“The maps don’t do this place justice,” Zarri murmured, eyes on the dim sunstrip. “This sector’s massive.”


    “Ye, the ceiling''s gotta be twice as high as back home,” Finn grumbled.


    “Stay focused,” Vern said quietly, making his optics increase the zoom. “Sentinels everywhere. We can’t slip up here.”


    They lay flat on the highest rooftop at Sector 9’s southern edge, clad in full-black infiltration gear, every inch covered. Featureless, smooth duroplast masks absorbed the dim light. Beneath the mask, high-tech optics fed them a constant stream of data.


    Zarri adjusted her rifle, scanning the streets. “The locals aren’t even reacting. That many sentinels must be normal here.”


    Vern swept his gaze west, tracking along the base of the buildings until he found it. He pressed a button on the side of the mask, marking the spot. “There.”


    The administrator’s compound, office and living space was carved straight into the rock wall. That complicated things. He ran through their options in his head.


    Finn and Zarri locked onto the mark, marker appearing on their optics.


    “Rusts, the schematics were right. Single door, wide balcony over it,” Finn muttered, eyes narrowing. “Three doors leading inside from the balcony, though.”


    Vern exhaled. “Like I told Boss, I don’t buy that there’s no escape route.”


    “Escape from what, Zero? That rat’s got sentinels everywhere. Vigil’s just around the corner.”


    Vern couldn’t fault that logic. The administrator faced no real threat here. But still, he studied the cliff wall, searching for another entrance. “Maybe. Can’t find one if it''s here.” His focus shifted back to the entrance. Two guards on the ground floor. One pacing the balcony. “Two, thoughts on stunning the balcony guard unnoticed?”


    She peered through the scope. “Only sound will be him hitting the ground, I brought a special tool for that.” She patted a folded weapon on her hip, then a pause. “Downstairs guards are talking. Relaxed. Not sure if they’ll hear when he falls.” She adjusted slightly. “I’ll take the shot when he’s near the edge, less chance they’ll notice.” A second later, she pinged a vantage point she’ll take. “That rooftop works.” Their optics synced, displaying the marker.


    Vern checked his chronometer. “Four minutes until sunstrip’s off.”


    He studied the streets below. A long narrow path ran behind a row of densely packed habitats, unlit, leading straight to the sector’s western edge—right by Zarri’s mark.


    “So, Zero,” Zarri drawled, “what’s the plan?”


    Vern stayed quiet, watching the sentinel guards by the compound entrance. He lowered the zoom back to normal. “You’ll stun him on my command. He won’t alert anyone.”


    He rose to a crouch. “On me.”


    Zarri pulled a lever on her long rifle. The barrel retracted, the body folded, and in a second, it was secured on her back. Vern moved, Finn right behind him. He grabbed the metal ladder and descended fast, sliding down while holding the edges. The others followed. When his feet hit the ground, he stayed low, scanning around them. No movement. The edge of the sector was quiet. He moved to the back alley and broke into a sprint, cutting to the west wall. The padded soles muffled his steps, barely a whisper against the ground. At the end he crouched, and glanced back. Finn and Zarri could not keep up, still a way down the alley.


    The past six months had drilled control of his changed body. Blaine made sure of that. Vern barely felt winded.


    “Ya sure got fast,” Finn huffed as he caught up.


    Zarri veered off a few buildings short, already scaling a tall, flat-roofed structure she pinged. Vern checked the corner. They were a couple hundred meters from the residence entrance. The edge of the cavern was badly lit, only a couple of places got some light from the nearby end of the alleys. Sunstrip turned off, weak street lights coming to life. None of them in the back alley or wall itself luckily.


    It would work. Vern knew it the moment he saw it from this angle.


    “In position,” Zarri whispered through the comms.


    The air recyclers droned behind the habitats, a steady, low hum. Vern barely noticed it. He flicked a hand signal to Finn, then moved fast, keeping low. The cavern wall loomed ahead, they crouched next to it. Vern led the way, they started moving to the balcony, hugging the wall and its shadows. Just short of the balcony’s reach, where the light’s began–they stopped and laid down.


    “Guards'' position?” Vern’s voice was barely a whisper.


