It took Tobias two full days to cover the three kilometers.
The signal pulsed steadily in his awareness, a tireless lighthouse. But locomotion itself became a protracted negotiation with his body. His legs felt leaden, every joint movement producing a minute, grating scrape. His internal "system"—the term he'd provisionally assigned to the luminous mesh—seemed to allocate most energy to base functions and gradual self-repair, leaving a pittance for voluntary motion.
He learned the most efficient gait: short strides, a steady forward transfer of weight, avoiding sharp turns. It made him look more like a traditional, shambling zombie than anything special.
The city was a chewed-up carcass. Not the pulverized ruin of a nuclear strike, but a hybrid of systemic decay and violent looting. Shop windows were mostly shattered and empty. Cars were abandoned mid-street or burnt down to their frames. Graffiti layered upon graffiti on the walls, ranging from early desperate cries of "HELP" to more organized later messages like "WATER NORTH SECTOR" or "AVOID SECTOR 5 — SOURCE."
Sector Five. His destination.
Based on the hand-drawn map in the leather notebook and fragments of Isaac's city memory, Sector Five was one of several isolation and research centers established in the early days of "The Collapse," situated on the border between the old university district and the industrial park. When the outbreak spiraled, it was locked down by the military, and then… nothing. Communications ceased. Teams sent in either vanished or emerged only to quickly show symptoms. It became a void on the map, a forgotten abscess.
By dusk of the second day, Tobias reached Sector Five's perimeter.
The atmosphere here was palpably different. Ordinary urban ruins felt open, dead. Here, there was a sense of containment. First came the military's hastily erected first line: rusting welded-steel barricades, stacked sandbags (long since blackened and slumped by rain), an overturned armored vehicle. Between the sandbags, he could see spent shell casings and old stains turned brown.
Past this derelict cordon, the buildings began to show an unnatural "cleanliness." Not actual cleanliness, but a lack of later human activity—no chaotic looting, no signs of recent fires. Only the uniform decay left by wind, rain, and time.
Then he saw the second wall.
This wasn't a temporary barricade. It was a roughly four-meter-high prefabricated concrete wall, topped with coiled razor wire, now dead but still vicious-looking. Firing ports and observation slits were spaced along it. The surface was a tapestry of marks: deep gouges, bullet impacts, large spray-pattern stains, and strange, pitted depressions as if etched by strong acid.
The main gate was a heavy double metal door, now wedged open just enough for a person to squeeze through sideways. The hinges were clearly broken, one leaf twisted and dragging on the ground. Inside lay a complex of buildings: several low, warehouse-like structures and a central five-story square main building, every window sealed from within with metal plating.
The signal was here. More precisely, from beneath that main building.
But Tobias didn't enter immediately. He paused behind an abandoned military truck, his clouded eyes scanning the entire area.
It was too quiet.
No birds, no insects, even the wind whistling through gaps sounded cautious. This was the absolute silence of a place that had been cleared. The ground held footprints, mostly military boots, chaotically pointing in all directions. But overlying these older prints were **fresher marks**.
Not boot prints. They were dragging marks, wide and messy, spaced at regular intervals, as if something heavy had been hauled back and forth. There were also strange, sticky, dried deposits flanking the drag marks.
Tobias crouched (a five-second maneuver) and, with stiff fingers, scraped a bit of the tacky substance. He brought it to where his nose had been—his sense of smell was badly degraded, catching only a faint, cloying scent of rotting fruit mixed with motor oil. He scraped a sample into a small glass vial from the church.
Then he saw the first sign of the defense system.
Above the main building's entrance, a hemispherical camera housing protruded slightly from the wall. Its lens was cracked, but inside, a faint red LED pulsed weakly, about once every three seconds. Standby mode? Low-power surveillance?
He didn't risk the open ground. Isaac's memory contained a rough map of the local sewer system. It took him an hour to find and pry open a heavy manhole cover.
The darkness below wasn't a problem. His vision seemed sharper in low light, rendering the world in an eerie blue-green hue. The tunnel stank of decay but was passable. He moved slowly, navigating toward the main building's foundation.
About twenty minutes in, he encountered the first real obstacle.
The tunnel ahead was blocked by a heavy metal grate, welded to the walls. Beyond it, the space opened up, likely connecting to an underground facility. A heavily corroded but legible sign hung on the grate: "SECTOR 5 BIO-CONTAINMENT - UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY PROHIBITED - ELECTROMAGNETIC LOCK ACTIVE." The lock itself was a sturdy electronic mechanism, obviously long since dead.
