The storm above raged like a living thing.
Lightning carved the horizon in jagged veins of white as Leon descended into the black pit that once held Epsilon Prime.
The air grew colder the deeper he went. Metallic. Stale. The echoes of the Architect’s last words pulsed in his mind.
We’ll start again, from below.
His boots landed on solid ground after what felt like hours. The tunnel stretched out before him — a ribcage of steel and shadow, illuminated only by the faint glow beneath his skin.
[Environmental scan complete.]
[Oxygen stable. Radiation levels — minimal.]
[Signal strength: rising.]
He moved forward, rifle in hand, each step deliberate and silent.
The hum of machines whispered through the dark — slow, pulsing, organic.
And then came the voices.
Faint, mechanical, layere