    “Leaning on the railing, middle of the balcony—smoking.” Zarri’s voice was clear, almost like she was standing right beside them. “Might be a good time. He, and the ones below look distracted, but he is right above them, Zero.”


    “Your call, Two. He won’t hit the ground.”


    Vern turned to Finn and gave a quick signal. Finn stepped ahead, turning as he locked his arms into position, gripping his upper arms to brace for the lift.


    “Now.” She said calmly.


    Finn braced himself, adjusting his stance. The moment Vern jumped, Finn pushed up for extra boost, launching him into the air.


    The trajectory sent Vern cleanly over the railing. He landed soft, barely a sound, but the guard still turned. Vern sprinted. For a split second, the man hesitated—silhouette blurred in the dim light, the infiltration gear obscuring details. Then realization hit. His eyes widened, mouth parting—But he never got the chance. Almost inaudible whistle sound flew over Vern. The Sentinel''s body stiffened, legs buckling. Vern caught him before he could slam to the ground, lowering him gently. And then he waited. His pulse slammed in his ears, sweat trickling down his back. Please, please, please. Nerves hit harder than he expected.


    “You''re good, Zero.”


    Zarri’s voice came through the comms like a lifeline. He let out a breath—hadn’t even realized he was holding it since the jump. The tension drained when he started breathing, then he reached for the small metal needle lodged in the guard’s neck, pulling it free and tucking it into a padded pocket. Nice shot, Zarri. He didn’t risk speaking aloud.


    “One is holding position, lying close to where he boosted you.”


    Okay, let’s get this started. The middle balcony door—easily the largest—was cracked open, leading to a hallway deeper into the compound. But first, he checked the other two. The left door, partially glass, revealed a lavish bedroom. The right—bingo. File cabinets, a large desk, maps and schematics pinned along the far wall.


    Vern slipped through the middle door, crouching as he moved into the hallway. He listened. Faint murmurs drifted from the stairwell at the end of the hall. Four doors lined the corridor. He moved to the first one on the right—the office. Vern pulled his stunner pistol, holding it tight to his chest with both hands. He slipped inside, eyes sweeping the corners. Clear. He holstered the weapon. A tall metal safe sat in the far corner. He pulled a small gadget from his chest pocket and pressed it to the safe’s electronic keypad. It latched on with a soft magnetic click, a red light blinking. He left it running and moved through the room, doing a proper sweep like Blaine had drilled into him. Paintings came off the walls, left on the floor. The desk was a mess of reports and data, but nothing useful.


    The maps. He turned to them—big, detailed, locked into place. Not just hung. Fixed. He ripped them off the wall. Nothing.


    He glanced at the safe. Light still red. His eyes swept the room again. The carpet. He pulled his smaller foldable knife and dragged the blade through the fibers. There. A floor safe close to the desk.


    Black Nova. He cursed softly, it had a Mechanical lock.


    He had a tool for that, but he wasn’t proficient, far from it actually.


    A soft noise. Vern looked up.


    A short thin woman stood frozen in the doorway, a bucket of cleaning supplies gripped tight in her hands.


    For half a second, neither of them moved. Then Vern lunged. His knife clattered to the floor as he clamped a hand over her mouth, dragging her inside. She shook under his grip, breath hitching, tears already slipping down her cheeks. Vern knew exactly how he looked to her—like something torn from a nightmare. He loosened his hold just a fraction.


    “Don’t make a sound.” His voice came out low, warped by the voice modulator, harsher than he meant. That didn’t help. Her sobs came harder, chest shaking beneath his arm.


    His fingers brushed the stunner at his hip—then hesitated. It was calibrated for combatants, not terrified civilians. She seemed so small and frail to him, shot from a stunner could kill her. The needle Zarri shot was still in his pocket. Maybe enough compound left—


    “Yolena, want to sleep at my place tonight?”


    The voice came from the hallway, casual, lazy—then cut short.


    Vern looked up.


    A Sentinel stood at the open door, taking in the scene, his posture relaxed. His gaze locked onto Vern pinning the woman to the floor. A moment of frozen confusion.


    Then the sentinel reacted, jumping back, reaching for his sidearm.


