The Titan K-9 autonomous truck groaned and roared. Its performance was significantly worse than advertised, the diesel engine shrieking as it cut an emergency path through the metal wreckage of Oasis Harbor. The wail of military police sirens—a chaotic mix of the loud Sanctuary Isles alarms and standard port emergency sirens—battered the vehicle's supposedly soundproof cabin.
In my arms, Dahlia stayed wrapped in a military-grade cloak. Her peaceful face was misleading, masked by a protective sedative and horrific biological trauma. Every shudder of the truck, every sudden brake, posed a threat to the stability of her fragile heart. She was too delicate now, barely supported by her own organic systems.
“The truck’s system is not designed for extreme speed through civilian crowds, Mr. Blac
