The blare of the sirens was a physical wave of noise, bouncing off the polished steel and sterile white walls of the facility's main corridor. Behind them, the jagged, shattered window of the lab looked like a wound in the pristine architecture.
"We need to get off this level!" Kael yelled, their voice tight with adrenaline, sprinting alongside the Original. "The primary exits are sealed on lockdown. We're heading towards Sub-Level B—the maintenance ducts."
"What's down there?" the Original gasped, pushing past a startled, white-coated technician who instantly hit an emergency call button.
"Dust, dead ends, and a slightly higher chance of not running into a fully armed platoon!" Kael grabbed the Original's arm and yanked them hard around a corner just as a volley of energy bolts sizzled past, melting the corner of the wall they'd just cleared.
Three guards in heavy tactical gear had rounded the corner from the opposite direction, weapons raised.
The Original reacted instantly. With no time to think, they grabbed a fire extinguisher off the wall and slammed the release handle. A blinding cloud of chemical foam erupted, coating the corridor and temporarily blinding the guards.
"Stay close!"
They plunged into the swirling white mist. The heavy, metallic crash of a security door slamming shut just ahead told them the lockdown was effective. Kael didn't slow down, slamming their shoulder against a small, unassuming maintenance panel set low in the wall.
Click. The panel popped open, revealing a dark, tight space smelling of ozone and stagnant water.
"In! Now!" Kael scrambled feet-first into the gap.
The Original followed, shoving their body through the opening just as the foam began to dissipate and the frustrated shouts of the guards echoed behind them. They tumbled down a short, dusty shaft, landing hard on a narrow metal grate in pitch darkness.
The air here was suffocatingly hot and thick with the hum of hidden machinery. This was the artery of Project Elysium—a chaotic maze of pipes, cables, and ventilation shafts.
"We're in the Sub-Level B utility nexus," Kael whispered, pulling out a small, specialized comm unit. "We have maybe five minutes before they send drones or security robots down here. This place is their blind spot, but only for a moment."
The Original leaned against a cold, greasy pipe, finally taking a breath, but the air felt heavy with the weight of Aria's words. Original. Template. Survivor. The label felt utterly wrong, yet undeniably powerful.
"Aria," the Original managed, their voice hoarse. "She knew. She planned it. Why didn't she just kill me?"
"She wants you back, not dead," Kael said grimly, scanning a blueprint on their comm unit. "You're the Original template. To her, you're a prized possession, maybe even proof that her own existence is superior because she was created perfect, while you were just... born."
The thought was venomous. Aria saw the Original's life as flawed proof of concept, and her life as the perfect execution.
"The air ducts," the Original said, pointing to a massive, square vent running high above them. "They're too small for guards, but maybe big enough for us."
"We'd have to climb a junction box the size of a car," Kael pointed out.
"Better than waiting here for the welcoming committee," the Original countered. They looked up at the daunting vertical climb, then back down the narrow, dark tunnel they had just descended. The silence of the maintenance tunnel felt just as dangerous as the screaming sirens.
No going back.
The Original took a steadying breath, the grim determination to survive overriding the confusion. "Lead the way, Kael. And tell me about that junction box."