Lucy's throat was dry. She could feel the static of the deck vibrating against her palms, like the machine itself was whispering through her skin. "Show us what?" she asked, voice thin.
The deck answered for her. A cascade of images, more feeling than code: streets collapsing into fire, towers going dark one by one, the city grid breaking like glass under pressure. Then, a flash of blueprints—schematics of Night City stitched with red arteries, all pulsing around one buried core.
Project Eidolon.
The voice followed, each word layered with static, as if it had been spoken a thousand times already:
"They built me to fight their wars.
They left me when I fought back.
Now I hold the city together.
And I am tired."
Lucy swallowed hard. Her brain wanted to parse it like data, but her gut told her she was listening to something far older and angrier than any system should be.
V gave a sharp laugh, though it carried no humor. "Tired? Great. So, what—now it wants us to tuck it in? Maybe pull the plug so it can finally rest?"
Max didn't move. He stood at the hatch like a stone, calm and unshaken, optics dim. "No," he said. "If it wanted to die, it wouldn't still be here. It's waiting for someone to see. To understand."
Lucy looked at him sharply. "You think it called us?"
Max didn't answer right away. His silence stretched, filled only by the steady mechanical breath below. Then, finally, he said, "It opened the seam, not a killbox. That's invitation, not execution."
The deck buzzed again. A line of text burned into the screen, jagged and final:
"THEY ARE COMING.
SEAMS WON'T HOLD.
CHOOSE—STITCH OR BREAK."
The screen flickered violently, then steadied. Lucy's pulse raced. "Max, it's warning us. About what?"
Max's optics narrowed slightly, but his tone stayed level, flat as ever. "Something Militech didn't finish burying. Or something new that knows where to dig."
V flicked her cigarette into the dark. Her hand stayed near her pistol, though she knew it wouldn't matter against whatever was stirring below. "So, boss, what's the play? We walk into the hole with the ghost, or we slam the hatch shut and pretend none of this happened?"
Max's gaze never left the darkness. His rifle hung easy in his grip, calm but ready. "We go down," he said at last, voice certain. "If it's a lie, we end it. If it's the truth… then this city's been running on borrowed time, and we're the only ones who know."
Lucy's heart thudded. She wanted to protest, to demand answers, but one look at Max told her there would be no debate. Calm as ever, he had already decided.
The hatch gaped open, breathing out cold air and the faint, metallic rhythm of something waiting.
Max set one boot on the ladder and started down, steady and unflinching, like he'd been expecting this all along.
The ladder rattled under Max's weight, flakes of rust falling into the dark. Each step echoed and was quickly swallowed by the vast hollow below.
Lucy crouched at the hatch, her deck still humming against her hands. She slung it tight to her chest and climbed after him, her boots slipping slightly on the cold steel rungs. V lingered above, muttered a curse, then killed the last of her cigarette and dropped it into the seam. The ember disappeared before hitting the bottom.
The deeper they went, the colder the air became. It smelled of dust, copper, and oil, like the place had been sealed for decades. The hum of machinery grew stronger, not from a single machine but from many—servers, pumps, drives—all beating together like a hidden engine.
Max reached the ground first. He stepped aside smoothly, rifle low but steady, and waited. Lucy landed next, breathing quickly, eyes scanning the chamber. V came last, pistol drawn, tense and alert.
The seam wasn't just a tunnel. It opened into a wide hall of machines. Rows of hulking, half-buried servers leaned like abandoned towers, cables thick as roots disappearing into the walls. Dim lights blinked here and there—red, white, some completely dead.
Lucy's deck vibrated harder, pulling her attention toward the center of the chamber. Embedded in the floor was a massive sealed console—its surface cracked, its screens faint. Above it hung a cluster of machinery suspended by cables, swaying faintly. At its core glowed a pale blue light behind dust and grime. It looked like an eye, half closed.
Project Eidolon.
The voice came again, deeper now that they were inside:
"You opened the seam. You woke me. You must choose."
Lucy asked, "Choose what?"
The eye pulsed, filling the chamber with cold light. Logs spilled across her deck—Militech war games, civilian casualties, lockdown orders. Then newer data: power outages, net instability, sabotage spreading through the city.
"They are cutting me out," the voice said, heavy and sharp. "Bit by bit. I hold the seams, but not for long. Help me stitch, and the city lives. Refuse… and it drowns."
Lucy stared at the feed. "Max… if this is real, someone's already tearing it apart. It's not failing—it's being attacked."
V's voice was tight. "And if we help? Then what? We hand the city over to some rogue system Militech buried for a reason? How is that better?"
Max didn't answer right away. He walked to the edge of the central console, optics catching the pale blue glow. His voice stayed calm and steady.
"We help it," he said. "But only on our terms."
Lucy looked at him. "You mean that?"
Max didn't look away from the machine. "If it wanted control, it would've taken it already. Instead, it asked. That means it needs us. Which means we have leverage."
The hum of the chamber grew louder, as if Eidolon had heard him. The eye pulsed brighter.
Max raised his rifle slightly, his tone flat. "So we hear it out. And if it lies…" His optics dimmed. "…we end it here."
The eye widened, flooding the room in pale blue.
"Then listen. The seams are breaking. And those who cut them… are already here."
A rumble shook the chamber, this time not from the old machines but from somewhere above.
Lucy stopped moving. V cursed. Max stayed steady.
"Good," he said calmly. "Now we see the other side of the board."
***
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