What made Tobias stop were the "decorations" on the grate.
Several corpses. Or what remained of them.
They were fused to the metal by a tough, canvas-like **biological matrix** the color of ash, almost becoming one with the grate. The bodies, in tattered military and civilian clothing, were twisted in poses of violent struggle. They were severely desiccated, as if drained, leaving only skin and bone. No sign of decay, just complete mummification.
Tobias approached cautiously. Near the head of the closest corpse, he saw the reason: fine, root-like grey tendrils extended from the mouth, nose, and ear canals, connecting to the enveloping matrix.
Nutrient absorption. His mental lexicon supplied the term. A fungal or slime mold composite with zoopathic predatory behavior.
This wasn't a product of natural evolution. This was something that had escaped a lab.
He observed the "feeding ground." The biomat spread from the grate to the nearby tunnel walls, covering three or four square meters. It appeared static, but he noted subtle, pulsing undulations near the desiccated bodies, slow and rhythmic… and out of sync with the signal pulse in his mind.
He needed to pass. Direct contact risked the unknown. He looked around the confined space, retrieving the car battery and leftover copper wire from his pack. Perhaps an electrical shock could create a brief opening?
As he assembled his crude device, the biomat reacted more decisively.
A section near the base of the grate bulged upward, forming a fist-sized, semi-transparent "vesicle." Fluid seemed to move inside it. Then, the top of the vesicle split open, releasing a fine, nearly invisible mist of spores directly toward his face!
Tobias reacted a beat too slow but instinctively held his "breath"—unnecessary as it was. Some spores had already settled on his face and neck.
No sting, no burn. But immediately, a subtle numbness spread from the contact points, followed by a peculiar sense of connection. It felt as if countless microscopic probes were attempting to pierce his skin, analyze his composition, and release a chemical signal.
His internal "system" reacted instantly. He could feel the luminous mesh under his skin flare to life, temperature rising slightly. The invading spore filaments seemed to hit a scalding plate, rapidly withering and dying, flaking off his skin.
The numbness and connection vanished. The entire biomat's pulse rate noticeably quickened. All vesicles retracted. The mat's surface even contracted slightly inward, as if… **wary**? Or reassessing him as a target.
*It recognizes what's inside me,* Tobias thought. Or at least, it identified this as not "normal biomass" suitable for predation or symbiosis.
He made a bold decision. Abandoning the shock plan, he reached out and pressed his hand directly onto the biomat.
Upon contact, the mat recoiled violently, pulling away from under his palm to expose the rusted metal of the grate. The filaments around the contact point withered and blackened. It wasn't just avoiding him; it was being repelled or neutralized.
Without hesitation, Tobias gripped the grate and pulled. Aided by the wire-mesh reinforcement and his body's inexplicable, supra-zombie strength, the rusted welds shrieked and gave way. He created a hole just large enough to squeeze through.
The biomat closed behind him but maintained a foot of clearance, forming a bizarre "safe passage."
The tunnel ended at a bulkhead door, also ajar and warped. Beyond it lay a standard industrial corridor—white walls, green paint, now stained and smeared with unidentifiable goo. Some emergency lights were shattered; others cast a sickly green glow. The air was stagnant, thick with the complex stench of chemical leaks, old blood, and that cloying fungal odor.
Signs on the wall pointed: "MAIN LAB AREA ->", "SAMPLE CRYOSTORAGE ->", "HIGH-RISK CONTAINMENT (WARNING!)".
The signal was now crystal clear. It came from the direction of "High-Risk Containment."
Tobias moved down the corridor, his footsteps unnaturally loud in the silence. He passed rooms with observation windows: a chaotic office with scattered files; a cell culture room with shattered incubators overgrown with black mold; a primary analysis lab where an open notebook and a half-full coffee cup sat frozen in time.
Then he reached a junction in the main corridor. A fierce firefight had happened here. The walls were pockmarked with bullet holes, the floor stained with large, dark patches. Skeletons in white hazmat suits or military gear lay broken, bones incomplete. A mounted heavy machine gun lay tipped over, its ammo belt still attached.
What caught Tobias's eye was a massive breach in the wall. Not an explosion, more like something had **smashed** its way through the composite material. The edges were ragged, with dried, leathery brown tissue fragments still clinging.
He examined a skeleton. Cleanly broken neck. Another had a caved-in, shattered ribcage. The attacker possessed immense strength and clear intent—to kill, not to feed.
He looked into the dark breach. The signal… seemed to weakly emanate from that direction as well. Two sources? Or interference?
