The subway swallowed her whole.
Maya gripped the cold railing as she descended, boots splashing through ankle-deep puddles. The city above faded to a smear of distant rain, replaced by the close drip of leaking pipes and the metallic tang of rust. The dark pressed against her like damp cloth.
Vector 3 followed without sound. Its glow painted the stairwell walls in pale streaks, eerie graffiti tags blinking in and out of sight. For a moment, Maya wished it would dim—it felt like carrying a lantern in a cave with predators. But without it, she'd be blind.
At the bottom of the stairwell, the tunnel stretched in both directions, yawning black. Old advertisements curled on the walls, their ink bled away by water and years. The air stank of mildew and oil.
Her phone buzzed, screen cracked but alive.
System:Vector 5 proximity: 00:00:00.Target acquired. Visual pending.
Maya's chest clamped tight. She spun, expecting something to burst from the shadows.
But nothing came. The tunnel remained silent, save for the drip-drip of unseen leaks.
"Kiran?" she whispered.
Static answered, then his voice, faint, like he was shouting from a mile underwater. "—signal weak—trying to patch—Maya, keep moving."
She bit her lip hard enough to taste iron. The green line on her map had reached her location, but Vector 5 itself was nowhere to be seen. That made it worse.
Vector 3 stepped ahead, scanning the darkness. "Host. Relocation advised. Tunnels provide concealment. Oversight view limited."
She nodded numbly and followed, her sneakers squelching on wet concrete. Every noise echoed too loudly, as if announcing her presence. She tried to walk on her toes, to make herself smaller. But the silence grew oppressive.
They passed an abandoned platform, benches sagging with mold. A rusted sign still clung to the wall, letters faded: LINE C — SOUTHBOUND.
Maya forced a laugh, brittle. "Guess I'm southbound now."
Vector 3 tilted its head, considering her words like data. "Directionality: correct."
She shook her head. "Not a joke for you."
For a few minutes, the only sound was the drip of water and the faint hum of Vector 3's glow. Her nerves stretched taut, waiting for the slam of pursuit.
Then, faintly, from somewhere deep in the tunnel: a scrape. Metal against stone. Deliberate.
Maya froze. Her throat locked. "That's it, isn't it?" she whispered.
Vector 3 raised a hand. The glow around it dimmed, folding into its body until it was only a shadow among shadows. Even its eyes darkened to slits of white barely brighter than the tunnel wall.
"Silence required," it said softly, its voice less mechanical now, hushed like someone who had learned to whisper.
Her heart pounded so loud she feared it would betray her. She crouched against the wall, pressing her back to damp concrete. Her phone buzzed again—she nearly flinched out of her skin.
System:Vector 5 scanning. Host concealed.
The scrape echoed again, closer this time. Then another. The rhythm was wrong for footsteps. It sounded like claws dragging, slow and patient.
Maya pressed her palm over her mouth to muffle her breath. Vector 3 moved in front of her, not glowing, only a darker void in the void.
The tunnel air changed—denser, charged, as if something massive had entered. Drops of water vibrated in tiny rings on the floor.
Then she saw it.
A glow deeper in the tunnel, not pale like Vector 3's, not green like Oversight. It was a violent, surgical white-blue, so bright it bled across the walls. The shape behind it was indistinct, shifting as it moved, too tall for the tunnel, its head scraping the ceiling.
Vector 5.
Maya clamped her eyes shut, fighting the scream clawing its way up. The map in her phone pulsed, showing the green beam locking onto her position.
System:Target located. Intake Protocol: imminent.
Her body shook. This was it. She had seconds.
But Vector 3 didn't move. It stood absolutely still in front of her, its faint pale eyes flickering once, as if signaling: Wait.
The scraping passed. The blinding glow shifted, sweeping the tunnel opposite their alcove. Dust sifted from the ceiling, and for one breathless instant, Maya thought Vector 5 would turn. But it kept going, dragging its terrible light deeper into the tunnels.
Her phone buzzed.
System:Host status: masked. Target uncertainty: high.
Her legs nearly gave out with relief.
Vector 3 exhaled—or maybe it was her imagination, some phantom comfort. It turned its head slightly, whispering: "Not found. Relocate before scan repeats."
Maya forced herself upright, though her knees shook. "Where?" she mouthed.
The figure gestured down the opposite direction, deeper into the black.
She swallowed hard. The tunnels stretched endless, the dark pressing close. But if the choice was move or be consumed—
She tightened her grip on the phone, on her pack, on the last fragments of her courage. "Okay," she whispered.
They slipped into the tunnels, shadows swallowing them whole.
Behind them, the scrape began again.