The stairs creak as if the city forgot to patch them. Each step sends dust into the air, and the smell of rust thickens. The deeper I go, the weaker the Patch feels. My implant hums in protest, flickering warnings at the edge of my vision. Return for recalibration. System error detected. The words smear, then twist into something else. Do you remember me.
I stop halfway down. My pulse stutters. The text fades, leaving only black.
The radio against my chest hisses. Then a voice breathes through it, faint but sharp enough to cut through the dark.
"Niko."
Her voice.
I grip the device so hard my knuckles ache. "Lena?"
The static swallows the next sound, a long dragging crackle, then... "Run."
I freeze. The tunnel below yawns black. My ears strain for something, anything. Then I hear it.
The faint whir of wings.
Drones.
I lunge down the steps two at a time. My boots hit puddles that splash against the walls. The sound ricochets in ways that do not feel natural, as if the space is folding around me. The radio keeps hissing, fragments of words buried inside.
"…not safe… deeper… find…"
I shove myself forward, heart hammering.
The stairs end in a wide chamber. Concrete arches spread out like ribs, supporting a ceiling slick with condensation. Old pipes stretch across the floor. Pools of water reflect the weak red glow of failing emergency lights.
For a moment I think I am alone.
Then I see them.
Figures crouched against the far wall. Four, maybe five. Eyes glint faint in the gloom. They are not drones. They are people.
One rises. A woman, hair tied in a rough knot, face streaked with grime. She holds a metal rod like a weapon. Her gaze fixes on the radio in my hand.
"You're late," she says.
I stop in place. "What?"
"You're the one the old man sent, aren't you?"
My throat tightens. "He… stayed behind."
Her jaw clenches, but she nods like she already knew. She waves the others closer. They move like shadows - silent, careful, worn thin by too many years without light.
"Why me?" I ask.
"Because you can still hear her," the woman says.
The static bursts in agreement. "Niko…"
The figures glance at each other. For the first time I see something other than suspicion in their eyes. A spark of hope.
The woman lowers her rod slightly. "Follow us. Before they track you here."
I hesitate. Trust is a luxury in this city. But above, the drone sirens grow louder, echoing down the tunnels. I move.
They lead me through a series of twisting passages. Some wide enough for old trucks, some so narrow I have to turn sideways to slip through. My implant hums louder with every step, like it knows I am straying too far. The woman glances back once.
"You'll need to deal with that," she says, pointing at my temple.
"It's cracked."
"Good. Then it won't hold you much longer."
We emerge into a cavern where the walls are carved raw, stone mixed with concrete. A dozen figures gather around lanterns and salvaged heaters. Children curl against their mothers, silent and pale. Men sharpen metal scraps into knives. The smell of smoke and damp wool fills the air.
The woman raises her hand. "He's with us now."
Murmurs ripple through the group. Some wary. Some relieved. An older man steps forward, his hands scarred and trembling. He looks at me with tired eyes.
"You've missed a patch," he says.
"Yes."
"Then you've seen her."
I swallow. "Yes."
A hush settles. Lantern light flickers across their faces. Some bow their heads as if in prayer.
The man nods. "She reaches for all of us. But most forget her the moment the Patch sweeps again. If you remember, you're one of us."
One of them. Rebels. Survivors. Ghosts the system hasn't erased yet.
The radio hisses again, sharp and clear.
"…Niko…"
Every head lifts. Eyes widen. The children clutch closer to their mothers. The woman grips her rod tighter, but there is no fear in her expression. Only awe.
The static shifts into words.
"Find me."
My knees nearly give. I press the radio to my chest as if I could pull her through the static into my arms.
"Where?" I whisper.
The answer comes broken, but enough.
"…root… beneath… Citadel…"
The word spreads through the cavern like fire. Citadel. The heart of the system. The place no one reaches without vanishing.
The older man's face hardens. "If she's calling you there, then it's already begun."
"What has?"
"The unraveling."
I do not know what to say. My hand shakes around the radio.
The static bursts one last time.
"Don't let them erase me."
Then silence.
I stand in the middle of the rebels, chest heaving, heart burning.
And for the first time, I feel like I am not entirely alone.