Portstone was nothing like Isabelle imagined.
As they crossed the cracked highway leading into its outskirts, she saw the skeletons of skyscrapers swallowed by time—windows shattered, concrete faded, vines wrapping around twisted metal like nature was trying to reclaim what humans had destroyed.
There were no birds. No sounds. Just wind.
"This place gives me chills," Isabelle whispered, adjusting her bag.
"It should," Damian replied, his eyes scanning the skyline. "During the blackout years, Portstone became the testing ground. The Collective erased its existence from every map. But deep underground… their data centers still pulse."
They walked cautiously into the heart of the city. Burned cars lined the streets. Billboards flickered half-alive, stuttering old advertisements in broken loops. "A New Tomorrow, Powered by Unity."
Damian pulled out a device—an old scanner retrofitted with encrypted signals. "The override is hidden in a vault. If Elira was right, it should be somewhere beneath Sector 7—the old government district."
Isabelle peered ahead. A massive domed structure loomed over the ruins, its roof cracked and covered in moss.
"Sector 7," she said. "Looks like we're not alone either."
Figures moved in the distance—three of them, cloaked and silent, scanning the ruins.
"Hunters," Damian said grimly. "Not full Collective agents. These are freelancers—mercs hired to bring us in alive… or dead."
"We can't outrun them forever," Isabelle muttered.
"We don't have to. Just get inside the dome."
They dashed across the broken pavement, slipping into alleys and darting through the husks of old buildings. The hunters weren't far behind—boots crunching debris, radios crackling.
A shadow passed overhead.
Damian looked up. "Damn it—they've got sky drones."
The dome was just ahead. A massive door, rusted and half-open. Damian slid through first, holding it just long enough for Isabelle to squeeze in. Inside was pitch black.
He turned on a small light. "Welcome to the Central Registry."
It was a massive archive. Thousands of digital cabinets and shattered terminals lined the walls, like a library built by machines. Dust hovered in the air like ghosts.
Isabelle stepped forward and froze.
There was someone already there.
A figure in a hood, kneeling before one of the consoles. They turned slowly—and pulled back their hood.
It was a girl.
No older than 17. Her eyes were a glowing violet.
"You made it," she said, voice mechanical. "Elira told me you would."
Damian drew his weapon. "Who are you?"
"I'm Echo. The last living backup of her mind. A hybrid AI-human interface. She made me to guard the final key."
Isabelle stepped closer. "And where's the override?"
Echo smiled faintly. "Beneath your feet."
Suddenly, the floor trembled. Sirens blared. The whole dome began to shift—walls folding, cables snapping.
"They know you're here," Echo said. "If you want to finish what Elira started… you'll need to go deeper than anyone ever has."
Damian stared at the shifting panels below. "Then let's break into hell."