    AnvilTek G44. Vern had to memorize common weapon models and equipment they could encounter on missions. If that goes off, half the sector would hear it.


    He didn’t think further. He reached for Aether, breaking Blaine''s instructions. It rushed to him—cold, eager, he exploded with power. Moving at the sentinel, speed beyond anything a human was capable of.


    The Sentinel abandoned his draw, eyes opening wide at the shock of how Vern moved. Throwing his arms up to block instead. Vern was already on him. The first strike hit home—an elbow hammering into his raised arms. Something cracked. A wrist, maybe. Vern caught his mouth before he could yell, drove a knee into his ribs, swept his legs out, lifted him and smashed him to the floor. Despite the torso armor, the air left his lungs in a choked gasp. Vern pulled his stunner, fired at his face, and the Sentinel went limp. No helmet. Lucky.


    Aether left him as he let go of it, slowly, controlled. Exhaustion followed, dull and heavy—but not as brutal as before. He was getting better.


    Then warmth.


    Not comforting—wrong. A slow, crawling heat spreading under his skin.


    His breath caught.


    Sharp pain followed. Sudden, real.


    He turned. The woman stood a few steps away, trembling hard, hands clenched to her chest, inching backward. The knife he’d dropped—buried half length in his back. Her jaw trembled.


    I’m sorry, Vern thought as jumped to her, grabbed her again and stabbed her with the needle in the muscles of her neck, hoping it would work. Instantly she relaxed under his arms, vision unfocusing. Vern lowered her gently on the crumpled shredded carpet.


    "Report," Vern said, kneeling as he activated the mic. His left hand fished syringes from a pouch while his right switched his suit to medical diagnostics.


    “All quiet,” Zarri whispered over comms.


    Good. At least that.


    Thirty seconds later, the scan results appeared on his visor—nothing vital hit. He exhaled, relieved. If he''d used his combat blade instead of the small one, it might’ve been different. That one would slid in his suit without effort.


    He jabbed the first syringe into his side, numbing the pain. The second went near the wound—coagulants. He braced himself, took a deep breath, then wrenched the blade out. Every muscle in his body locked up from the pain, his vision tunneling. He barely stopped himself from making a sound.


    The suit tightened around the injury, applying pressure. The bleeding should be controlled now.


    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    He glanced at the safe. The light blinked green. Open. But his body refused to move. Aether exhaustion, blood loss—it all hit at once, heavier than he expected, he dropped forward catching himself with arms.


    No choice. Vern grabbed the third syringe and drove the combat stim into his thigh. The stim kicked in, white-hot clarity surging through his limbs. His pulse thundered, vision sharpening. His muscles obeyed—but there was a tremor in his fingers.


    The crash would be hell later, he knew.


    A problem for the future. He gathered the used syringes, tucking them back into the pouch, then forced himself toward the safe.


    The safe was unlocked. Vern picked up the device he’d used and pocketed it. Inside, the shelves were stacked with credit chips—a fortune—but they meant nothing to him.


    His eyes flicked over the contents. One shelf held a stack of files. He flipped through the first—schematics, calculations, tunnel layouts. The second, transaction records. The third? Nonsense. Four pages of scribble, printed on imitation plastic-paper. Coded? He stacked them all together and shoved them into the bag across his chest.


    He tore through the rest of the safe, tossing anything that didn’t seem important. Credit chips and jewelry clattered to the floor. His hand brushed something heavy at the back of a high shelf. He pulled it out and inspected it. A large pistol, he pulled it free from its holster.


    Deep red, with gold accents. No straight lines, only subtle curves. Even the barrel curved inward at the end, lined with tiny golden hexagonal patterns—emitters, maybe.


    STYX-P01. The name gleamed in gold along the side of the barrel. Vern had never seen an energy pistol like it. He slid it back into its holster and clipped it to his left hip.


    "Zero! Activity! Sentinels just got a comm—pulling weapons!" Zarri’s nervousness bled into her voice.


    A faint rustle—fabric on fabric, behind—at the door. Vern slammed the shield generator on his belt. A blue bubble formed around him in a fraction of a second.


    BOOM.


    The eardrum shattering sound blasted behind him as he turned, raising hand over his face by instinct. The barrier flared as the round shattered into a million tiny fragments, spraying the room like shrapnel. That first shot had been aimed right at Vern’s head. Two more slammed into the shield, making it ripple. He yanked out his stunner and fired blindly, shots snapping off as the sentinel ducked further behind the door frame, exposing nothing but his head and weapon. One of Vern’s shots connected—direct hit to the head. Sentinel was shielded as well. Stunner had zero effect.


    Another impact. Vern’s shield flared yellow. The generator on his belt whined, struggling to keep up. Overheating.


    He dove forward toward the wall where the doorway is, rolling against it. AnvilTek Hammerer. He recognized the weapon now—oversized tungsten-tipped rounds. Murder against personal shields.


    Two shots echoed from outside.


    "Both down," Zarri said, too fast. Shaken. "Zero, you good?"


    Vern fumbled for the Styx, frantically looking for the activation switch. There—just above the thumb rest. He flipped it on. The weapon let out a low, unfamiliar hum. Its tiny display blinked awake, flashing some logo he didn’t recognize before a charge bar crawled vertically across the screen. Four tiny indicator lights around the display came to life, glowing red.


    "One, move to Two—cover them," Vern gasped. His pulse hammered, the combat stim making his chest feel too small, his breath too short. The sentinel repositioned and leaned inside the room and lined the weapon, Vern rolled, barely dodging as the Hammerer boomed again. He pointed Styx at the sentinel and pressed the trigger. Trigger locked, nothing happened. Thankfully sentinel moved behind the wall for cover, buying him precious seconds.


    Vern stood and tried to run across the long room to the balcony door, but immediately got a leg tangled in shredded carpet. As he tried to get out of it, he tripped on the unconscious woman and fell awkwardly over her, landing on his back, pain tearing through him.


    The sentinel reappeared. Weapons lined up. Styx’s hum stabilized. Vern pushed himself to a sitting position, ignoring the agony, the woman under his knees. Shot exploded right in front of his torso, shield flaring red.


    BEEP BEEP BEEP


    Tiny shield generator on his belt somehow audible in the absolute chaos, warning it’s seconds from collapse. He lifted Styx with both hands–refocused on his aim, noticing a display on the back of the weapon, showing a full bar. Four soft green lights also glowed from the back of the handle. As his finger touched the trigger it moved slightly–perfectly reacting to the pressure. He pressed the trigger, unsure what to expect.


    A blindingly bright beam of light flickered out, with unreal intensity. Sentinel screamed as he threw himself behind the wall, the weapon jerked–the recoil became significant after the initial blast. The sentinel’s shield belt beeped the same warning Vern’s had—he’d only been hit for a fraction of a second, but it was enough. The beam vaporized everything it touched so he jerked the weapon to the right. Cutting through the entire corridor, hoping to hit the sentinel. And the beam went out.


    Vern panted, his whole body slick with sweat. His mouth was dry as sand. Air was thick with the scent of scorched metal and the strong smell of ozone.


    “What was THAT?” Zarri yelled, completely losing her composure.


    The scent of smoke snapped him back—the edge of the woman’s dress was on fire.


    “I’m fine, cover me, I''m leaving.” He said as he slapped the flames out, cursing, before wobbly scrambling to his feet. Unsure in what state the sentinel was and not wanting his strained shield to take more shots, Vern ran straight to the closed balcony door, bursting through them. Fragments of glass flying.


    Balcony railing stopped him and knees buckled, arms holding the edge, trying to catch a breath. Piece of the balcony exploded, the railing he was leaning broke clean off, Vern went falling down along with it. He fell awkwardly, on his back. Air went out of him, wound on his back screaming in agony.


    The sentinel leaned over the edge seeing Vern in the debris and pointed the weapon down. A shot hit the sentinel–his shield flaring red. Moments later a second shot collapsed it, red bubble vanishing and fragments of the round hitting his armor. The third hit him with full force–knocking him out of Vern’s vision.


    No, it was not silence. There was frantic screaming in their comm channel. The sector alarm blared.


    Someone was lifting him up. “Come brotta, get up,” Finn whispered off comms, voice modulated.


    Vern shook his head, some semblance of mental clarity returning. “Two, get down, we’ll meet you there.”


