The chamber's servers pulsed like a living heart, their hum a hymn that drowned Mia's breath, her scars blazing under her patched jacket, her blood a wildfire no drone could cage. Boston's veins thrummed beneath Chinatown, the tunnel's dirt a fading throat behind, its cables still sparking in her mind, the gold drone's voice—Carver, you're late—cold, patched, a blade in her blood. Caleb stood before her, young, lean, wired, his jacket patched—circle-and-slash—like her pendant, like her scars, his rig glinting, not gun but tech, wires snaking from his wrists, his voice—Ethan sent me—a lock too raw to pick, too sharp to trust. Lila crouched nearby, her drive glowing faint, her patch alive, her green eyes sharp, not rival but shadow, her move toward Caleb not fight but caution, her pain raw, like Ethan's ghost bound them all. The USB was safe, the pendant burning, Ethan's You're the key live on screens, his face wired, hollow, his mind trapped, a lock Mia's blood was born to break, or bind forever.
The chamber was a cathedral of code, servers towering like black obelisks, cables pulsing like arteries across steel and dirt, screens flashing—Mia's pulse, Lila's drive, Caleb's rig, live, their light searing her eyes, the hum louder, a pulse not electric but alive, Mia's scars glowing brighter, her blood a storm, nanotech no cage but spark, wiring her choices, stealing her mind. Memory slashed: Ethan, not a street but a lab, her wrists bound, a needle in her arm, his voice, You're enough. Not hers, but the Lattice's, her blood screaming, nanotech wiring her veins, her choices slipping, her mind not hers. Caleb's rig hummed, its wires glinting, his patch alive, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, but his silence was a lock, not trust, his tech a blade Mia's blood felt, sharp as the bullet graze on her shoulder, its cold lingering, nanotech fighting, her spark a fire no coder could silence.
"Name," Mia demanded, knife steady, her thief's hands sure, her voice low, the hum hers, not servers, red drones circling outside, their lenses blind, for now, but the gold drone's hum closer, its lens locking, a woman's voice—Carver—cold, patched, not Lila's, not NexGen's, but hers, the Lattice's tongue. Caleb's eyes flicked, not fear but pain, like he'd seen Ethan's cage, seen her, his rig sparking, wires twitching, not NexGen's but Ethan's, his patch glowing, like her scars, like Ethan's spark. "Caleb," he said, hands up, his voice rough, a hacker's truth no vault could bury. "Lattice's got him—core, under Boston, his mind, not flesh. You're the key, Carver, his spark." His words shook, not lies but pain, like he'd hacked Ethan's cage, felt its wires, his rig alive, a pulse no drone could cage.
Lila's drive hummed, its faint glow pulsing, her patch blazing, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her eyes on Caleb, not rival but thief, her pain raw, like Ethan's ghost chose Mia, not her. "He's telling truth," Lila said, voice low, her boots scraping dirt, her drive sparking, like it sang, like it knew Mia's blood. "Your blood's Anchor's key, Carver, but the core's no lock—it's a mind, Ethan's, wired." Her words cut, not jealousy but fear, her green eyes Ethan's, not hers, a thief's truth no lock could hide, no chamber could bury. Mia's scars roared, her blood a storm, the pendant heavy, its circle-and-slash alive, like it knew Caleb, knew Lila, knew too much. Memory flashed: Ethan, not a lab but her, a lockpick, his laugh, You're enough. Real, or the Lattice's lie, her blood screamed, nanotech wiring her mind, her choices not hers.
The chamber shook, servers whining, the gold drone diving, its lens locking, lasers—not bullets—cutting cables, sparks flying, their light searing Mia's eyes, her scars dimming, but her blood fought, nanotech no leash but fire, her pulse a song no coder could silence. A woman stepped through the dark, her coat patched—circle-and-slash—like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her tablet streaming—Mia's pulse, Caleb's rig, Lila's drive, live, its light cold, clinical, a coder's gaze. "I'm Vera," she said, voice steel, not thief but coder, her patch glowing, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her presence a weight no tunnel could hold. "Ethan's debt, your spark." The hum spiked, Mia's scars roared, and the gold drone's lens locked, not firing but watching, the Lattice's cage wiring her choices, stealing her mind, Vera's eyes sharp, like she saw Mia's blood, saw its fire.
