The transition from the triumph of the checkpoint breach to the suffocating reality of the narrow corridor was instantaneous. Zeta, still reeling from the feedback of the transformer explosion, felt the weight of the city pressing down on him. The bunker was silent, but his mind was a storm of raw, unrefined data. He was breathing heavily, the air in the room tasting of burnt plastic and cold sweat. He stared at the monitor, his eyes tracking the red blips of the Neo Soma reinforcements as they swarmed the Sector 4 corridors. The guerrillas were moving too slowly, their physical bodies hindered by the debris and the remnants of their own exhaustion.
Zeta tapped his fingers against the console, each movement a calculated strike against the instability of his own mind. He had to reroute t
