The silence lasted three minutes.
Then the corridor turned red.
Sirens wailed. A pulsing, rhythmic shriek that echoed off the white walls.
[SECURITY BREACH IN SECTOR 7.]
[LOCKDOWN INITIATED.]
"They found the airlock," Lucilla shouted over the noise.
"Good," Marcus said, breaking into a run. "Stealth is boring."
They sprinted down the logistics tunnel. The yellow line on the floor led them toward a bank of elevators.
Around the corner, movement.
A squad of machines emerged from a side door.
These weren't Sentinels. They were Pacifiers.
Squat, wide, rolling on tank treads. They carried heavy riot shields made of transparent polycarbonate and shock batons crackling with electricity.
"Halt!" the lead bot broadcast. "Submit for processing!"
"Processing denied," Marcus muttered.
"Narcissus!" Marcus yelled. "Clear the path!"
The giant stepped forward. He leveled the heavy Plasma Caster at his hip.
"Get behind me," Narcissus grunted.
The Pacifiers locked shields, forming a phalanx. They advanced, batons sparking.
Narcissus squeezed the trigger.
THOOM.
It wasn't a bullet. It was a sun.
A ball of superheated blue plasma erupted from the barrel.
It hit the center of the shield wall.
CRACK-BOOM.
The lead bot didn't just break; it vaporized. The shield shattered into molten shrapnel. The blast wave threw the two flanking bots into the walls.
"Move!" Marcus commanded.
He charged through the smoke.
A surviving Pacifier rolled out of the debris, its shield cracked but holding. It swung a shock baton at Marcus's head.
Marcus ducked. The air crackled with ozone above him.
He didn't use the knife. He used momentum.
He slid under the bot's treads. He kicked the rear axle.
The bot spun out.
Marcus rose. He drove the Vibro-Knife into the exposed wiring on its back.
ZZZT.
The bot died.
Galen was behind him. A Pacifier lunged at the physician.
Galen didn't panic. He threw a Medi-Gel pack.
It hit the bot's optical sensor array.
SPLAT.
The sticky foam expanded instantly, blinding the machine. It spun in circles, swinging wildly at nothing.
"Nice shot, doc!" Marcus yelled.
They reached the elevators.
The doors were locked. A red hologram flashed: [LOCKDOWN ACTIVE].
"Lucilla!" Marcus pointed at the panel.
She jacked her datapad in. Her fingers flew.
"Encryption is Level 5," she muttered. "Vane's personal code."
"Do you know it?"
"I know his birthday," she said grimly. "And his ego."
She typed.
Access Denied.
"Try his stock portfolio," Marcus suggested.
She typed again.
Access Denied.
Behind them, heavy footsteps echoed. Reinforcements were coming. Heavy ones.
"Hurry!" Galen screamed.
Lucilla paused. She thought.
"Protocol Omega," she whispered. "The liquidation code."
She typed: ASSET_DENIAL.
BEEP.
The light turned green. The doors slid open.
"Narcissist," she spat, unplugging the pad.
They piled in.
"Command Deck," Marcus ordered.
The lift shot up.
It opened onto a glass-walled atrium.
The view was breathtaking.
They were at the top of the central spire. Below them, the magma lake stretched to the horizon. The drone pads, the refining pipes, the army of dormant Sentinels—it was all laid out like a toy set.
But in the center of the room, blocking the path to the main console, stood a guardian.
An Elite Sentinel.
It was taller than the others. Sleek. Black armor instead of white.
It didn't have a gun.
It held two swords. High-frequency blades that hummed with orange energy.
"Target: High Value," the Elite droned. Its voice was deeper, menacing.
It looked at Narcissus. Then at Marcus.
It calculated.
It charged Marcus.
"It knows I'm the leader!" Marcus realized.
"Iron Dog, cover fire!" Marcus yelled, drawing his Vibro-Knife.
Narcissus raised the cannon.
He fired.
THOOM.
The Elite moved. Faster than thought.
It side-stepped the plasma bolt. The shot hit the wall behind it, melting the steel.
The Elite closed the distance.
