A shadow moved closer to the monitors. The humming of machinery drowned out the soft sound of footsteps as the figure leaned into the glow of the screens. Only then did the light reveal his face.
Narfius.
His hair was still disheveled, eyes bloodshot and unfocused, signs that he hadn't been awake for long. He rolled his neck once, wincing, then glanced down at the unconscious body at his feet.
"Tch," he muttered. "That was a close call." He nudged Hanagome with the toe of his boot, unimpressed. "Really thought you were doing something there, didn't you?" Narfius scoffed, crouching beside him.
"Mumbling nonsense like you actually understood any of it." He straightened and turned back toward the consoles, waving a dismissive hand behind him. "Half of what you were saying is wrong," he added aloud, mockingly, as if Hanagome could still hear him. "The other half was… accidentally dangerous."
His fingers hovered over the controls, expression shifting not to concern, but to mild irritation. "How did you even get that close?" Narfius murmured. "You shouldn't have–"
He stopped.
One of the monitors flashed again.
External interference detected.
Multiple breach attempts.
Narfius's eyes narrowed as he leaned in, the mocking edge draining from his expression. He scanned the warnings quickly, jaw tightening.
"...So," he said quietly.
Narfius dragged a chair closer with his foot and let himself fall into it, the metal legs screeching against the floor. He leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the armrest as his other hand flicker through layers of data on the nearest screen.
Lines of code. Energy readouts.
Then he noticed something.
"...That's impossible," he muttered.
He leaned forward now, eyes sharp as he tracked the slow, creeping failures along the shield's outer lattice. Entire sections were dimming, their output stuttering like a dying pulse.
"Weeks," Narfius said under his breath. "The shield was designed to last weeks, not for hours." Annoyance bled into curiosity. With a few quick inputs, he pulled up external visual feeds.
The screen shifted.
An encampment sat just beyond the barrier. Vehicles arranged with military precision, floodlights prepared for the upcoming darkness. Banners fluttered against the hulls of armored transports.
Narfius froze as his eyes widened. "...Well I'll be damned." The colors were unmistakable. Stark and authoritative.
The Director.
A slow smirk spread across Narfius's face, the kind that carried far more satisfaction than surprise. "So eager," he chuckled. "I didn't think I'd get to move on to my next objective this soon."
He tapped the console, closing the warning feed as if it had already lost its importance. Another interface slid into place, far heavier in design, layered with weapon diagrams and threat-response controls.
The defense system
"Let's make this interesting," Narfius said casually. With a decisive press, the system came online. Somewhere far above, unseen mechanisms awakened, there wasn't just a shield now, but a weapon as well.
He brought the external footage back up one last time, studying the encampment with open amusement. "Good luck," he said, mockingly sincere. "You're going to need it."
Narfius rose from the chair and turned toward the exit. As he passed, he gave Hanagome's unconscious body a sharp kick, sending him rolling slightly across the floor.
"Wrong place, wrong time," he added lightly before walking out, leaving only the hum of machines.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Midas watched the shield fluctuate, his jaw tightening. "You're starving it," he said. "You're not breaking the barrier, you're killing sections of it." Matilda nodded without looking up, fingers steady as she rerouted cables and adjusted a device pressed directly against the shield's surface.
"Exactly."
"That's worse," Midas replied. "I already planned for someone to do this, it should already be popping up in the terminal. The shield also isn't meant to lose power unevenly, if one goes dark–"
"The neighboring layers compensate," Matilda finished. "For a while at least." Midas stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And when they can't while the shield should still be active?"
She finally looked at him. "Then that section dies." The shimmer of the shield flickered briefly where her device made contact, a faint dimming like a pulse losing its rhythm. "Exactly what we want if were getting in this thing."
Midas grimaced at her words.. "You're working as if this is a machine with redundancies. I designed it like a living system. You're inducing the equivalent of organ failure."
"And you're too busy keeping it healthy to realize it's killing people inside," she shot back, already turning away. The hum of the shield changed pitch. Subtle, but unmistakable.
Midas exhaled slowly. "You're draining electricity from a focused segment. That power has to go somewhere, and when they notice…"
"If they were still at the terminal, then they would've acted by now," Matilda said. "And I don't see any reaction."
"For now," he muttered.
Footsteps approached.
The Director stepped into the half-constructed tent, glancing between the cables, the dimming section of the barrier, and Matilda's calm focus. "How are we progressing?"
Matilda answered immediately. "I'm shutting down one sector at a time. No overload, no explosion or major reactions. In about thirty minutes, one portion won't have enough power to exist."
The Director nodded. "An artificial blackout."
"Precisely."
His eyes shifted to Midas, who looked like he was attending his own execution. "And you?"
Midas hesitated.
