The terrain beyond Echo City's edge shifted quickly from industrial ruins to wild growth. Tall ironweed sprouted between shattered walls and collapsed drones, their silver-green leaves rustling in the wind like whispering voices. Broken rail lines jutted from the ground at odd angles, long overtaken by rust and vines.
West moved through the undergrowth like a ghost, pulse sensor at his hip active but quiet. Every thirty meters, he paused—listening. Checking for movement. His breathing stayed slow and measured, boots barely disturbing the debris beneath his feet.
So far, nothing.
Except for that pulse.
Every minute or so, his sensor picked up a soft, steady rhythm: the same red beacon spike Aria had tracked from command. It pulsed just below human hearing—felt more than heard. A low thrum vibrating through the soles of his boots.
After thirty minutes of silent movement, West crested a low ridge.
The unmapped structure stood in the clearing below.
Angular. Dark steel and black plating. No markings. No lights except for the faint red pulse running along its upper seams. The exterior panels looked newer than anything in Echo City—smooth and untouched by rust or decay.
A single entrance faced him—wide enough for vehicles, sealed by double blast doors reinforced with layered metal bracing. Scorch marks surrounded the doorframe, hinting at a forced entry attempt long ago.
West tapped his earpiece.
"Visual confirmed. Single structure. One entrance. No external guards."
Aria's voice answered immediately, sharp but calm.
"Confirming your feed now. Stand by... This isn't on any archived maps. Pulse architecture unknown. Checking material composition..."
A pause, followed by a quiet pulse of static.
"Alloy matches nothing in the city's current grid. Be careful."
West crouched lower, scanning the perimeter again. His grip on the half-pipe tightened. Sweat gathered beneath his gloves despite the cold air.
A whisper of movement caught his attention.
Not from the building.
From the trees behind him.
West turned fast, pipe raised.
A figure stepped into view—tall, wrapped in torn cloak fabric that fluttered in the breeze. The cloth was patched in places with old grid-operator markings, faded almost to nothing. The face hidden behind a cracked visor mask, one side glowing faint green.
The stranger's posture wasn't aggressive—weight evenly balanced, no visible weapons drawn. But there was tension in every line of their stance.
The stranger spoke, voice metallic through an old-world comm unit.
"You shouldn't be here."
West didn't lower his weapon.
"That's what I was about to say."
The wind picked up again, stirring loose leaves and dust between them.
For a moment, neither moved.
The pulse beacon continued in the background—steady, waiting. Like a heartbeat that refused to stop.
West's eyes narrowed, calculating.
"Name?"
The stranger tilted their head slightly.
"Doesn't matter. Turn back. This area's sealed for a reason."
West's grip on the pipe shifted subtly—preparing.
"Then you'll have to stop me."
For a single breath, the air between them felt like it might break.
Then the figure lowered their hands slowly—open palms facing West.
"You're not one of Rhys's. That much I can tell. But if you push forward... You'll wake things that shouldn't be awake."
West's expression didn't change.
"Already woke one city. One more won't hurt."
The stranger let out a quiet, static-filled laugh.
"That's what I thought."
The pulse beacon flared again—brighter now, like it had felt their decision.
West stepped forward.
And the stranger didn't stop him.