The junction box was a monolithic steel mountain, rising twenty feet to the ceiling where the main ventilation duct—their only route out—began. Cables thicker than human arms snaked around it, humming with barely contained power.
"The bottom rungs are gone," Kael said, shining a weak beam of light up the structure. "We'll have to use the conduit lines. They're secure, but they're not designed for climbing."
"No safety net," the Original muttered, running a hand over the cold, rough metal. The adrenaline that had propelled them through the immediate escape was now giving way to exhaustion and the throbbing ache of their hard landing.
Kael offered a small, specialized grappling hook. "I go first. Follow my path exactly. If you touch a loose terminal—"
"I know," the Original cut in. "We fry."
Kael didn't wait for an encouraging word, launching the hook with practiced precision. It snagged on a thick metal lip high up. Kael tested the weight, then began the ascent, moving with the quiet, efficient grace of someone trained for covert operation.
The Original watched Kael disappear into the darkness, then took their turn.
The climb was brutal. Each pull required them to rely on upper-body strength honed over years, though they couldn't recall how they'd gained it. Was it the Original's training, or the Clone's programming? The question was a dizzying weight with every upward struggle.
Mid-climb, a mechanical thrum echoed from the floor below.
"Original, hold tight!" Kael's hiss came from above.
Below, three small, spherical Patrol Drones drifted into the utility nexus. Their single, cyclopean red eyes began to sweep the darkness, emitting faint, high-frequency pings as they scanned for heat signatures.
The Original froze, plastered against the cold junction box. They were exposed. If the thermal scan caught them, the climb was over. They squeezed their eyes shut, concentrating on minimizing movement, trying to merge with the background heat of the massive machine.
The nearest drone floated directly beneath them. The Original could feel the heat of its thrusters and the tiny vibrations of its sensors.
BZZT. BZZT. BZZT.
It hovered for agonizing seconds, its sensor passing over the exact space the Original occupied. Then, as if deciding the large metal box was not an anomaly, the drone moved on, joining the others in sweeping the narrow tunnels.
A rush of cold sweat trickled down the Original's back. Too close.
"Clear," Kael whispered, reaching down a hand from the top of the box.
The Original grasped Kael's forearm, pulled the last few feet onto the top of the junction box, and immediately crawled toward the dark, inviting maw of the ventilation duct. Kael pulled a heavy bolt cutter from their pack.
SNAP! CLANG!
Kael quickly removed the last, secured grill on the main vent, tossing the mangled metal aside. They wriggled headfirst into the shaft.
"Follow me, and stick to the center," Kael instructed. "The edges are weaker. This will be a tight squeeze."
The Original followed, crawling into the blackness. The duct was barely wide enough to accommodate them, forcing them into a painful, elbow-and-knee crawl. The air was a blast of stale, circulated facility air—chilly, but a relief after the oppressive heat of the utility nexus.
They crawled for what felt like an hour, the endless, claustrophobic darkness punctuated only by the scuffing of their boots. The world was reduced to the rough metal floor beneath them and the sound of Kael's labored breathing ahead.
Finally, Kael stopped. "We're over the western wing's laundry drop-off point. It's the lowest-security area of the facility. I can open the vent latch from here. Get ready to drop."
The Original's heart hammered. This was their moment. They had climbed out of the depths of Project Elysium and were about to breach the next layer of security.
Kael's voice came back, laced with grim satisfaction. "Latch is loose. Drop when I give the signal."
The Original prepared to push the vent open and fall—but just as they braced, a new sound cut through the darkness, not from the facility floor, but from behind them in the duct.
It was the faint, rhythmic sound of heavy breathing, and the sickening metallic scrape of something large dragging itself along the metal floor.
They weren't alone in the dark.