He decided on High-Risk Containment first. The primary target.
The containment unit was at the corridor's end: a heavy, bank-vault-style door with a viewport and a manual locking wheel, marked prominently with a biohazard symbol and the words "ALPHA-LEVEL SAMPLE - ABSOLUTE ISOLATION".
It was locked.
Tobias tried the wheel. It didn't budge. The internal mechanism was likely seized, or it required hydraulic power. Inspecting the frame, he found a slight gap between door and wall. Maybe…
He returned to the firefight zone, wrenching the heavy steel barrel from the machine gun and pocketing a tactical knife. Back at the door, he worked the thinner end of the barrel into the gap. Using his full weight and clumsy leverage, he began to pry.
Metal groaned in protest. The gap widened minutely. He repeated the process, adjusting position, a concentrated effort that generated internal heat, making his skin slick with seepage.
Finally, with a screech of tearing metal, the locking bolts inside bent. He pulled, and the massive door slid open just enough to enter.
Darkness within. The signal pulse here was at its strongest, a palpable, low-frequency thrum resonating in his skull.
He activated the phone's flashlight. The beam cut through the black.
The room was small, maybe twenty square meters. In the center stood a cylindrical transparent isolation chamber, its door wide open. Inside were interfaces and restraints, now empty. The floor beneath the chamber had a hole, its edges melted-looking, as if something had **burned** through from below.
One wall held a shattered control console. Another had sample racks. Most sealed containers were empty. One still held something: a faintly pulsating, semi-transparent silvery gel.
Tobias carefully picked up the container. The label read: "SAMPLE-07: 'Argent Sanguis' Symbiotic Nano-fluid (Dormant State) - Source: Extract from 'Weaver'-class Afflicted".
Nano-fluid. Related to his internal mesh? He shook the container. The silvery substance rippled, reflecting light oddly.
Suddenly, the signal frequency in his mind changed. From a steady pulse to a… inquisitive, rhythmically modulated complex wave. And the source seemed to shift—no longer from deep below, but from—
He spun around.
Behind the control console, in the dark corner, something moved.
The flashlight beam found it.
It was a "person."
Or had been.
It was curled in the corner, wearing tattered lab coat. Its skin was a sickly grey-white, laced with dark necrotic webbing (different from his luminous mesh). Its head was abnormally enlarged, especially the occipital region, which had a semi-transparent quality. Beneath the skin, instead of brain matter, flowed and shimmered silver light—identical to the "Argent Sanguis" in the jar. The silver glow extended down thickened spinal nerve cords throughout its body.
Its eyes were open, not zombie-cloudy, but covered by a silver film, now reflecting the flashlight, staring at Tobias.
It didn't attack. Just stared. Then, its jaw moved with terrible uncoordination, and a sound emerged, a hybrid of electronic static and breath:
"I-den-ti-fy…"
The voice was desiccated but in English.
"Non-au-thor-ized… life-form… de-tect-ed…" it stuttered, the light in its silver eyes pulsing, "Base pro-to-col… con-flict… Are you… 'Car-ri-er'? Or… 'Er-ror'?"
Tobias tightened his grip on the gun barrel. His mind raced. Carrier? Error? Referring to his system. This thing had intelligence and could perceive and attempt to parse him.
"Who are you?" Tobias attempted speech, his voice still a rasp but slightly smoother.
"Ar-chive… u-nit… SR-09… For-mer… Dr. Rich-ard Al-cott…" it said, "Cur-rent… 'Argent Sanguis'… neural net-work… lo-cal node… and… in-ter-face…"
A neural network node. Tobias's core pulse quickened. One of the signal sources?
"What happened here?" he asked.
"'Cra-dle' pro-to-col… in-it-i-at-ed… Con-tain-ment… fail-ure… 'Argent Sanguis'… breached pri-mary iso-la-tion… En-gaged… un-pre-dict-a-ble… sym-bi-o-sis… with 'Spor-u-lus Ma-tri-arch'… (Sam-ple-03)…**" SR-09's speech became marginally more fluid, as if accessing and integrating data, "**In-fec-tion… spread… Purge or-der… is-sued… In-ter-nal com-bat… We were… a-ban-doned… Locked down…"
"What is the Cradle Protocol? Who initiated it?"
"Nos-os Tech-nol-o-gies… Top se-cret… Ar-ti-fi-cial in-tel-li-gence… 'Or-phe-us'… man-aged… ex-e-cut-ed…**" SR-09 said, "Pri-mary goal… Con-trolled nano-sym-bi-o-sis… en-hance sol-diers… con-nect bat-tle-field net-work…"
Of course. A cold dread settled in Tobias. Military tech. His civilian AI ethics research in his past life must have seemed a laughable obstacle to these people.