"Who're you to him?" Mia asked, knife steady, her thief's hands sure, scars pulsing, the hum hers, not servers, her voice cutting through sparks, through Vera's cold. Vera's tablet flickered, Ethan's face—not live but looped, Flee, his eyes hers, scars she'd never seen, his face hollow, wired, not flesh. "His maker," Vera said, stepping closer, her boots silent, her patch alive, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her gaze not pain but possession, like she owned Ethan, not loved him. "Your blood's the spark, Carver, Anchor's key, Lattice's heart. He built you for this—his rebellion, or his chain." Her words were ice, not lies but truth, a coder's truth no vault could bury, no chamber could hide.
The chamber shook, servers whining, the gold drone diving, its lens locking, lasers—not bullets—cutting cables, sparks flying, their light searing Mia's eyes, her scars dimming, but her blood fought, nanotech no leash but fire, her pulse a song no coder could silence. A woman stepped through the dark, her coat patched—circle-and-slash—like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her tablet streaming—Mia's pulse, Caleb's rig, Lila's drive, live, its light cold, clinical, a coder's gaze. "I'm Vera," she said, voice steel, not thief but coder, her patch glowing, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her presence a weight no tunnel could hold. "Ethan's debt, your spark." The hum spiked, Mia's scars roared, and the gold drone's lens locked, not firing but watching, the Lattice's cage wiring her choices, stealing her mind, Vera's eyes sharp, like she saw Mia's blood, saw its fire.
"Who're you to him?" Mia asked, knife steady, her thief's hands sure, scars pulsing, the hum hers, not servers, her voice cutting through sparks, through Vera's cold. Vera's tablet flickered, Ethan's face—not live but looped, Flee, his eyes hers, scars she'd never seen, his face hollow, wired, not flesh. "His maker," Vera said, stepping closer, her boots silent, her patch alive, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her gaze not pain but possession, like she owned Ethan, not loved him. "Your blood's the spark, Carver, Anchor's key, Lattice's heart. He built you for this—his rebellion, or his chain." Her words were ice, not lies but truth, a coder's truth no vault could bury, no chamber
could hide.
Caleb stirred, his rig sparking, wires twitching, his rasp faint: "She's NexGen—lie." His eyes flicked to Mia, not fear but pain, like he'd hacked Vera's code, felt its thorns, his patch glowing, like her scars, like Ethan's spark. Lila's drive sparked, her patch blazing, like Mia's pendant, like her scars, her move toward Caleb not fight but caution, her pain raw, like Ethan's ghost bound them all. Mia lunged, not for Vera but a server, her thief's hands tearing cables, screens screaming—Ethan's voice, You're the key. Sparks flew, servers whining, like they'd burst, the gold drone firing—lasers, cables melting, Mia's scars dimming, but her blood fought, nanotech no leash but fire, her pulse a song no coder could silence.
Vera laughed, her tablet streaming—Mia's pulse, Caleb's rig, Ethan's mind, wired, her voice cold, not mirth but steel: "Run, Carver, it's in you." The chamber shook, red drones breaking through, their lenses locking, NexGen's boots above, their shouts sharp, the gold drone circling, its lens live, the Lattice's cage no myth but her, wiring Mia's choices, stealing her mind. Mia's blood roared, her thief's heart sure, and she tore cables, Lila beside her, Caleb gripping her arm, weak but real, his patch alive, like her scars, like Ethan's spark. "Find him," he rasped, eyes hers, not Vera's, his rig sparking, a hacker's truth no drone could cage. The chamber was no haven but a lock, her scars a map, Ethan's Flee a fight, not surrender, and Boston's veins were no grave but a blade, her blood the key to nowhere.