Lucy's breath caught in her throat. The words felt heavy, like they weren't just noise but an old memory leaking through the machine.
She looked at Max, hoping for a clue about what he was thinking, but his face stayed the same—calm, unreadable. The rifle dangled loosely in his grip, but his eyes, cold and mechanical, followed every shift on her screen.
"What does that even mean?" Lucy asked quietly. "Hold the city together?"
The deck shifted again, showing more of the faded map—lines and circuits stretching across Night City like veins. Some glowed brightly, others were faint or dead. Circles pulsed at the weakest spots.
"When the seams fail," the voice said, sharper now, "the city breaks. Flood. Fire. Silence."
V cursed under her breath, a sound that was half frustration, half mocking laughter. "Sounds like some old A.I. ghost story. Next thing, it'll claim it keeps the monsters out."
But Lucy's skin tingled. The way the voice spoke didn't sound like a simple warning. It sounded like a duty—like it carried the weight of responsibility.
Max finally broke his silence. His voice was steady, each word measured. "If it calls itself a keeper, then it's been here all along. Watching. Holding the grid together in secret." He turned slightly, his gaze on Lucy. "Ask it what happens if those seams never open."
Lucy hesitated, then asked the question, her tone low but firm: "What happens if no one wakes them up?"
The silence stretched, filled only by the low hum of the deck, the slow rush of the river beneath the bridge, and the faint hiss from V's cigarette.
At last, the reply came. The words were slow and final:
"Then the city will drown in its own darkness."
The map changed. Night City flickered, sector by sector losing light, until the whole sprawl was nothing but black. Only the poisoned glow of the river remained faintly shining.
Lucy's stomach twisted tight. "Max… if this is real—"
Max interrupted, his voice calm and unshaken. "If it's real, then someone's been keeping this place alive with scraps and shadows for longer than we can imagine. And if it's not—" His artificial eyes dimmed slightly, unreadable. "Then it's just trying to scare us. Either way, we don't hand it what it wants. Not yet."
Lucy forced her hands steady on the deck and nodded. V shifted near the tunnel's edge, clearly restless, but still waiting for Max to decide.
The voice fell quiet again. But somewhere deep in the seam, something moved—old gears grinding, metal shifting like a machine waking from years of sleep.
Lucy's heart skipped. "Max. It's moving."
Max leaned closer to the hatch, steady as ever. "Good," he said softly. "Now we'll find out what's really waiting down there."
The grinding sound grew louder, echoing through the tunnel like the groan of some buried giant. Dust shook loose from the seams overhead, drifting down in pale sheets.
Lucy's fingers hovered over the deck, trembling despite herself. "That… that's not just data, Max. Something's really down there."
V spat out smoke, lips twisted in a nervous grin. "Yeah, no kidding. Question is—are we about to shake hands with the city's guardian angel or get chewed up by its guard dog?"
Max didn't flinch. He adjusted his grip on the rifle, optics narrowing as he studied the hatch. The vibrations pulsed through the steel floor, steady and heavy like a heartbeat.
"We don't assume," he said finally, his voice smooth and level. "We watch. We learn. Fear makes mistakes. Calm keeps you alive."
Lucy glanced at him, then back to her screen. The map warped again—faint outlines of something mechanical traced in red, half-rendered, as if the system itself struggled to pin down what was waking.
"It's big," she whispered. "Whatever it is, it's been hidden under the city for decades. Maybe longer."
The hatch locks shuddered, bolts grinding against rusted grooves. V swore again, stepping back toward cover, hand twitching near her pistol. "Max, tell me we're not opening the gates to hell."
Max tilted his head, optics dim and steady. "Hell's already up here, V. Down there… we might find the reason it hasn't swallowed everything yet."
The hatch screamed as the last bolt released. A gust of stale air surged out, sharp with oil and metal decay. The tunnel went still.
Lucy's breath caught again, her eyes flicking to Max. "Do we go in?"
Max stepped forward without hesitation, his rifle hanging loose but ready. "No fear," he said simply. Then, more quietly, almost to himself: "Let's meet the ghost in its home."
He reached for the hatch, pushing it open with calm, deliberate strength.
Darkness yawned beneath them, deep and waiting. Somewhere inside, machinery stirred—heavy, patient, alive.
Max stared into it, unblinking, like he'd been expecting this all along.
The darkness below wasn't empty. Faint lights blinked in the void—red, then white, then gone—like the slow, uncertain breath of something waking after a long coma.
Lucy's deck flared, code spilling across her screen without her touching a key. It wasn't random. It was a name.
"Project Eidolon."
Her stomach dropped. "Max… this isn't some ghost. This is Militech. This is one of theirs."
V cursed under her breath. "Figures. Only corp dumb enough to bury nightmares under the city and then forget about them."
Max's optics stayed locked on the void. Calm. Steady. "Not forgotten," he said. "Abandoned."
Lucy scrolled through the data as it forced itself onto her screen—scattered logs, corrupted time stamps, fragments of reports. All of it pointed to a single truth: decades ago, Militech had built something down here. Something they couldn't control.
The voice returned, quieter now, but sharp enough to cut through the stale air:
"Seams closed… chains locked… silence bought… price unpaid."
Lucy's hands shook as she traced the logs. "They tried to kill it. Lock it behind blackout walls, scrub its code with fire. But it… survived. It's been hiding, patching the grid, watching everything."
V exhaled smoke hard through her nose. "So, a Militech experiment gone rogue, and we're standing at its front door. Perfect. What now, Max? You want to invite it for tea?"
Max lowered his rifle, his expression unreadable. "If it wanted us dead, we'd already be gone. That hatch didn't open to kill us—it opened to show us."
***
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