Morning never truly came.
The sky lightened, but the sun remained hidden behind ash and smoke. Sirens had burned themselves out hours ago, leaving behind a hollow silence that felt heavier than the screams.
Kane Mercer stood at the central command platform as the city transitioned into its next phase of collapse.
Aboveground, people were no longer running.
They were hiding.
"Behavioral shift confirmed," the AI said. "Civilian panic evolving into fragmentation. Small survival clusters forming organically."
Kane watched live feeds scroll past—apartment buildings barricaded from the inside, shops looted and abandoned, streets marked with blood and broken glass. Mutated humans prowled openly now, no longer cautious. Animals moved in coordinated packs, testing human defenses like predators probing weak prey.
"And the military?" Kane asked.
"Delayed response," the AI replied. "Command structures compromised. Personnel exhibiting early mutation or desertion behavior."
Kane nodded once.
Just like before.
Only now, he was ready.
"Begin Phase Two," he said.
"Confirmed."
Deep underground, new units activated.
These were not combat droids.
They stood upright, proportioned like humans, synthetic skin stretched over reinforced frames. Facial expressions were neutral but warm. Movements were subtle, imperfect—designed that way on purpose. They breathed. They blinked. They looked human enough to be trusted for five seconds.
Five seconds was all Kane needed.
"Humanoid androids deploying to surface access points," the AI reported. "Primary objective: intelligence gathering, stabilization, influence."
Hatches opened beneath abandoned buildings, sewer access points, and maintenance corridors. One by one, the androids emerged into the ruined city, dressed in scavenged civilian clothing. They moved cautiously, like survivors afraid of being seen.
Which made them perfect.
In one district, a small group of civilians huddled inside a grocery store, weapons shaking in their hands. When the door creaked open, fear turned to rage.
"Don't come closer!" a man shouted.
The android raised its hands slowly. "Easy. I'm not infected."
Its voice trembled just enough.
The civilians hesitated.
From Kane's perspective, probabilities shifted instantly.
"Trust threshold breached," the AI said.
The android stepped closer, lowering its voice. "There's a safe route west. Streets are… controlled. You don't want to stay here."
"Controlled by who?" someone demanded.
The android paused—then answered carefully.
"Someone prepared."
The civilians didn't know whether to believe it.
But belief didn't matter.
Hope did.
Across the city, similar encounters unfolded. Androids guided survivors away from unstable zones, quietly herding them out of key areas Kane had already sealed or planned to purge. No force. No threats. Just calm direction when none existed elsewhere.
Kane watched it all without emotion.
"Begin infrastructure takeover," he ordered.
"Yes."
Traffic systems locked down fully. Bridges sealed. Metro tunnels collapsed selectively. Power was restored in some districts and cut entirely in others, creating artificial "safe zones" that funneled survivors exactly where Kane wanted them.
Not to save them.
To isolate variables.
"Mutated human clusters converging toward heat and noise," the AI warned. "High aggression levels."
"Deploy suppression," Kane replied.
Combat androids emerged again—this time openly.
There