It swung the orange sword.
Marcus blocked with the Vibro-Knife.
CLANG.
The impact jarred his bones. The energy fields clashed, spitting sparks.
The Elite swung the second sword.
Marcus couldn't block it. He twisted.
The blade grazed his ceramic chest plate.
SCREEE.
It cut a deep gouge in the armor. If he hadn't looted the Liquidator, he would have been cut in half.
Marcus stumbled back.
The Elite pressed the attack. A flurry of blows. Left, right, overhead.
Marcus parried, dodged, retreated. He was faster than a normal human, but this thing was built for war.
"I can't hit it!" Narcissus shouted. "You're too close!"
"Galen!" Marcus yelled. "The floor!"
Galen understood. He threw a jar of acid at the Elite's feet.
The glass shattered. The acid hissed on the polished floor.
The Elite stepped in it.
It didn't melt the foot. But it made it slippery.
The machine's heel lost traction for a fraction of a second.
It stumbled.
Marcus saw the opening.
He didn't stab. He headbutted.
He slammed his forehead—protected by the lip of the ceramic collar—into the Elite's sensor array.
CRACK.
Glass shattered. The machine flinched, blinded.
Marcus dropped to one knee. He drove the Vibro-Knife upward.
Into the neck joint. Where the armor was thinnest.
SHUNK.
He twisted.
He severed the spinal uplinks.
The Elite froze. Its swords dropped. It collapsed like a puppet with cut strings.
Marcus stood up, wiping blood from his cheek where a shard of glass had cut him.
"Clear," he panted.
He walked to the main console. A massive curved bank of screens.
"Lucilla. Take the chair."
Lucilla sat down. Her hands hovered over the holographic keyboard.
"I'm in," she said. "Root access."
"Shut it down," Marcus said.
"Defense Grid... offline," she said.
Outside the window, the automated turrets on the perimeter stopped spinning. They pointed their barrels at the ground.
"Fabricators... unlocked."
"Map... downloading."
A hologram appeared in the center of the room. A 3D map of the earth's crust.
It showed the Magma Fortress.
And below it, a red line descending deep into the mantle.
"The Drill," Marcus said. "Where is it?"
"We're standing on it," Lucilla said. "The entire spire... it's the drill shaft."
Marcus looked at the screens.
He saw the drone feeds. The Sentinels standing down. The resources piling up.
He sat on the edge of the console.
"We did it," Galen whispered. "We took the castle."
"We took the factory," Marcus corrected.
He looked at Narcissus.
"How do you feel, Iron Dog?"
Narcissus patted the massive gun on his hip.
"I feel heavy," the giant rumbled. "And dangerous."
BEEP.
A message popped up on the main screen.
It overrode the map.
A face appeared.
Clean-shaven. Sharp suit. Dead eyes.
Executive Vane.
He was sitting in an office that looked like it was on a space station. Earth hung in the window behind him.
"Commodus," Vane said. He didn't look angry. He looked disappointed. "You make a lot of noise for a dead man."
"I like the office," Marcus said, leaning into the camera pickup. "Comfortable chair. Good view."
"It's a temporary lease," Vane said smoothly. "You've bypassed the local security. Impressive. But you forgot one thing."
"What's that?"
"Property rights," Vane said. "I can't let squatters depreciate the asset."
He tapped a key on his desk.
"Eviction notice is in the mail."
A new alert flashed on the screen.
[WARNING: ORBITAL DROP DETECTED.]
[PROJECTILES INBOUND: 3]
[IMPACT: T-MINUS 59 MINUTES.]
"Drop pods," Lucilla whispered. "He's sending the heavy hitters."
"Enjoy the hour," Vane said. "It's your last."
The screen went black.
Marcus stood up. He looked at the countdown timer.
59:00... 58:59...
He looked at his team. They looked terrified.
Marcus smiled.
"He's sending us more loot," Marcus said.
He turned to the console.
"Lucilla. Fire up the fabricators. Galen, get to the med-bay. Narcissus, guard the door."
He tapped the map.
"We have one hour to turn this factory into a fortress. Let's get to work."