The air in the Alpha-Bay grew dense, the rhythmic thrum of the cooling fans vibrating through the soles of our boots. The Residual’s copper fingers twitched in a mimicry of human nervousness, its LED face bathing the rusted engine blocks in a flickering green light.
"The Elysium Project wasn't about digital supremacy," the Residual whispered, the voice cracking like a poorly tuned radio. "The Board wanted a cage. Your parents wanted a door."
Dax didn't lower the wrench. His eyes swept the room, looking for the traps he’d spent a decade learning to spot. "A door to where? We’ve seen the High-Band, we’ve seen the Void. There’s nowhere else to go but the dirt we’re standing on."
"You’re thinking in binary, Daximus," the Residual replied, its screen shifting to a complex, non-Euclidean geom
