The maintenance corridor stretched on like a vein carved through steel, pulsing with the faint thrum of the Grid's current. Cain's boots landed without a sound, every step deliberate. He did not look back at the others. The weight of their breathing was enough proof they followed.
Roselle's pistol swept left and right as she moved beside him. The walls hummed, vibrating faintly, like they were walking inside a living organism. She muttered, "Every server in this spire is a nerve. We're inside its skull now."
Steve, panting, clutched the tools at his belt. "Not nerves. Arteries. The Daelmonts don't think with this. They feed with it. Drain everyone below them to keep their sky towers bright." His voice cracked halfway between awe and hate.
Susan coughed, struggling to steady her rifle. Her body still trembled from the climb, but her eyes stayed sharp. "Feed or think, it doesn't matter. We cut it, they bleed."
