Tracey and Jane tended to the youngest, whispering reassurances, their healing touch subtle but constant.
Mateo cursed under his breath. "They're tracking Daisy's power."
Ray crouched, inspecting the area. "We need to move faster. If they breach this sector, we're boxed in."
The killing machine turned, its sensors locking onto Daisy's position.
Then the fear took shape.
A puppet emerged from the shadows—massive, grotesque, stitched together from fragments of memory and dread. Its face was a shifting mosaic: the baby's cry, my grandparents' final glance before we got separated, the silhouette of them disappearing into the eclipse light. It towered over the killing machine, limbs dragging, eyes burning with borrowed anguish.
Then there it was, it hesitated.
Another puppet followed—this one smaller, faster, twitching like a glitch in reality. It darted across the station, drawing the killing machine's aim. A third appeared, crawling from beneath a shattered bench, whispering in a voice that wasn't human.
Daisy's hands trembled, but she held her ground.
The killing machine fired thunderbolt—once, twice—beams slicing through the air. One puppet dissolved, but two more rose in its place. The emotional noise was deafening.
Then Steve moved.
He surged from behind a kiosk, stone rising beneath his feet. With a roar, he launched a jagged slab toward the killing machine. It struck its shoulder, causing it to spin. Mateo followed, glove off, breath sharp. A mist of poison drifted toward the machine's exposed core.
It screeched, stumbling.
Zichen was already airborne, a blur of motion. He landed atop the machine, driving a spike into its neck. The same sparks erupted just as the first attacker had. It collapsed, twitching violently before going still.
Daisy fell to her knees again, her face pale, lips trembling. I knelt beside her, heart pounding.
"You did it," I whispered.
She shook her head. "We did."
Steve approached, wiping blood from his brow. "That wasn't just a scout. That was a hunter."
Mateo nodded grimly. "They're adapting faster than we thought."
Tracey checked the children, her hands glowing faintly as she soothed their bruises. Jane sat beside her, eyes distant. The scratches came from the debris that was flying as the killing machine protected itself from Daisy's puppets.
Ray emerged from the far corner, vines curling around his wrist. "We can't stay here."
Steve looked toward the shattered entrance. "We move again. North this time. Through the old aqueduct."
Daisy stood, swaying slightly. I caught her arm.
"You okay?"
She nodded, barely. "I'll manage."
As we gathered our strength back, I glanced at the fallen killing machine. Its eyes were still glowing, faintly.
They were learning.
And so were we.
We moved quickly, the old aqueduct loomed ahead—an arched skeleton of forgotten infrastructure, half-swallowed by vines and time. Its entrance gaped like a wound in the earth, promising shelter and danger in equal measure.
Ray led the way, his vines slithering ahead like scouts. The children clung to Tracey and Jane, their small feet stumbling over cracked stone. Daisy walked beside me, her steps uneven, her breath shallow. The puppets had vanished, their purpose fulfilled, but the emotional residue lingered like smoke.
Steve paused at the threshold, scanning. "Zichen, take point."
Zichen nodded, his form flickering as he leapt forward. Mateo followed, his poison-glove resecured, eyes darting. The aqueduct's interior was damp and cold, the air thick with mildew and memory. We moved in silence, the only sounds our footsteps and the occasional drip of water from above.
Half an hour in, Zichen returned, his face grim. "There's movement ahead. Not killing machines. Something else."
Steve stepped forward. "Show me."
We followed Zichen through a narrow passage, the walls closing in until we emerged into a cavernous chamber. Light filtered through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating a cluster of figures huddled near a broken fountain. Survivors.
They turned as we approached—wary, gaunt, eyes hollow. Yize stepped forward, his arm in a sling, his gaze sharp.
"You're not going to say something to me?" he said.
"No," Steve replied. "We just came from the station. It's compromised."
He nodded slowly. "Everything is. They're sweeping through the areas, one by one. They have been hiding here for days. And the younger ones we left found them. They decided to move away from the area since Rika could see something we could not. The same as your sister Tianyi."
Steve's jaw tightened at the mention of Tianyi. He glanced at Daisy, who was now leaning against the wall, her breath shallow but steady. The survivors around the fountain watched us with a mixture of hope and suspicion, their eyes flicking between our weapons, bags, and the children we protected.
Ray stepped forward, vines retracting into his sleeves. "How many are with you?"
Yize gestured behind him. "Twenty-three. Mostly non-combatants. A few with minor abilities, and some can be called dangerous. Rika's been shielding us, but it's draining her."
The children clung tighter to Tracey and Jane, sensing the energy shift.
A figure stepped forward behind Zichen.
Her shoes barely made a sound against the cracked tiles, but every eye turned toward her. Her brunette hair was tied back.
"Tianyi," Zichen whispered.
She stopped a few feet away, her gaze locked on Rika.
Rika, who had been standing beside Yize, cross-arms near the fountain, shielding the survivors with a faint aura of light, slowly moved her face. Her eyes met Tianyi's, and something passed between them—ancient, unspoken, electric.
"You saw it too," Tianyi said.
Rika nodded. "Not just saw. Felt."
Steve stepped forward, his voice low. "You're supposed to be with the northern group. What happened?"
Tianyi's eyes didn't leave Rika's. "They were compromised. I split off when the signal changed. It wasn't just a sweep—it was a recalibration."
Mateo cursed under his breath. "That's why the puppets worked. They're drawn to emotional noise."
Daisy rolled her eyes, "You should have listened when I talked."
Rika's voice was soft but firm. "They're learning to mimic it."
A chill ran down my spine.
Ray knelt beside a crack in the floor, vines slithering into the darkness. "If they can mimic emotion, they can manipulate it. Turn it against us."
"No," Daisy said, her voice steadier than before. "They can't."
Everyone turned toward her. She stood upright now, her fingers twitching slightly, the last remnants of puppet energy fading from her skin.