"And now? Where is 'Orpheus'? What's the relationship between 'Argent Sanguis' and the spores?"
SR-09's silver eyes flickered violently, as if undergoing internal conflict. "**Da-ta… cor-rupt… 'Or-phe-us' core… be-low… main serv-er ar-ray… Sta-tus… un-known…**" It raised a skeletal, silver-veined hand, pointing to the melted hole in the floor, "'Argent Sanguis'… seeks or-der… in-te-gra-tion… 'Spor-u-lus'… seeks pro-lif-er-a-tion… ex-pan-sion… They… com-pete… al-so… fuse… We are… the ex-per-i-ment…"
So, this ruin housed at least two (or more) lab-originated, semi-intelligent or instinct-driven bio-entities in conflict and fusion. And he, an intruder with an unknown version of the "system," was a new variable.
"I need to go down," Tobias said.
SR-09 was silent for a moment. "Dan-ger… 'Argent Sanguis' do-main… in-ter-sects… 'Spor-u-lus' in-fec-tion zone… Also… 'Cus-to-di-an'…"
"Custodian?"
"'Cra-dle' pro-to-col… fi-nal act-i-vat-ed… de-fense u-nit… Purge all bio-log-i-cal con-tam-i-nant… In-clud-ing us…" A trace of something faintly human—fear—seemed to color SR-09's voice, "It is be-low… It tore the door… It… pa-trols…"
So the maker of the wall breach had been found.
Tobias moved to the edge of the floor hole, shining his light down. It revealed a service level or another lab about four meters down, with pipes and cables hanging. He could see the reflective sheen of viscous fluid and… wriggling shapes.
"Do you have maps? Schematics?" he asked SR-09.
SR-09's head tilted slightly. Silver light traced along a data port on the wall. A nearby dead monitor flickered to life, displaying a fragmentary building schematic.
"Da-ta trans-fer… lim-it-ed…" SR-09 stated.
Tobias photographed the screen with his phone. The schematic showed three sub-levels: B1 for labs and support; B2 for server arrays, power, and sample storage; B3 marked "Special Stress-Test & Disposal," largely grayed out.
"Main serv-er ar-ray… B2… Core… may per-sist… You need… re-start… aux-il-i-ary power… B1 north-east cor-ner… pow-er room…" SR-09 offered, "But lines… may be… cov-ered… by 'Spor-u-lus' or 'Argent San-guis'…"
"Can you help me?" Tobias looked at this half-human node.
SR-09 paused again, silver light flowing faster. "My phys-i-cal u-nit… se-vere-ly de-grad-ed… Mo-bil-i-ty… lim-it-ed… But can at-tempt… in-flu-ence lo-cal 'Argent Sanguis' net-work… Pro-vide lim-it-ed… path data… or… in-ter-fer-ence…" It halted. "In ex-change…"
"For what?"
"Da-ta… Your da-ta…" SR-09's silver eyes fixed on him, "Your ex-is-tence… anom-a-ly… Your 'sym-bi-ont' ver-sion… un-known… Sta-ble… pow-er-ful… Log-ging your bio-sig-nal… struc-ture… vi-tal… to com-pre-hend… 'Argent Sanguis' e-vo-lu-tion…"
*It wants to study me,* Tobias thought. Fair enough.
"Agreed. But I need server access first, to understand the full picture," he said.
"**Ac-cept-ed…" SR-09 replied, "I will flag your i-den-ti-fi-er… as 'Purge De-fer-red'… in 'Argent Sanguis' do-main… This will not af-fect… 'Spor-u-lus' zone… or 'Cus-to-di-an'…"
"Enough."
Tobias adjusted his grip on the gun barrel and his pack, preparing to descend. He glanced at SR-09, the former scientist trapped in the corner, his mind replaced by nano-fluid.
"Dr. Alcott," he said suddenly, "do you regret it?"
The silver light in SR-09 seemed to freeze for an instant. Then, from the desiccated, electronic voice, a sigh—profoundly human and utterly exhausted—seemed to be wrenched out:
"Ev-ery day… Ev-ery sec-ond… But now… I am… just… a wit-ness… to the end…"
Tobias nodded, offering no further words. He gripped a sturdy cable and lowered himself into the hole.
Above, the silver light in SR-09's eyes watched him vanish into the deeper dark, a ghost bearing either doom or deliverance, descending further into the belly of the beast.