A Bug in the Code

The door didn't just break—it dissolved.

Nanotech foam splintered the frame, swallowing the hinges in grayish tendrils that smelled like burnt copper. Enforcer breach protocol. Miyu's chair screeched backward as she ripped the neural chip free, the screen erupting in a final burst of corrupted noise before dying completely.

Kai was already moving, a compact pulse pistol appearing in his hand like magic. "Back door. Now."

There was no back door.

Miyu opened her mouth to say so—then the wall beside her melted, revealing a jagged hole into the adjacent building. Kai didn't hesitate. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her through just as the first stun-rounds fizzed through the air where her head had been.

Her shoulder slammed into damp concrete on the other side. The stench of mold and ammonia clawed at her throat. Some kind of abandoned hydroponics lab, the glass tanks shattered, their genetically modified algae long since rotted into black sludge.

Kai pressed a finger to his lips.

Outside, boots crunched through debris. A distorted voice crackled over comms: "Heat signature fading. Check the vents."

Miyu's breath came too fast. They weren't just enforcers. This was a Cleaner Team—special ops units that left no witnesses. No traces.

Kai's lips barely moved. "They're tracking the chip."

Of course they were. She could almost laugh. The Turing Lock wasn't just a barrier—it was a homing beacon.

A shadow passed over the broken skylight above. Drone.

Miyu's fingers dug into the neural drive in her pocket. The distorted face from the screen haunted her. That wasn't random noise. Someone—or something—had been watching through the encryption.

Kai nudged a rusted service panel with his boot. It creaked open, revealing a narrow maintenance shaft. "Move."

She didn't argue.

The shaft dumps them into a derelict subway tunnel, where the air smells like rust and ozone. A single flickering sign casts erratic light:

ABANDON ALL HOPE

(graffiti underneath adds:) THE SENTINEL ALREADY HAS

Kai checks his pistol's charge. "We need to split up."

Miyu grips the neural chip tighter. "Like hell we do."

Then—a sound like knives scraping metal.

Something drops from the ceiling behind them.

Not human. Not anymore.