"She's right that it'll work," he admitted. "But this shield already has precautions for someone trying this. And I can guarantee you that it'll make our current situation far worse than it is now."
Matilda smirked. "I think you're just going through a phase. Just because we found an easy fix to stopping your shield doesn't mean it's a failure, it's just debugging for an actual threat."
Jacklyn shifted near the tent pole, clearly uncomfortable. She hesitated before speaking, voice small. "They… they just had different ideas." The Director glanced at her, then smiled gently. "A disagreement, then."
Jacklyn nodded quickly and fell silent again, staring at the floor. The Director folded his hands behind his back. "I must admit," he said, "I'm surprised. You two looked like you were getting along."
Matilda shrugged, still working. "We agree on the goal." Midas added quietly, "Just not on how much damage is acceptable to reach it." The shield flickered again, longer this time.
"You know I respected you, until you proved to me that you'd rather protect your creations rather than save the lives of others. They really were right when they said to never meet your heroes."
A section of its surface dulled, as if something vital had gone missing. Matilda leaned in slightly, satisfied. "There. The first sector's dying." Midas closed his eyes for a moment. "You misunderstand… But I really hope you're right."
The hum of the shield changed abruptly. No longer the steady distant resonance it had held since Matilda began her work. Its surface shuddered, the familiar blue sheen rippling before bleeding into a harsh, warning red.
For a moment, no one spoke.
"What–?" one of the nearby crew muttered. Midas' expression hardened instantly. The color drained from his face as he stared at the shield, fingers tightening in his fists.
"...It's reacting," he said, voice low. "That's not a fluctuation. That's a response." Matilda frowned but didn't stop her work. "It's probably compensation. I expected some instability once the sector started dying."
"No," Midas snapped, turning to her. "This isn't compensation. This is a defense state. I'd know, since as The Director said before, I created it." He straightened, raising his voice. "Everyone prepare for battle. We're going to need every single ounce of help we can get."
A few people hesitated, confused by the sudden urgency. Matilda waved a hand dismissively, eyes still locked on the shield. "We're almost there. Another few minutes and the section collapses completely. Turning back now would just waste time."
Midas rounded on her. "This shield wasn't designed to panic once it actually gets breached," he said sharply. "Red means it's detected a hostile breach. It's going to respond the only way it knows how."
The Director stepped forward. "Midas," he said calmly, "what exactly are you implying?" Midas didn't answer him. He had already turned away, pulling out his handheld radio.
"This is Midas," he said quickly. "Gear up now, get everyone else who's willing to listen to gear up as well. And if you don't want to die, keep your eyes on the sky." Static crackled, followed by hurried acknowledgements.
The Director frowned and stepped past him, pushing aside the tent flap. He looked up to see that the sky was no longer clear. Hundreds of small shapes cut across the air, dark against the light.
They moved in coordinated swarms, their paths intersecting and diverging with mechanical precision. Tiny red lights blinked along their frames as they spread outward, encircling the area around the shield.
The Director's eyes narrowed. Drones.
"So that's it," he murmured. Behind him, the shield pulsed red again, brighter this time, as if answering the presence above. Midas stepped out beside him, gaze fixed on the sky. "I warned you," he said quietly. " The shield doesn't just keep things out."
"...It fights back."
The Director's radio crackled violently at his side. "--Director–Director, do you read!--" He grabbed it mid-sentence. "Report. Calm down and tell me what's happening there."
The voice on the other end was ragged, breathless, barely holding together. "They're here. Drones, sir. Endless drones. They just keep coming." The Director's jaw tightened. "How are they engaging?"
A short pause, then screaming in the background. "They– they swoop in," the voice continued, panic seeping into every word. "They have blades, rotors sharpened like knives. They aim for the neck, the chest, anything vital."
His voice cracked, "Others dive straight down and explode. They don't even try to pull up." Another explosion thundered faintly through the transmission. "How many?" The Director asked.
"...Thousands," came the answer, barely louder than a whisper. "Every time we think it's thinning out, more replace them. We're losing people every few seconds."
The Director lowered the radio slightly, eyes fixed on the sky above their position. The swarms were still rising from different areas, still spreading. His mind worked rapidly, counting numbers, distances, response times.
They wouldn't outrun this.
They wouldn't last it.
At this rate, even a disciplined withdrawal would mean casualties. Heavy ones.
Half, if they were lucky.
Midas stepped up beside him, following his gaze upward. His face was grim, almost hollow. "...Those aren't all of them," Midas said quietly. The Director looked at him. "Explain."
Midas shook his head slowly. "What you're seeing are the perimeter response units," he said. "Autonomous, expendable. Meant to bleed intruders dry with sheer numbers. As long as one of them kills, they serve their purpose."
