The trip back to the main chamber was a fight in itself. The halls weren't empty anymore. Gen-2 patrols, groups of three and four, were sweeping. Looking for us. The first group we ran into almost got the drop on us. Elena saw them first, yanked me back into a doorway. We watched them pass, their steps perfectly in time.
"See?" she whispered. "They're not just searching. They're herding."
She was right. The patrols were pushing everything toward the arena. Toward the main event.
We took a longer way, through more service ducts. Borealis was moving better, but he was slow. The antidote worked, but the wound was deep. He didn't complain.
We could hear the fight before we saw it. Not the clean sounds from before. These were tired sounds. Grunts of effort. The dry click of an empty magazin
