The rain in the "Industrial Gut" wasn't just water; it was a chemical soup that hissed against the rusted corrugated iron of the warehouses. Elias led Ren through a series of pressurized airlocks into a garage that smelled gloriously of ozone, burnt rubber, and old-fashioned gasoline.
At the center of the chaos stood a vehicle that looked like a coffin mated with a fighter jet. Its matte-black hull was scarred, and its oversized tires were wrapped in reinforced kinetic chains.
"Elias Vane," a voice boomed from beneath the chassis. "You're three years early for our next drink, or thirty seconds too late for me to hide the illegal engine I'm tuning."
A woman slid out on a motorized creeper. Mags was a masterpiece of scar tissue and bionic upgrades. Her left arm was a heavy-duty hydraulic pincer, and her goggles glowed with a thermal HUD that made her look like a predatory insect.
"I need the Ronin, Mags," Elias said, skipping the pleasantries. "And I need it now."
Mags stood up, wiping her grease-stained hands on a rag that was filthier than the floor. She looked at Ren, then back at Elias. "The Ronin is a long-range interceptor. It's built for the Dead Zones beyond the Shield. You don't take that car out for a grocery run."
"We aren't going to the store," Elias said. He held up the amber crystal.
Mags froze. Her bionic eye whirred as it zoomed in on the pulsing light. "That's Synapse tech. High-tier. If you have that, the Erasers are already breathing down your neck."
"They already took out my office," Elias said.
Mags cursed under her breath and kicked a lever on the wall. A heavy steel shutter slammed down over the garage entrance. "The Ronin is yours. But the Shield perimeter is crawling with scanners. You'll never make the jump without a cloaking frequency."
"Can you provide one?"
"I can give you a 'Ghost-Script,'" Mags said, walking over to a cluttered terminal. "It'll trick the Shield sensors into thinking you're a maintenance drone for exactly sixty seconds. If you aren't through the gate by second sixty-one, the perimeter turrets will turn you into a very expensive charcoal briquette."
While Mags hammered at the keys, Elias pulled Ren aside. The man was staring at the Ronin with a mixture of awe and terror.
"You ever been outside the Shield, Ren?" Elias asked.
"Nobody goes outside," Ren whispered. "The radiation... the 'Solar Scorch.' They say the air burns your lungs out in minutes."
Elias looked at the amber crystal, then back at the car. "The crystal says otherwise. It shows a world that's breathing. If Synapse is lying about the sky, they're lying about the Scorch."
"But why?" Ren asked, his voice cracking. "Why keep us in a cage if the world is fine?"
"Control," Elias said simply. "It's easier to rule a population that thinks you're the only thing keeping them alive. If the world is a garden, Synapse is just a landlord. If the world is a grave, Synapse is God."
"Done!" Mags shouted. She tossed a small data-chip to Elias. "The Ghost-Script is loaded. I've also packed the trunk with oxygen scrubbers and enough rations for three days. Where are you headed?"
Elias checked the coordinate data bleeding from the crystal's metadata. "Point Zero. The coast."
Mags stopped. Her expression shifted from professional annoyance to genuine pity. "Elias... Point Zero is the heart of the Scorch. Even the legends say nothing survived there. It's where the first bombs fell."
"Then that's exactly where they'd hide the truth," Elias said.
He hopped into the driver's seat of the Ronin. The interior smelled of stale cigarettes and high-end electronics. The dashboard came to life in a flurry of amber and red holograms. Ren scrambled into the passenger seat, buckling his harness with shaking hands.
"Mags," Elias said as the engine roared to life—a deep, guttural growl that shook the floor. "If I don't come back... keep the office furniture. What's left of it."
"I'll sell it for scrap, Vane," she yelled over the engine. "Now get out of here before the grid-lock catches you!"
The garage's back exit hissed open. Elias slammed the car into gear. The Ronin lunged forward, tires screaming against the wet pavement.
They tore out of the Industrial Gut, heading toward the massive, shimmering wall of the Atmospheric Shield that loomed over the city like a translucent cage. In the rearview mirror, Elias saw three sets of red lights blinking in the rain.
The Erasers hadn't given up. They were just bringing friends.