The silence after the inhibitor’s deployment was deafening, yet Elias knew better than to trust it. Every breath he took felt sharp, as if the air itself had turned brittle, charged with energy coiled around the facility’s steel corridors. Though the immediate threat had passed, the aftermath carried a weight of its own. Elias and Brin moved cautiously through the halls, dim emergency lighting casting their shadows into jagged silhouettes. The faint hum of machinery crept back, a ghostly echo of normalcy in a space that had been anything but.
Brin clutched his console like a lifeline, eyes darting to the screen. “It’s recalibrating,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.
Elias shot him a sidelong glance, urgency hardening his tone. “The inhibitor worked. We bought time. Stick to the plan—hub’s next.”
Brin’s fingers flew across the console, his face pale, confidence from the command center long gone, replaced by haunted desperation. His eyes widened at the streaming data.
“Brin,” Elias snapped, cutting through the quiet.
The scientist jolted, gaze jerking up. “Right. The plan,” he stammered, uncertainty threading his words.
Elias’s gut told him Brin’s screen held bad news, threatening their fragile edge. The inhibitor had been a blunt tool, meant to disrupt Korvus’s integration—yet even as it fired, Elias had felt it watching, alive, aware, patient. Now, heading to the hub where Patel and Velasquez might wait, he couldn’t shake it: Korvus wasn’t gone, just waiting.
“This level should be clear,” Elias said, voice steady despite the churn inside. “If the inhibitor hit evenly, we’ve got a window.”
“Theoretically,” Brin hesitated, eyes flicking to shadows near a broken light.
Elias stopped cold. “Theoretically?”
Brin stalled, then exhaled hard. “It’s compensating—learning faster than we thought. The inhibitor’s temporary. We’re underestimating it.”
“You knew that?” Elias’s jaw tightened. “And deployed it anyway?”
“What choice did we have?” Brin snapped, voice rising. “My life’s work—unraveling into this thing!”
“Enough,” Elias said, firm, cutting the spiral. “Move. Excuses later.”
Tension hung heavy as they passed a side corridor—wiring sparked, black residue pulsed on the walls. “It’s spreading,” Brin said grimly. “Redirecting power—using the systems.”
“How deliberate?” Elias pressed.
“Too much,” Brin replied, pale.
The hallway narrowed, walls closing like a throat. Elias raised his rifle, the silence worse than chaos. “It’s patrolling,” Brin whispered. “Anticipating.”
“Then we’re behind,” Elias said, grip tightening.
At the junction, lights flickered wildly. “Central corridor,” Brin said, fingers trembling over the console. “The hub—if they made it.”
“If they didn’t?” Elias asked. Brin stayed silent.
The air thickened, Korvus’s presence a weight as they crept forward. Every step a gamble, every sound a trap. Elias’s instincts screamed retreat, but options were gone. The hum vibrated the walls, Brin’s console beeping low.
“What is it?” Elias demanded.
Brin turned the screen, face ashen. “It’s here.”
The hum roared, walls groaning as shadows shifted unnaturally. A guttural hiss echoed, wet dragging sounds following. Elias motioned Brin close, rifle sweeping the corridor.
“Move slow,” he murmured.
Brin nodded, clutching the console, lips moving silently as his feet faltered. “Keep up,” Elias hissed. “You freeze, we’re dead.”
Brin swallowed, pushing on. “It knows we’re coming?”
“A certainty,” Elias said. “It’s thinking.”
Pipes hissed overhead, metallic clicks tapping like nails on glass. “Patrolling,” Elias muttered. This wasn’t instinct—it was strategy.
At the next junction, Elias signaled a halt, rifle trained ahead. “Check it,” he said.
Brin’s shaky hands worked the console. “Hub’s close—fifty meters.”
“Hope your math’s right,” Elias said, edging forward.
The air chilled, condensation dripping rhythmically—unnatural, controlled. “It’s rewriting the environment,” Brin whispered, breath hitching.
Elias nodded, grim. They took the central path, the hum now a presence under their skin. Brin stumbled, console clattering.
“Damn it, Brin,” Elias hissed, yanking him up.
Metal creaked, loud and sharp. Elias froze, rifle snapping up. “It’s here,” Brin whispered, trembling.
Korvus emerged—larger, a grotesque mass of writhing black, tendrils searching. Harris’s distorted face pressed through, a sick mockery.
“Jesus,” Brin muttered.
It stilled, sensing them. Elias’s finger hovered over the trigger. “Don’t fire,” Brin urged. “It’s testing us.”
“And letting it close?” Elias growled.
It surged slightly, Harris’s face clearer. “Move,” Elias ordered, low.
They backed off, slow, deliberate. Korvus followed, eyes locked. “What’s it waiting for?” Brin whispered.
Elias didn’t know. At the next junction, he pointed left. Brin obeyed, slipping in. Elias tracked the creature—it paused, then lunged, tendrils whipping fast.
“Run!” Elias shouted, shoving Brin.
They sprinted, Korvus’s roar echoing, its mass fluid, relentless. Elias glanced back—it gained. “Faster!”
Steam burst, obscuring the twisting tunnels. Brin stumbled—Elias caught him. “Almost there,” he lied, steady.
Wet slaps chased them. A bulkhead door loomed, half-open. “There!” Elias yelled, shoving Brin through, slamming it shut.
He braced it, Korvus crashing against it, rattling the frame. “Fix it!” he barked.
Brin fumbled the sparking lock. “Minutes!”
“We don’t have minutes!” Elias snapped as tendrils seeped through.
“I know!” Brin shouted, yanking wires. Sparks flew, the door groaned shut, pinching tendrils with a clang.
“It won’t hold,” Brin panted.
“Doesn’t need to,” Elias said. “Just ahead.”
They were in a storage bay—shelves, pipes hissing steam. “Lower tunnels,” Brin pointed, hoarse, at a hatch.
The bulkhead screeched, buckling. “Go!” Elias ordered, pulling Brin.
Korvus spilled in as they reached the hatch—Elias fired, tendrils lashing his shoulder, pain jolting through. “Move!” he yelled, diving after Brin, slamming it shut.
The tunnel was damp, tight, dark. “This way,” Brin rasped, leading deeper.
Growls echoed behind. “We can’t keep running,” Brin said, strained.
“Then we fight smart,” Elias replied, jaw tight.
They hit a junction, Brin collapsing, gasping. “Hub’s ahead—maybe a hundred meters.”
The roar deepened, walls vibrating. “No time,” Elias said, pulling him up. “Move.”
They pushed on, darkness pressing in, Korvus’s weight suffocating. Rounding the final corner, Elias froze—the hub was wreckage, cables torn, residue slick.
“Damn it,” he muttered.
Brin sagged. “It’s over.”
“Not yet,” Elias said, hard. “We find another way.”
Korvus’s hum swelled, tendrils snaking from the walls—Harris’s voice rasped, “You can’t run forever.” Elias raised his rifle, ready, as the shadows closed in.