The Director's grip tightening on the radio. "We're going to need a miracle to get out of this without casualties." Above them, the drones shifted formation, tightening their spirals, as if responding to some unseen command.
Acting fast, The Director flipped the switch on his handheld radio, overriding every private channel at one. "All unit, this is The Director," his voice cut through the static, sharp and absolute.
"Fall back to my position immediately. Use the vehicles. Don't run, they're faster than you. Don't scatter, that only makes it easier for you to die. Move as fast as you can to get to me."
Gunfire and distant explosions bled into the background as he continued. "We're forming a defensive line here. Hold until an entrance through the shield is created. I repeat, do not attempt independent retreat. Regroup on me."
He released the button and turned to Midas and Matilda, his expression stripped of anything resembling calm. "Every life out there depends on you two," he said bluntly. "You don't get delays. You don't get mistakes."
Before either could respond, he was already moving, snatching a rifle from a nearby crate, striding past the tent and out into the open as the whine of drones grew louder overhead.
The sky answered him immediately.
The first wave dove.
The Director didn't slow. He raised his weapon and fired with precision, each shot timed between swoops, drones shattering midair or detonating harmlessly above the ground. Even so, more replaced them instantly, filling the gaps like a living storm.
Back at the tent, Jacklyn clutched the edge of Matilda's coat, eyes locked on the distant flashes of light. "Matilda…?" she asked softly. "Is he… is he really going to be okay?"
Matilda didn't look away from the shield. Her hands hovered over exposed conduits and deadened segments of energy, fingers twitching as she felt the flow, or lack of it, through the structure.
"...I don't know," she admitted. "He's up against a defense system made to stop armies. What can a single person possibly do?" Jacklyn's grip tightened. Midas knelt beside the shield's control array, watching The Director's silhouette weaving through fire and falling debris.
"He'll manage," Midas said firmly. "If anyone can." Matilda glanced at him, skeptical. "You sound very sure."
"I am," he replied. "Because if he couldn't… we'd already be dead." Above them, the shield pulsed again, red light crawling across its surface as another section went dark under Matilda's interference.
Midas steadied his breath. "Right now," he added, "this is the safest place we could be." Jacklyn nodded weakly, though her eyes never left the horizon, where one man stood between them and a sky that wanted them all erased.
Midas looked back to see the shield, its red glow pulsing like a heartbeat. "...Well," he muttered, straightening, "we've already tripped the alarm." Matilda glanced at him, surprised. "That's it? That's all you're going to say now?"
He met her gaze, serious. "If they know we're here, there's no point in being careful anymore. We go aggressive." For a brief second, Matilda hesitated. Then her expression sharpened, the way it did when she slipped fully into work.
"Then tell me," she said. "What do I do now that you're finally talking?" Midas stepped closer and revealed a blueprint of the shield, pointing to several segments of the shield that they were at.
"These sections," he said. "They're acting like backups. Even if one of them is disabled, the ones nearby will feed it power from the sides." Matilda followed his finger, eyes narrowing. "So the reason why this part's still alive is because it's being drip-fed."
"Exactly," Midas replied. "You need to kill the nearby sections completely. No electricity, no rerouting. Once those are gone, the segment we're targeting will actually die." Matilda exhaled slowly, then cracked her knuckles. "Sounds like a plan."
She shifted position immediately, her ability flaring subtly as she reached for the surrounding sections. One by one, nearby parts of the shield flickered, then into nothing, as if entire veins had gone dead.
The hum of the shield grew unstable, oscillating between pitches. Nearby, Jacklyn had been watching in silence, dingers clenched together. She swallowed, then spoke up in a small voice.
"Um… is there… anything I can do to help?" Matilda didn't even look at her. "No," she said flatly. "You'll just get in the way. Stay quiet." jacklyn flinched, shoulders drawing in.
Midas noticed immediately. He turned to her, his tone far gentler. "She's wrong about one thing," he said. "You are helping." Jacklyn looked up at him, confused. "By staying safe," Midas continued. "That's enough. Right now, that's more important than anything else."
Jacklyn nodded slowly, retreating a step but keeping her eyes on the work, fear and determination mixing in her expression. As Matilda pushed harder, another section of the shield died completely, its light vanishing like a star going out.
They were past the point of subtlety now.
Jacklyn lingered for a moment after Matilda turned away, her words still ringing in her ears.
Just stay quiet.
Her fingers curled into the hem of her sleeve. She wasn't angry, just stung. Small. Useless.
She didn't want to be.
White Midas and Matilda focused on the dying sections of the shield, Jacklyn slowly edged toward the opening of the tent. No one stopped her. No one noticed. Taking a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, she slipped outside and immediately ducked low, keeping close to stacked crates, overturned equipment, anything tall enough to hide her small frame.
The moment she was out, the noise hit her.
