Just before Ethan reached the exit, the world behind him exploded.
BOOOOM! The sound tore through the bunker like a thunderclap. The walls shuddered, lights flickered, and fire rushed down the hallway. He threw himself forward as another blast hit.
KRRRSHHH! Metal pipes burst open, spraying sparks and steam. The floor split beneath his feet. Heat slammed into his back as he stumbled out through the half-melted door.
Outside — cold air. Real air.
He hit the ground hard, coughing, his ears ringing. Behind him, another explosion went off — WHOOOOSH! — flames shooting into the night sky. Shards of concrete rattled across the dirt.
He didn't look back. He just ran.
The sky was black with smoke, the trees glowing red from the fire. His boots crunched over broken glass and ash. Every breath burned his lungs. But in his chest, there was one thought — Erebus wasn't gone. Not completely.
The rain started to fall. At first just a few drops, plink… plink, then a downpour. It hissed against the burning wreck behind him, cooling the metal, turning fire into steam.
He ran until the forest swallowed the light. The sound of the rain and his own breathing filled the dark. Thump… thump… thump. His heart matched the rhythm of his steps.
He stopped under a pine tree and pressed his hand to his side. Warm blood. Just a graze. He tore off a strip from his sleeve and tied it.
Lightning flashed. CRAAACK! Thunder rolled a second later, echoing through the trees. Somewhere far above, a gunship hummed — whrrr… whrrr… — its searchlights cutting through the mist. Ethan crouched, waiting, watching it fade.
"They won't find me this time," he whispered.
The rain kept falling. He let it wash the soot off his face. The world was silent except for the steady drumming on the leaves.
---
Hours later, he reached an old service station. The place looked like it had been empty for years. The roof leaked, and every step he took made the floor creak.
He sat in a corner, leaning against a cracked wall. The rain tapped against the glass. A faint hum came from a half-dead solar light above.
He pulled out a small data stick from his coat — his last backup. The Helios Project. Infinite clean energy through quantum resonance. It could've saved them… if it hadn't destroyed everything.
He connected it to his wrist console. Beep… bzzt… Static filled the small space. Then — a weak voice.
"Ethan… are you there?"
He closed his eyes, his voice low. "Barely. The core's gone."
A pause. Just static. Then: "Then it's over."
Ethan shook his head, eyes sharp again. "No," he whispered. "It cannot be erased so easily."
Outside, RUMBLE… thunder rolled across the sky, slow and deep.
---
Two days later, the rain still hadn't stopped.
He stayed under an old bridge. The water dripped through the cracks above, every drop echoing in the quiet. A broken holo-screen nearby flickered with the news.
Rogue Scientist Ethan Haze.
Wanted for the Erebus Incident.
His face filled the screen — burned, tired, unshaven. The sound of the storm drowned out the reporter's words.
He shut the screen off and opened his console. Lines of code appeared. Encrypted messages, hidden networks. Replies started coming in:
> "Still with you."
>"System ready."
>"Waiting on your signal."
He leaned back, listening to the storm. Each drop of rain sounded steady, like a heartbeat.
The world thought he was finished.
But in the noise of the rain and thunder, he was already rebuilding.
---
By night, he reached the city ruins. Lightning lit the towers — broken, hollow, still standing. The rain ran down his face as he looked over what was left.
He whispered, almost to himself, "We'll fix it. Even if it takes everything."
Thunder answered him again — BOOOOM… rolling far into the distance.
He started walking toward the storm.
Each step slower, steadier, until he disappeared into the dark.
The forest burned behind him.
The night sky pulsed red, smoke curling through the black canopy as Ethan stumbled down the slope. Each breath was sharp and shallow. He didn't know how long he'd been running—only that the explosions had stopped, and the silence that followed felt heavier than the blast itself.
BOOOOM.
A delayed detonation rolled through the valley, shaking the ground. Debris hissed in the rain. The bunker—his creation, his prison—was gone.
He pressed a hand to his ribs, feeling blood warm under his palm. The rain washed it away in thin crimson lines. His boots sank into mud with a wet thud, each step dragging him farther from the fire.
Lightning flashed—brief white blaze, broken trees, smoke between them.
Then—click.
The metallic sound cut through the rain like a blade.
Ethan froze.
"Don't move," a voice called.
He turned slowly. A hooded figure stepped out from behind the pines, rain glinting on the rifle barrel.
"Lara," he said quietly.
Her grip tightened, then eased. The weapon lowered. "We heard your signal," she said. "You said the core was gone."
"It is," Ethan replied. "But not all of it."
She exhaled—half laugh, half relief. "When they gave the order to burn the Erebus data, I walked out. They called it treason." Her eyes lifted to his. "I call it necessity."
Two shapes emerged from the trees: Reed, the systems analyst who once dissected Erebus's neural code, and Mira Zhao, the comms officer who had jammed the government's pursuit drones.
Reed's voice rasped. "They told me to erase its empathy protocols. I couldn't. I saved what fragments I could."
Mira tapped her scanner; a blue glow rippled across the wet ground. "I've been jamming their feeds for three days. They'll find us soon."
Ethan studied them all—people who once hunted him, now hunted with him.
"Why?" he asked quietly.
Lara's gaze didn't flinch. "Because we finally understood what you were trying to do."
The rain softened around them, mist rolling through the trees.
Ethan looked toward the horizon. The bunker's glow faded to embers. "They think they buried the base," he murmured. "But Erebus can't die. It has its reach everywhere."
---
Hours later, they sheltered beneath a collapsed radio tower. The fire they built hissed weakly against the rain. Reed and Mira slept near the embers; only Ethan and Lara stayed awake.
"You should rest," she said.
"I can't," he answered. "Every time I close my eyes, I see it—years of work, gone in smoke."
Lara watched him in silence, the firelight flickering across his face. "You built Erebus alone," she said softly. "But you don't have to rebuild it that way."
He looked at her. The exhaustion in his eyes didn't hide the intensity beneath. "You still trust me? After what I did?"
She held his gaze. "Trust isn't the word. I believe in what you can become."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. The rain softened to a whisper on the tower's steel shell. Her reflection trembled in the flicker of the flame—close enough to touch, yet they didn't.
A gust of wind snuffed the fire to embers. The moment broke, but the unspoken connection stayed, fragile and real.
"Get some sleep," Ethan murmured.
"You first," she replied, faint smile cutting through the fatigue.
---
By dawn, they moved through the mountains. Mist coiled along the ridges; drones swept the skies above, distant as ghosts.
Mira's scanner pulsed green. "Signal clear. No patrols for fifteen kilometers."
Reed adjusted his pack. "You sure this base exists? The maps you sent were decades old."
Ethan nodded. "Cold-War installation. Buried beneath the cliffs. They used it to monitor deep-space telemetry before the collapse. The systems are dead, but the infrastructure's solid."
They reached the cliffside at dusk. The rocks were slick, the path nearly invisible. Ethan knelt by a rusted panel, brushing aside moss until the old biometric pad blinked faintly to life.
He pressed his palm against it. A low chime answered—a sound from another era.
"Welcome back, Dr. Haze," the terminal whispered in a voice half-corrupted by static.
The door unsealed with a hiss of stale air.
Reed stared into the darkness beyond. "is this the place?"
Ethan stepped inside, eyes narrowing as emergency lights flickered on one by one.
"Yes," he said quietly. "It is."