The air inside the Sector 14 transit room felt paper-thin and reeked of a sharp, metallic tang—the lingering scent of scorched circuits from the research lab they’d left behind. Mark Miller leaned against a corridor wall that vibrated with a low, rhythmic tremor, trying to steady his ragged breathing. Under the erratic flicker of neon lights, Mark’s shadow stretched and fractured against the floor, a mirror to his own shattered state of mind following the revelation of Alistair Thorne’s true identity. He could feel the pulse of the Illegal Ware strapped to his wrist; its heat had yet to subside, as if the forbidden device were ravenous for more data to consume.Before him, David was kneeling in front of a secondary data distribution panel tucked away behind a structural pillar. Sweat poured down the young man's temples, soaking a shirt collar already grimed with industrial dust. Sarah stood a few paces ahead, her back to Mark and David, her binary rifle held with steady precision towa