The hum of the Array grew louder the deeper they went — a steady, rhythmic vibration that seemed to crawl beneath the skin. The tunnels were lined with mirrored steel, cold and luminous, reflecting the flicker of their flashlights like endless corridors of fractured time. The further they descended, the more it felt as though the world above no longer existed.
Dr. Taylor led the way, her handheld analyzer sweeping arcs of pale light across the walls. “Power levels are holding,” she murmured. “The grid here isn’t decayed — it’s alive. Someone’s maintaining it.”
Ethan followed close, scanning the hall ahead. The air had that sterile tang of ozone — the scent of machines that breathed. “Or something,” he said quietly.
Behind them came the rhythmic shuffle of boots and quiet clicks of gear:
