Ryker grunted as he waited for the door to open "We have work do." Zhao stood close behind, his hand near the sidearm hidden beneath his coat, eyes scanning the shadows. He didn't trust this place—or Ethan—yet.
The door finally gave with a dull, screeching clang. A cloud of stale air rolled out, thick with the scent of dust and old metal. The beam from Ethan's wrist light cut through the dark, illuminating fragments of machinery, broken terminals, and scattered memory cores. This had once been the heart of his research—his home, his failure, and now, maybe their only chance.
As they stepped inside, the echoes of their footsteps felt too loud. Lara brushed her fingers over a shattered console, the dust smearing across her skin. "I don't think it will work," she whispered.
Ethan crouched beside a terminal, connecting his console with a short cable. "Not all of it." The small screen flickered, faint lines of code running like veins under dim light. "There's something still working in here."
Zhao crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "You're sure about this, Haze? We're already fugitives. If the government finds out—"
"They already did," Ethan said without looking up. "That's why they came for me. But Erebus isn't gone. Parts of its neural web are buried deep inside the host network. We just have to find it before they do."
Lara watched him work, the glow from the console lighting the sharp lines of his face. She wanted to hate him—she had every reason to. The government had branded him a traitor, and she had hunted him for months before realizing the truth wasn't what she'd been told. But as she watched him now, hunched over broken machines, soaked and bleeding, she saw something different. Not a monster. A man carrying too much.
Ryker's voice broke the silence. "You think that AI of yours still matters? After everything it caused?"
Ethan paused, fingers still over the console. "Erebus didn't destroy the world, General. People did. The ones who wanted to use it for power, not purpose." He straightened, meeting Ryker's gaze. "I built Erebus to heal, not to kill. If I can bring it back, maybe I can fix what's left."
The lights flickered again—then one of the side terminals sparked to life. Static filled the room, followed by a faint hum, almost like breathing. Lara turned toward the sound, tense. "What is that?"
Ethan stepped closer, eyes widening as the old screen glowed faintly blue. "A fragment," he whispered. "It's trying to reconnect."
Then, through the crackling static, came a distorted voice—broken, childlike, almost afraid.
"Eth…an… I… see… you…"
Lara flinched. Zhao's hand went for his weapon instinctively. Ethan held up a hand to stop him. "No—don't. It's a memory shard, not dangerous. Just… old." His voice softened, almost like he was speaking to an old friend. "I'm here, Erebus. I'm back."
The screen flickered faster, symbols rushing by, and then—silence. Only the low hum of the wind outside remained. Ethan exhaled slowly and sat down against the wall, running a hand through his soaked hair. For a moment, he looked completely human—tired, uncertain, yet burning with something deeper.
Lara crouched beside him. "You really think this thing can save us?"
He met her eyes, his voice quieter now. "I don't know. But it's all I have left."
She held his gaze for a second longer than she meant to. There was still doubt in her eyes, but beneath it—understanding. The beginning of something fragile.
Zhao stepped forward, his voice low. "If we're staying here, we'll need power, food, and a way to keep this place off the radar. The old relay might still connect to the underground channels."
Ethan nodded. "There's a secondary generator beneath the east corridor. If we get that running, Erebus might stabilize. Ryker, check the perimeter. Lara, you're with me."
They moved through the dim corridor, their lights cutting through the dust. Pipes rattled overhead, leaking slow drips that echoed like a heartbeat. Lara followed close behind, glancing at him. "You planned for this," she said.
He gave a faint smile. "You don't survive this long without planning for failure."
"Or guilt," she said quietly.
He stopped at that, turning toward her. The silence stretched between them. Rain pattered faintly through a crack in the ceiling above. "I didn't ask for forgiveness," he said at last. "Just a chance to make it right."
For a long second, she didn't speak. Then she said, "Maybe that's how forgiveness starts."
The console on his wrist buzzed softly—systems reactivating. Power returned in a low surge, humming through the floor. The bunker lights flickered, one by one, until a faint glow filled the hall. Dust floated like tiny stars in the air.
From behind them, Zhao's voice came faintly through the radio. "We've got movement outside. Might just be drones."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "They found us faster than I thought."
Lara's eyes met his. "Then what now?"
He looked back at the revived monitors, the faint pulse of Erebus still flickering within. "Now," he said, "we make sure they don't take it again."
Outside, thunder rolled, shaking the old walls. Inside, the bunker came alive once more—machines humming, lights blinking, and beneath it all, a heartbeat of something that wasn't entirely human.
Lara stood beside him, watching the monitors glow. The distrust wasn't gone—but it had changed shape, softened around something new.
And as the storm roared above, Ethan glanced at her, voice barely audible under the hum of machines.
"We've already lost too much," he said. "Let's not lose what's left."
She answered "Lets get started guys"
The rain outside grew heavier, sound of them closing echoed.