The air finally changed, the oppressive, recycled stench of the sewers giving way to the briny, sharp bite of the open harbor. Dimas stumbled out of the drainage pipe’s mouth, his boots squelching in the mud of the embankments. He caught himself against a rusted iron pylon, his lungs burning."Tell me we’re not going back in there," Irina gasped, climbing out behind him. She wiped a streak of grime from her forehead, her glasses hanging precariously from one ear. "I think I’ve inhaled enough methane to light up a small village.""No more sewers," Dimas wheezed, his hand going to his knee. The joint was screaming in protest, a dull, grinding heat that pulsed with every breath. "We’re heading south. The rail yards are just past those warehouses.""South? Dimas, you can barely walk. You want to hike to the station?""Not the station. The cargo lines. Look at the schedule on the gate over there. There’s a freighter heading toward the coastal refineries in ten minutes. It’s slow, it’s loud

The freezing shock of the Indian Ocean didn’t just chill Dimas’s skin; it felt like it was trying to solidify the very marrow in his bones. As the surface closed over his head, the world of sun and air vanished, replaced by a crushing, rhythmic silence punctuated only by the hiss of his respirator.“Irina? You still there? Give me a green light on the comms,” Dimas said, his voice sounding tinny and distant in his own ears.“I’m here. Right behind you,” Irina’s voice crackled back, tight with a mixture of adrenaline and sheer terror. “God, it’s dark down here. The light from the surface... it doesn't reach very far, does it?”“Focus on my fins. Don’t look at the empty space,” Dimas replied, kicking his legs with a grim, steady effort. His bad knee flared with a sharp, stabbing protest against the resistance of the water. “Can you see the ruins? The static is making the water shimmer like oil.”“I see them. It looks... wrong, Dimas. Like a cathedral made of bone and shadows. My sensors

"Irina, get behind the altar! This is about to get messy!"Dimas didn't wait for her to argue. He lunged to the right, his boots sliding across the slick, bioluminescent stone just as a spear of high-pressure water whistled through the air where his chest had been a second ago. The projectile hit a coral pillar behind him, the force of it shattering the ancient white stone into a cloud of jagged shrapnel."Dimas! Your leg!" Irina screamed, crouching low behind the black volcanic glass of the altar."I know, I know! It’s still attached, so I’m counting it as a win!" Dimas grunted, scrambling into a roll. Every movement was a chore, a heavy, grinding effort that felt like he was moving through cooling tar. He looked up just in time to see the Deep Seeker raise a hand, the water in the air condensing into three more jagged liquid bolts."You are surprisingly nimble for a man whose spark has been extinguished, 4-1-0," the Enforcer rumbled. The sound of his voice sent ripples through the p

The wheels of the chair squeaked—a sharp, rhythmic protest against the linoleum floor that sounded like a dying bird. Dimas cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the rubber rims so hard his knuckles turned white. He pushed again, trying to navigate the tight turn between the kitchen counter and the sofa, but the cast on his left leg clipped the corner of the fridge with a dull, hollow thud."God damn it," Dimas hissed, slumped back into the seat. He stared down at his legs. They were still that sickly, ashen gray, looking more like stone carvings than human limbs. They didn't hurt anymore, which was almost worse. They were just dead weight."You’re going to give yourself a stroke if you keep fighting that thing," Irina said, her voice drifting from behind a mountain of books on the dining table. She didn't look up, her eyes glued to a magnifying loupe as she examined the Coral Key. "The wheelchair is a tool, Dimas. Not an opponent.""It’s a cage with wheels, Irina. Don’t try to

The air inside the prefab housing unit was a stifling cocktail of sulfur and recycled oxygen. Dimas sat in the darkness, his hands resting on the rubber grips of his wheelchair. Outside, the rhythmic thump-thump of the tectonic drills acted as a heartbeat for the hellscape of Vulcan Logistics. He checked the small, glowing screen of his tablet."Camera four is sweeping away from the barracks entrance," Dimas whispered, his voice barely a breath. "Ten seconds of blind spot. If I don't make it in ten, I’m a target on a shooting range."He didn't have his speed, but he had his timing. He pushed off the doorframe, the modified wheels of his chair rolling silently over the thin layer of volcanic ash that coated the floor. He glided out into the night, the orange glow of the lava vents illuminating the jagged ridges of the island like the ribs of a dying beast.He moved through the shadows of the loading crates, his eyes scanning the sky. The drones were there, buzzing like angry hornets, th