault had inhaled and refused to exhale.
The corridor ahead was black alloy and reflective glass, strange and seamless. Cold light shimmered along the edges — not electrical, not magical. Like thought, given shape.
"The walls are active," Cree murmured. "Listening. Or remembering."
"Doesn't matter," I said. "They brought us here for a reason."
The hallway ended in a vertical chamber. Risen platforms floated above a bottomless hollow. At the center, a crucible of silver-light—an old-world interface—floated beneath six slow-turning runic rings.
They weren't aesthetic.
They were containment locks.
"This isn't just a vault," Drayce said. "It's a cognitive engine."
"Purpose-built," Cree confirmed, already scanning. "With a soul-linked ignition."
The moment I stepped near, my shard vibrated. Glowed. Pulled from my belt without touch and hovered to the center console.
"Is it safe?" Vex asked.
"Doesn't matter anymore," I said.
The shard clicked into the crucible. The runic rings flared. One by one, they spun faster. Runes I couldn't read flared across the air, bleeding light.
A figure formed from fractured data — a silhouette of a man wrapped in old-world robes, face smeared by time. A ghost of a ghost.
Its voice was warped, low, and too human.
"Designation accepted. Project Twinsoul."
The others turned toward me, faces unreadable.
"Soul divergence stabilized. Echo confirmed. Breach-line active."
The air shifted. Not pressure — weight. Like something watching from within the chamber stirred.
"Initiating memory trace…"
The image flickered again.
And then, softly:
"…Riven."
My throat went dry.
It had said my name. Not from code. From recognition.
"It knows me," I said aloud.
Tanek stepped back instinctively. Reisya narrowed her eyes.
Then the projection said a second name. A name I'd heard only once before. In a dream I couldn't explain.
"…Cael."
My vision blurred.
The name hit like déjà vu laced with static. It meant something. I knew it. Had felt it, bleeding through the edge of sleep for years. Whispers in the dark. A hand reaching through flame.
"Who is that?" I asked the projection. My voice barely carried.
The data-ghost didn't answer. It continued with its final sequence.
"If the twin echoes converge… containment fails. The Gate will remember."
Gate?
I stared hard at the light. But there was no elaboration. The projection fizzled, as if strained by some deeper protocol — too corrupted to finish, or too bound to reveal more.
The shard ejected from the console. It pulsed faster now, like a second heartbeat trying to sync with mine.
Below us, the vault began to shake.
"Something's waking up," Cree muttered. "And it's not the system."
"We triggered the failsafe," Drayce said.
"Then let's fail safer," Vex snapped. "Time to move."
We ran.
As the chamber's runes fractured and the floating rings spun out of sync, I felt it again — that name pressing against the inside of my skull like a memory I didn't own.
Cael.
Who are you?
And why do I feel like I've already bled for you?