We descended deeper and deeper. With every flight of rusted stairs, the air grew heavier. Massive drops of condensate—filthy and oily—streaked down the pipes and pooled on the floor.
"Ambient temperature: forty-eight degrees Celsius," Zeno rasped. "Cooling system efficiency reduced to sixty percent. My radiators are choked with dust. Cleaning required."
"You’re starting to sound exactly like an AI," I wiped the sweat from my eyes. "I hope you’re still in there, Zeno."
Ephraim was breathing hard. His face had turned a deep crimson; his old shirt was plastered to his body with sweat.
"Hang in there," I said, steadying him by the elbow.
We entered a massive hall, a labyrinth of pipes. Pressure gauges covered the walls, buried under layers of soot, their needles trembling. Then, a speaker crackled somewhere above.
"Too hot?" Silas’s voice broke through the interference. You couldn’t miss the smirk in it. "Good. Heat makes metal soft."
We froze, scanning the room. There were dozens of speakers. The sound came from everywhere.
"Do you really think you’re special?" he continued.
A metallic thud echoed through the hall. Heavy airlock doors slammed shut—both in front of us and behind.
"And I," Silas continued calmly, "want to study you."
"System pressure is rising," Zeno reported.
I looked at the nearest gauge. The needle was crawling steadily into the red zone.
"He’s blocked the steam vents," I said.
The boilers were going to overheat. Silas confirmed it instantly:
"You have ten minutes. If you’re so brilliant... vent the pressure."
The hall was enormous. The relief valves were high above us, shrouded in clouds of white steam. Up there, the temperature had to be near a hundred degrees. Panic hammered at my skull. My heart thrashed against my ribs.
Will to Live.
The skill would show me the safe path. It would highlight the valves, calculate the timing. It would be easy.
"No," I said aloud.
I ripped a heavy pipe wrench from my belt.
"Zeno!" I shouted over the hissing steam. "See that main valve?"
"Height: twelve meters. Sector B. But my servos… eighty-five percent overheat. I could fail at any moment."
"You won’t!"
I splashed the last of my canteen over his rear radiators. The water evaporated instantly with a hiss.
"Get up there and hold the stem! Just hold it, don’t let it close completely!"
He nodded and began to scale the vertical ladder.
"Ephraim!" I turned to the old man. "See that small valve with the blue marking? Turn it! Clockwise! With everything you've got! That’s the cooling loop!"
"Got it!" the old man croaked, staggering toward the valve.
I threw myself at the central pipeline. There was an emergency gate valve there. A massive wheel, buried under rust. I scrambled onto the catwalks. My skin began to burn. I grabbed the wheel with both hands. The metal scorched even through my gloves. My prosthesis heated up instantly.
"Come on…" I growled through gritted teeth. "Turn, you bastard."
A screech. The wheel moved a millimeter.
"Critical overheat!" Zeno yelled from above. He was hanging off the valve, his chassis smoking.
"Hold on!" I roared, throwing my entire weight into it. The hydraulics in the prosthesis screamed, compensating for my weakness.
The wheel turned. Once. Twice. And then—steam blasted into the open pipe. The pressure dropped instantly. The gauge needle jerked back. At the far end of the hall, an airlock door thudded open.
"Move!" I slid down the ladder, nearly twisting my ankle.
I grabbed Ephraim. Zeno dropped down from above. We stumbled into the corridor beyond the door, where the air was cooler.
"Impressive," the voice returned, this time without the mockery. "You endured the pain. But will you endure the fire?"
An alcove opened at the far end of the hallway. Something stepped out. It looked like a man, but it was encased in heavy ceramic plate armor. A solid mask with a narrow slit hid the face. In its hands, it held a heavy flamethrower, connected by a hose to a tank on its back.
"Thermal servitor…" Ephraim whispered.
A jet of liquid flame surged toward us. We barely managed to dive around the corner. The fire licked the wall where we had stood a second before, leaving a bubbling black scar on the concrete.
"My weapons are ineffective," Zeno said calmly. "I cannot close the distance due to overheating."
Boiling boiler room behind us. Flamethrower in front. We're in a hell of a spot. I scanned the corridor. A technical passage. Pipes ran along the ceiling. Red for steam. Blue… Water? Coolant?
The servitor stepped out from the corner.
"The blue pipe," I whispered. "Zeno. Can you shoot through it?"
"Negative. Wall thickness is excessive. Requires an armor-piercing round."
"Distract him."
Zeno leaned out and fired a short burst at the servitor’s legs. The bullets ricocheted off the armor, but the enemy turned toward him. I lunged out of cover. I kicked off a crate, soaring upward, throwing my right arm out. My fingers formed a wedge. I slammed the pistons to maximum pressure.
My titanium fist crashed into the blue pipe directly above the servitor. The metal burst. A waterfall of chemical-smelling liquid collapsed onto him. The plates on his shoulders and helmet shattered, instantly covered in a web of cracks.
The servitor staggered, blinded by the spray.
"Now!" I yelled.
Zeno aimed for the largest crack in the helmet. One precise shot. The flamethrower hit the floor, its flame dying in the floods of water.
We stood in the puddle. I walked up to the fallen enemy. Under the shattered mask was a human face. Exhausted. The eyes were burned out, blind.
A tablet hung from the servitor’s belt. I ripped it away. A map glowed on the screen. And a target marker.
The Laboratories.
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