Chapter 18 – The Firebreak
1021 Words
Snow hissed sideways across the highway, thin needles in the dark.
Kael kept the SUV steady, headlights off, dashboard dim. The hum of the tires filled the silence until Sandro broke it with a half-whispered curse.
“Of all the places to hide a lab,” he said, “Maeve picks a meat-packing district.”
Ren didn’t look up from the map on his lap. “Less attention. More refrigeration.”
“Cold storage for ghosts,” Rori murmured.
Kael’s eyes stayed on the road. “Or for data. Temperature control keeps the servers stable.”
Sandro snorted. “You sound like you admire her.”
Kael’s reply was flat. “I understand her.”
No one answered that.
The complex appeared like a mirage of steel and frost—low buildings wrapped in chain link, the lake wind rattling loose signage that once advertised Haven Biotechnics.
Kael killed the engine. The world went still except for the sound of waves slapping frozen shore.
Rori pulled her jacket tighter. “How long do we have before patrol?”
“Seventeen minutes,” Kael said. “Infrared cycle on the south wall resets at zero-three-fifteen. We go in then.”
Ren checked his sidearm, eyes calm and sharp. “We go quiet, we go fast.”
Sandro grinned, loading a fresh magazine. “And if quiet fails?”
“Then we improvise,” Ren said.
Rori looked between them. “We always improvise.”
Kael handed her a small transmitter. “Heartbeat channel. Same code as the house. If we lose each other, follow the rhythm.”
Rori clipped it to her collar, nodding. “Let’s end this.”
They crossed the snow-bitten yard in a crouched line, Ren leading, Kael feeding data into their earpieces like a calm pulse: Two guards east side, one smoking; no cameras live on west service door.
Rori reached the wall first, fingers already numb. The steel door yielded to Kael’s code on the first try, the lock clicking open like a held breath.
Inside, the air changed—dry, humming, full of recycled cold. Rows of inactive terminals lined the corridor, each one asleep under a pale blue glow.
“This isn’t a lab,” Sandro whispered. “It’s a mausoleum.”
Ren moved forward, scanning corners. “Stay focused.”
Kael stopped at a junction, eyes darting between the ceiling sensors. “Power is on standby. That means someone’s still here.”
Rori stepped beside him. “Then let’s find them.”
The deeper they went, the warmer it got. The air thickened with static.
The server room loomed ahead, glass-walled and endless. Screens flickered with rolling code that shouldn’t have existed without a user.
Kael frowned. “No one’s typing. She’s running autonomous.”
Rori’s stomach turned. “You mean Maeve’s here.”
A voice slid from the intercom, smooth and distorted. “Welcome home, Aurora.”
Ren lifted his weapon. “Show yourself.”
“Oh, Ren,” Maeve purred. “Always so direct. I’d forgotten how beautifully predictable you are.”
Sandro rolled his eyes. “I’m starting to see why everyone quits her company.”
Rori ignored them. “You’re done, Maeve. We’ve cut every line you have left.”
The screens shifted, forming her face out of cascading numbers. “You’ve cut one line. I’ve written thousands.”
Kael’s fingers flew over his portable console. “She’s tunneling through emergency back-ups. I can bottleneck but not kill it.”
Maeve’s digital smile widened. “Of course you can’t. I wrote the architecture you learned from.”
Rori stepped closer to the glass. “Then you should’ve known I’d come back for you.”
The power dropped for half a second—enough for the lights to flicker, enough for her reflection to blink. When it came back, the image had changed: instead of Maeve’s face, footage from Rori’s home filled every monitor—the kitchen, the kids’ rooms, the wagging lights.
Maeve’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Every backup leaves a door, darling. And yours left two.”
Ren’s hand clenched. “Kael.”
“I see it,” Kael said. “She’s not in the feed; she is the feed.”
“Then we cut the servers,” Rori said.
Sandro stared at her. “All of them? That’ll torch half the grid!”
“Good,” she said. “Let it burn.”
Kael hesitated only a breath, then nodded. “On your mark.”
Rori looked up at Maeve’s digital eyes—calm, knowing.
“This is me saying no.”
She slammed the master switch.
Light flared white. Every screen exploded in static, shards of code bleeding into the air like snow. The hum turned into a shriek, a single note of digital agony that rattled the floor under them.
Kael threw his arm around her, pulling her back as heat burst from the server racks. Sparks arced through the glass, fire climbing like liquid mercury.
Ren’s voice cut through the chaos: “Exit! Now!”
Sandro was already hauling open the side door, coughing through the smoke. The alarms blared—real ones this time, human ones.
They burst into the night as the first detonation rolled through the compound. Fire lit the sky, reflected in the black mirror of the lake.
Rori stood in the snow, lungs burning, watching the flames consume what was left of the lab.
Kael’s hand was still on her shoulder, steadying her. Ren scanned the horizon, weapon ready. Sandro let out a long, stunned laugh.
“Well,” he said between coughs, “that was one hell of a firebreak.”
Kael turned to Rori. “You realize she’ll survive this.”
“I know,” Rori said, eyes still on the blaze. “But now she knows what it feels like to burn.”
Ren stepped closer. “And if she comes again?”
Rori looked at him, calm, certain. “Then she learns what it feels like to bleed.”
Behind them, the compound collapsed inward, a final roar swallowed by the lake wind.
- Writer