    They ran along the cliff, Vern still half-draped over Finn. Shouts behind them, orders thrown, sirens screaming. His scopes weren’t working. He couldn’t see marked locations. They reached the alley and ran in, Zarri was sliding down the ladder.


    A shot hit her, a blue shield flared momentarily around her head where the round connected. Vern could not figure where the round came from, Zarri increased her descent speed.


    Vern unholstered and raised his Styx, indicators still red, bar only 30% charged. Hiss of frustration escaped him as he holstered the weapon.


    Finn pulled his oversized automatic weapon off his back and took aim, his scopes switching to infrared, searching down the alley.


    Another shot hit Zarri, she yelped. Now both Vern and Finn saw it, it came from the air.


    Finn snapped his weapon up. Automatic fire roared. A few rounds hit—blue shimmer outlining the figure before it blurred, moving fast. Finn tracked it, kept firing. Sunstrip panels that got hit bursted and sparked, the debris rained down. Finn’s strength and training helped him control the massive recoil of automatic fire.


    The target doved, Finn lost line of sight. The weapon sizzled from the heat, ammunition to that beast was belt fed from the container on his lower back.


    Zarri hit the ground, breathing fast and erratic. Raising her long weapon looking up. “What in the unholy Nova’s asshole was that?”


    “That is a sentinel proficient with BTA gear. My scopes are fried, lead us to exfil C, we need to get the hell out of here.”


    Finn took point, scanning the sky as he ran.


    Shot came from high up behind them, hitting Finn’s shield, the sentinel was gone when they turned. Shots continued to come from different angles. Chipping away at each of their shields. Their generators whine increased as the shield got more strained.


    Vern struggled to keep up, his back was in a bad shape. Vision started to blur, lagging more behind. Shot hit his already strained shield. Thankfully it held the impact itself, but fried moments later. Generator sparked and shut down. He felt naked, panic rising. Zarri turned and hugged him, protecting him with her shield, they ran together.


    Shots continued while they ran. The exfil point they ran to was prepared for this situation, however it was still way off. That sentinel was an excellent shot, even with movement and their clothes a big percentage of shots connected.


    “Shields won’t hold, we gotta deal with ‘im.” Finn said over the comms.


    Vern checked Styx’s holster. Indicators green. "One, after his next shot, turn and show me where he is."


    The wait was short. A shot cracked through the air, glancing off Finn’s shield with little effect. Finn spun, weapon raised, scanning the rooftops for the Sentinel’s new position.


    Finn fired. His gun thundered, a burst of bullets tearing into the building’s edge.


    Vern was already in position, kneeling, Styx firm in his hands. Zarri’s grip steadied his shoulder. The instant Finn marked the Sentinel’s location, Vern squeezed the trigger.


    Styx erupted. A deafening blast roaring sound constant as the weapon fired. A blinding beam lanced out, turning night into white-hot day. The air around it seemed to boiled, warping with heat.


    The building’s corner didn’t just break—it disintegrated. Metal screeched as it liquefied, stone behind exploded in a plume of molten debris. The Sentinel was illuminated, caught in the beam’s glare.


    The Sentinel bolted, fast and erratic. Vern fought to control the weapon—his arms burned from the force, his teeth rattling from the raw energy roaring through Styx. But the beam was relentless, cutting through everything.


    At the last moment—just before it died—he clipped him.


    Vern blinked hard, eyes burning. The air reeked of ozone, sharp enough to choke. His mouth was dry. His body screamed for water. No time.


    "Run." His voice came out rough.


    That beam had been a beacon for the entire sector. No doubt more were on the way. He had no idea where they were going. For a few moments, the world blurred—his body moved without thought, instincts overriding reason. His brain had one command: keep moving. His ears were ringing, it pitched higher and higher. Heart going wild inside his ribcage, Vision narrowing.


    He leaned heavier on Zarri. She didn’t slow down. Good. Maybe she wouldn’t notice. Maybe she’d keep running and drag him along.


    Why was he running? It hurt. Everything hurt. His back burned, every step hammered through his skull. He stared at the ground, unfocused. When did they leave the metal pathways? Rocks now. Rough, uneven.


