The quiet that succeeded the splintering was a frail, wounded thing.The great chamber had been cleared of the worst debris of the riot, but the scars remained: a dark stain on the floor where blood had pooled, a burn mark from a dropped torch, a general sense of shock-hollowed emptiness.The two-thirds of the community that had remained with Ken moved through the tunnels like ghosts, whispering, avoiding each other's eyes. Trust was a luxury no one could afford.They had withdrawn to the oldest, most defensible areas of the network, the areas around the Command Spire and the primary hydroponics bay. It felt a retreat, a contraction. The spaces were both too crowded and appallingly empty, the absence of the lost a constant, nagging presence.It was beneath this tense, airless pressure that the latest threat announced itself.Elara was in the command center, trying to cobble together a new duty roster from a decimated and demoralized citizenry, when she first smelled it. She froze, st

The universe had shrunk to the rhythm of her own breaths and the hard, unyielding pressure of the rock on her spine. The De Vries interviews had taken on a new, unsettling tone. The needles kept coming, the scans still probing, but the technicians' hands were less mechanical, their masked faces staying with a strange, unhealthy deference. They spoke in hushed voices she shouldn't be hearing. Words like "unprecedented," "mitochondrial density," and "heritable factor" leaked into the clean air. They were not trying to break her anymore; they were trying to understand her. And that was far worse.It was during shift change, a moment of uncharacteristic laxity, that the opportunity came. A younger guard, less experienced and newer, was startled by a beep on his wrist-comm. The door to her cell, always locked with a loud hiss, was left open by a crucial inch. Not enough for escape, but more than enough for a peek at the world beyond.Sophia didn't wait. Panic was a luxury. This was strateg

The world had dissolved into a maelstrom of pandemonium. The antiseptic white lights of the laboratory were gone, replaced by the frantic strobe of muzzle flashes and the unearthly, pulsating glow of emergency strips. The hum of machinery was drowned out by the boom of automatic weapons fire, the shriek of rending metal, and the screams of the dead and dying. Bitter smoke burned the eyes, a vile combination of burned wiring, spent cordite, and the coppery scent of new blood.Markus was paralyzed amidst the slaughter, a statue of conflicted purpose. The triumphant confidence he'd felt when he sent the signal had disappeared, substituted by a fear that was cold and slashing. This was not the tidy extraction he'd planned for. This was a bloodbath. De Vries soldiers, their faces concealed behind the visors of their sleek armour, went about their work with brutal efficiency, butchering lab technicians and sanctuary guards with equal disregard. Their orders were clear: extract the asset and

The flight of the blood vial was cut short. It never reached the sparking consoles. A deafening, concussive WHUMP struck the laboratory like a blow. The far wall, already weakened by the initial breach, bulged inward and then ruptured in a hurricane of shattered rock and reinforced polymer. A pressure wave tossed bodies through the air. The ceiling over the bank of electrical equipment caved in, smashing the gear and entombing the vial beneath tons of debris in a split second.Markus's suicidal gamble was made irrelevant. The decision was taken out of his hands by a higher level of violence.De Vries was finished with surgical strikes. They were wielding hammers.A second group of troops, these ones heavier with demolitions and flamethrowers, streamed through the new, gaping wound in the mountain's belly. Their objective had changed. The primary asset's whereabouts were unknown. The facility was in revolt. Denial and destruction were the new objectives. If they could not claim the pri

Firing had ceased. There was merely the soft, starving crackle of flames, the tense creak of over-strained stone, and the ragged, gasping breathing of the survivors. The De Vries troopers, lately tools of unbridled, naked momentum, stood now frozen, their rifles at a tense ready. They had captured the chamber, but the battle was over. A stronger, new presence had arrived.He came quietly. No flash of smoke, no drama. The armored fighters merely stepped apart, making a way, their poses stiffening into something greater than attention—into respect, and fear.Inspector Valerius De Vries walked into the ruin. He was a thin man, not in battle armor, but in a harsh cut grey uniform, insignia- and decoration-less. His glossy boots walked resolutely through dust and ash. His hands were clasped behind his back. His face was hollow, ageless, and abnormally serene, as though the splintering world around him was a moderately entertaining data stream.His winter-blue eyes surveyed the tableau—the