The Core hummed like a living thing, machinery breathing in low, constant rhythms. Screens flickered with streams of data, each feed a silent witness to every move made in the veins. The air smelled faintly of ozone and metal, electric tension lingering in every corner.
A voice cut through the hum, calm, deliberate, absolute.
"Every man for himself. Yet here you are, still alive. That means you belong to me."
Dylan froze mid-step. The words weren't just sound; they carried weight, authority, inevitability. Every flicker of the monitors, every servo whir, every shadow seemed to bow to it.
"I don't belong to anyone," he said, voice rough, trying to match the certainty he didn't fully feel.
"You will," the voice replied. Nothing more. No threat, no malice just certainty.
The Core seemed to pulse with the declaration, each beat of the machinery echoing inside Dylan's chest. He scanned the room: the ledgers, the surveillance feeds, the tangle of wires, all pointing to the same conclusion. This wasn't chaos. This was orchestration. The city wasn't just watched. It was owned.
He flexed his fingers, tension climbing. His mind raced through every encounter, every betrayal, every escape that had brought him here. Every step had been anticipated. Every ally, every enemy, every clue meticulously placed.
The hum of the Core seemed louder now, almost a whisper in his ear, a constant reminder that this was bigger than him. Bigger than anyone he'd faced. And yet, he was here. Still standing.
Dylan swallowed, letting the weight settle, the reality of the Architect's reach pressing against his thoughts. He didn't move. He didn't respond. He only watched, calculating, measuring, storing each detail like currency.
Because if he was going to survive, he'd need every ounce of awareness. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough.