The path leading to Zone-7's northern perimeter was rough, a stark contrast to the engineered steel floors of Echo City's core sectors. Dirt roads and exposed concrete, littered with abandoned gear and rusted drone parts, stretched under West's boots. Weeds poked through the cracks in concrete, remnants of nature trying to reclaim lost ground. Faded warning signs, half-buried under debris, marked the edge of officially sanctioned territory.
The sky overhead remained gray, but lighter now, morning fog lifting slowly. Visibility stretched farther than usual—bad news. Visibility meant exposure.
West moved at full pace, each step deliberate. No powered armor. No speed enhancers. Muscle and rhythm alone. The weight cuffs on his ankles clinked softly with every step, a constant reminder of the training he never skipped. Dust kicked up beneath his boots, swirling in the air before settling again.
Aria's voice echoed steady through his earpiece.
"Surveillance drone in position. Visual confirms no active patrol at Checkpoint Tower One. No thermal signatures inside."
"Acknowledged." West kept his voice level.
As he approached, the silhouette of the tower grew clearer—three stories of pulse-reactive plating long since burnt out. Its walls were pitted with old impact scars and bullet holes, and a single blinking light remained, weak and erratic, like a heartbeat about to stop. Bits of loose wiring swayed in the breeze.
West stepped through the entrance. Dust and stale air greeted him first, mingled with the faint chemical tang of old pulse fuel.
The first floor was empty. Storage crates stacked in uneven piles, metal chairs toppled over, scorch marks on the walls. Signs of a fight—but old. Spent cartridges littered the corners. A dark smear of oil mixed with blood stained one of the support columns.
West's eyes narrowed.
A flickering data-pad sat on the central console, its surface cracked but still active.
He picked it up. The pad's screen glitched before stabilizing.
Z7-ALPHA LOG: SYSTEM WARNING
Aria's voice sharpened immediately.
"Upload it now."
West synced the pad. Aria's systems back at command flashed red.
"That's not a routine patrol log," she said quietly. "That's a beacon code."
West's grip tightened around the pipe strapped to his back.
"External?"
"Confirmed. Someone out there sent a call signal—two hours ago. Not local grid. Beyond Echo City's perimeter."
West exhaled once. Low and slow.
"Understood. Tracing signal origin now," Aria continued. Her voice stayed calm, but West knew her pulse lines were burning bright.
His eyes scanned the upper floors. One more flight of stairs.
Steel creaked underfoot as he climbed. The second floor was as empty as the first—except for drag marks along the floor. Something—or someone—had been pulled out in a hurry. Faint smudges of blood marred the edges of the steel panels. A shattered helmet lay discarded in the corner, visor cracked straight through.
At the top level, West found the broken comms terminal. The screen was shattered, wires torn out by hand.
Its cables were still warm.
Aria spoke again.
"Secondary drone confirms visual: one unmapped structure due north, 3.4 kilometers beyond perimeter. It wasn't there last scan."
West's eyes flicked toward the horizon. Through cracked tower windows, he could just make out a dark shape beyond the hills—angular, metallic, pulsing faint red light. Small pulse spikes radiated from it in steady intervals.
His hand gripped the pipe tighter.
"Prepare evac teams," he said. "If I'm not back in two hours—"
"You will be," Aria cut him off. Her voice was sharper than usual. "Proceed."
West allowed himself a half-smile. It didn't reach his eyes.
Then he moved.
Out of the tower. Beyond Echo City's edge.
Into whatever waited next.