Gunfire cracked in sharp bursts, disciplined but strained. Drones shrieked as they tore through the sky, metal wings slicing the air. Explosions bloomed in flashes of orange and white as some machines divebombed straight into the defensive line.
It looked like a warzone.
The Director's men were holding formation, but barely. Some knelt behind barricades, firing carefully, conserving ammunition. Every shot measured, every reload tense. Others stood forward with their shields raised, bracing as drones slamming into them.
When a drone got too close, its blades whirring toward a throat or chest, someone would shove it away with a shield just before it detonated, the blast rattling nearby crates and sending bodies skidding backward.
People were shouting. Orders, warnings, names.
Jacklyn pressed her back against a half-destroyed vehicle, heart pounding so hard she was sure it would give her away. She peeked out just enough to see the line. They were being pushed back.
Slowly. Relentlessly.
No matter how many drones fell smoking to the ground, more took their place. The sky felt crowded, wrong, like it was closing in on them. She saw a man stumble as a blade clipped his shoulder, another barely manage to pull him behind a shield before a drone exploded where he'd been standing a second earlier.
Her hands trembled.
I should go back.
But her feet wouldn't move.
Then headlights came.
Through the chaos, she saw them cresting over the rise. Armored vehicles from the encampment, engines roaring as they barreled forward without hesitation. Mounted weapons opened fire immediately, tearing through clusters of drones and finally forcing gaps in the swarm.
A sharp voice cut through the chaos.
"Move. Now!"
Anora burst from cover, shouting orders as she ran out the car, her presence like a flare on the battlefield. Those with awakened powers followed immediately, rallying to her call as if the line itself had found a second wind.
Energy surged, abilities flaring to life, barriers forming, shots landing harder, movements faster.
The tide shifted.
The drones noticed immediately.
Their flight patterns changed mid-air, clusters peeling away from the defensive line and reorienting toward the new threat. Their targeting systems locked on. Anora felt it before she saw it.
Dozens of drones folded their wings and dove at once. She skidded to a stop, shouldering her rifle and firing in controlled bursts. One drone detonated. Then another. Shrapnel tore through the air, smoke and sparks filling her vision, but there were too many.
For every one she downed, two more replaced it, screaming as they plunged toward her.
Not enough–
She dropped the rifle and twisted, bracing to dodge, muscles coiling–
"Anora!"
The impact never came.
Something slammed into her from the side, hard enough to send her rolling across the ground. The world spun, her breath knocked out of her lungs. A split second later, the air behind her erupted.
She turned just in time to see the drones collide. Not with her, but with The Director. He had launched himself without hesitation, placing his body directly in their path. The swarm detonated against him in a blinding chain of explosions, engulfing him completely.
"Director!" someone screamed. Anora stared, frozen, the ringing in her ears drowning out everything else. Smoke billowed where he had been standing. For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
No movement, no sound, just burning debris falling from the sky as the drones' remains rained down around them.
Jacklyn gasped.
Her breath caught so hard it hurt.
Through the smoke and fire, she saw him.
Still standing.
The Director stepped forward from the explosion as if it had been nothing more than a gust of wind. His coat was scorched, fragments of metal still clattering to the ground around him, but his posture was steady, unbroken. No hesitation. No sign of pain.
"...What?" Jacklyn whispered, unable to finish the thought. He didn't spare the blast site a glance. His eyes swept across the battlefield in a single, sharp assessment.
"Reform the line!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Second and third squads, fall back ten meters and anchor on the vehicles. Shield-bearers forward, rotate every thirty seconds. Gunners, prioritize dive units. Do not waste fire on singles."
Orders sapped out one after another, precise and relentless. The troops responded instantly, moving where he pointed, filling gaps before they could widen. The panic in the air dulled, replaced by structure. By survival.
Jacklyn could only stare.
Then–
Shove.
She stumbled forward with a startled cry as something slammed into her back. She almost fell, barely catching herself on the uneven ground. "H-Hey!" She turned. A soldier stood behind her, frozen mid-step, eyes empty.
For a heartbeat, she thought he was just stunned. Then she saw the wound. A deep, clean slash across his back, precise and fatal. Blood soaked through his vest as his body finally gave in to gravity, collapsing at her feet.
Jacklyn screamed.
The world seemed to lurch as his weight dragged her forward. Then she realized, she was no longer behind cover, she was out in the open. The noise hit her all at once again. Gunfire, explosions, the shrill shriek of drones slicing through the air.
She looked up just in time to see shadows passing overhead, metallic forms banking sharply as their sensors locked onto her.
Exposed. Small. Alone.
The drones adjusted their trajectory, wings folding as they began to dive. Jacklyn's heart hammered as she stood frozen in the middle of the fight, the battlefield suddenly far too big.