    Lie down.


    Yes. That made sense! If he stopped, the pain would stop. He should lie down. Just for a second. Mareen always said rest is the best cure, didn’t she? She’d be making her soup now, spicy, the kind that made his nose runny but always helped.


    No.


    No, she wasn’t making anything.


    She hated him.


    She knew. Realized he didn’t deserve it. She’s gone.


    He should have died with the other dweller kids. Beaten to death. Head open.


    He should have d??????i????????e?????????????d????????? like the other dweller kids. Beaten to death. H????????e???a???????????d????? ????????o?????p????????e????????n????????.


    Like Lela.


    Sweet Lela.


    She didn’t deserve that. She loved him. He loved her. So much. Maybe that’s why she’s dead.


    Wait, that is why!


    Maybe loving him was a sin?


    Loving me is a sin!


    Nova saved all humanity during the Dissolution of Reason. So why would she, a God, take Lela?


    Loving Vern couldn’t have been that much of a sin, could it?


    It was.


    He knew it was.


    He’d always known. But now—it settled. Solid. Undeniable.


    His existence was a sin. But why? Who knows.


    But everything pointed to that.


    Mareen always said to be logical. Let logic lead you through life.


    So the conclusion was obvious–logical.


    Lela died because she loved him.


    He should not exist.


    Hh?????a????h??????a????h????a???h???????a????h???a???a???a???h???a???h???a???h???a???h???a???ahahah?a?a?h?a?a?h?hahahha–I am a sin.


    He jerked, gasping sharp, eyes snapping open. Waking from the delirium. Finn carried him on his shoulders, breathing hard.


    “How far?” Vern rasped.


    Finn whipped his head to the side. “Close—78 meters. You okay?”


    “I am not, but let me down.”


    His feet hit the rocky ground, and he ran. Nova, it hurt. His body screamed for Aether, craved it. How good would it feel? But no. Bad idea. He grit his teeth and pushed through. A deeper weight pressed in—thick melancholy, suffocating, wrapping around his ribs like a vice. Worse than his physical pain, gnawing from within.


    Shots cracked behind them, but they were wild, uncoordinated. Zarri stopped, fired off a couple of rounds, then bolted again.


    Even without functioning scopes, Vern spotted the exfil point. Hidden entrance between two silos, leading into the vast maze of air ducts and maintenance shafts. His holstered Styx—still red. He had no idea how long he’d been out. Left holster empty, the stunner was gone, lost in that first fight.


    Finn yanked smoke grenades from his chest rig, primed them, and tossed them. Thick clouds spewed out hot, meant to counteract advanced tracking tech.


    They reached the gap between the silos, Finn led the way, Zarri behind him. Something slammed into Vern before he could follow, crushing him to the ground. A blade came for his face.


    He caught it—too late. It punched through his right palm, stopping just short of his eye. The pressure bore down, steel carving a line across his cheek, splitting his upper lip.


    The Sentinel’s armor was wrecked—outer layers melted, rest scorched.


    No choice.


    He called for Aether. It hit like a flood. Crashing into him, eager, overwhelming. Fatigue? Gone. Dizziness? Gone. Pain? Tolerable.


    The Sentinel flinched at the shift. Vern shoved him back, wrenched the blade from his grip, and drove it deep into the side of his helm.


    A pained, garbled yell—then the Sentinel flew away, vanishing into the dense smoke.


    Vern held the Aether tight, turned, ran toward the entrance. Finn caught his arm, yanked him into the hidden door, then slammed it shut behind them.


    “Where the hell were you? I got worried,” Finn panted, peeling off his mask. He spun, locking the entrance with a steel mechanism. From the outside, it was just another slab of rock. Then he turned back to Vern, frowning. “What happened to your face?”


    “Flying rustsucker swooped in before the smoke covered us.” Vern muttered, stripping his mask off and gulping from his canteen. His lip made that harder than it should’ve been.


    Zarri dropped onto her knees, face buried in them. “That was insane. How the hell did we get out of that?”


    Vern wiped his mouth, breath unsteady. “We’re safe—for now. But we need to put distance between us and this sector.”


    He stood. The Aether inside him wavered.


    Then—


    It left him.