The tunnel was a blur of dark, damp stone and flickering emergency lights that created frantic, dancing shadows. We ran. Our footsteps, a clumsy, uneven rhythm of my pounding boots and the jarring clang-scrape of Anya's makeshift leg, echoed in the narrow corridor. I kept a hand on her arm, not just steadying her, but pulling her forward, urging her on with every ounce of my will.
Behind us, the Undercroft had become a warzone. The sounds were a terrifying symphony of chaos, a visceral, real-time audio log of my terrible decision. The continuous, undisciplined roar of the Exiles' mismatched assault rifles and shotguns was a desperate, angry noise. It was punctuated by the clean, methodical, and far more deadly crack-crack-crack of the Enforcer's high-caliber pistol. The Exiles were throwing a wall of lead down the corridor, and the Enforcer was dismantling it one precise shot at a time.
And then there were the screams. Human screams. Not the defiant battle cries of hardened soldiers, but the raw, terrified screams of men who knew they were outmatched, who knew they were going to die.
"This way!" I yelled, my voice hoarse. I was following Glitch's shouted instructions from memory, navigating a maze I had never seen before. We veered into a wider tunnel, what looked like a main thoroughfare for this sector of the Undercroft. Other Exiles, scavengers and traders who had not been part of Glitch's crew, scrambled for cover, their faces filled with panic as the sounds of the battle grew closer. They didn't know what was happening, only that something terrible, something from the world above, had been unleashed in their home. My deal with Glitch had consequences that were already spiraling out of my control.
We passed a side corridor, and I risked a glance back. The air was thick with smoke and cordite. What I saw made my blood run cold.
Zane, the scarred brute with the heavy machine gun, had set up a chokepoint at the intersection. He was brave, I had to give him that. He was on one knee, his weapon mounted on a low crate, laying down a heavy, continuous stream of suppressing fire. The noise was deafening, a constant, hammering roar. Bullets were chewing up the stone walls of the corridor where the Enforcer was advancing, creating a storm of dust and rock fragments. He was the anchor of the Exiles' defense.
But the Ghost Enforcer was something else entirely.
It emerged from the smoke, moving with a fluid, terrifying grace that no machine that large should possess. Its damaged right arm hung uselessly at its side, sparking and twitching, but its left arm held its pistol with an unshakable, steady grip. It didn't take cover. It didn't slow down. It simply advanced.
The hail of bullets from Zane's machine gun, rounds that would have torn a human player to pieces, sparked and ricocheted off its armored chassis. A few found weak points, gouging small craters in the dark gray metal, but they did no visible damage. Its red eye was a pinpoint of calm in the storm of lead.
It raised its pistol. One shot. The crack was so clean it cut through the roar of the machine gun. Zane's weapon went silent. The big man slumped forward over his gun, a neat, smoking hole in the center of his chest. The Enforcer didn't even break its stride. It stepped over Zane's body as if it were just another piece of debris on the floor and continued its relentless advance.
The consequences of my deal were immediate and brutal. I had unleashed this monster on Glitch's people. Their blood was on my hands. I saw the faces of the men he had with him at the elevator—greedy, yes, but just survivors trying to get ahead in a world with no rules. Now they were dying because of a choice I made. A cold knot of guilt tightened in my stomach. But there was no time for guilt. Guilt was a luxury the living couldn't afford. My only responsibility now was to Anya.
We kept running. The sounds of the fight were changing. The disorganized shooting of the Exiles was becoming more sporadic, their powerful opening volley dwindling. It was being replaced by more screams and the steady, rhythmic firing of the Enforcer. It was winning. Easily. It was like watching a surgeon dissect a patient with a chainsaw.
"Glitch's plan isn't working," Anya gasped, her breath ragged. We ducked into another side tunnel, taking a moment to catch our breath. "His crew is getting slaughtered. They can't stop it. What kind of trap is this?"
"They're not supposed to stop it," I said, a grim realization dawning. I leaned against the cold wall, my mind piecing together the twisted logic of the Undercroft's merchant king. "They're just supposed to slow it down. Glitch isn't fighting a war. He's trying to herd it."
I could see it now. Glitch knew his men couldn't win. He had never intended for them to win. They were pawns. He was using his own people as bait, sacrificing them to lead the Enforcer into the scrapyard, where he must have a bigger, better trap waiting. Everyone in this world was a user. Everyone had a price. And Glitch was willing to pay for his prize with the lives of his own crew.
We were all just pieces on a board, being moved by colder, more calculating players. First Seraph, now Glitch. The thought filled me with a cold fury.
"We have to get out of this tunnel," Anya said, pushing off the wall. "The scrapyard is our only waypoint. It's the only way forward."
I nodded. We were still part of Glitch's plan, whether we liked it or not. The scrapyard was just ahead. A massive, cavernous space filled with mountains of rusted metal and broken technology. It was a perfect place for an ambush. It was also a perfect place to get trapped. And I had a sinking feeling that Glitch's plan for us didn't involve a happy ending.