Dot tugged at one strap of her backpack. Getting here had been relatively simple. She'd taken public transport, the loud chatter of people muffled by her discreet earbuds blasting distorted rock. It had become her ritual—a way to prime herself for what she called controlled adrenaline: alert, sharp, but carried on waves of hysteria and brute force only her playlist could conjure.
She got off a few blocks before her target. The night was cold, the air still damp from a downpour. She melted into the street—late, but not deserted. After circling the block, she slipped into a stretch far less welcoming, the kind of place no one went unless they had to.
Old houses, graffitied walls, piles of trash, rats darting in and out. Past that piss-and-garbage-scented corridor, she stepped into a darker street, lit only by a lone streetlamp several yards from the building she was after. She pulled out her earbuds and tucked them away.
Crossing without even checking the road, she felt the silence here press heavy against her.
The remnants of a massive gate framed the block—just gaps and shards of wall still jutting up in places. Her boots struck with practiced precision: steady, deliberate, never a wasted step, never a sound out of place. Off in the distance, commercial buildings stood dark, locked up for the night.
Dot was alone. No other soul lurked here.
Years of moving in silence had given her an instinctive radar for presence. She felt no one nearby. Her hand slid out her phone—one message to Nyx. Seconds later, the reply flashed back: a thumbs up.
It was time.
Dot traced the building's edge, found the first shattered window with ease. That flicker of adrenaline finally showed itself. She leaned in carefully, trusting her intuition—her blind faith—that the place was empty. One leg, then the other, she slipped inside.
An office space, maybe once this place was a reception. Dead panels, chairs that hadn't seen daylight in decades, ceiling tiles sagging and broken. Ghosts of computers lingered only as dust marks on desks. Shelves stripped bare, stolen, or smashed.
Her boots hit heavy but her steps were feather-light. She caught sight of a stairwell sign on a back door. No need to open it—just squeezed through the gap.
Darkness closed in. Dot pressed a button on her backpack strap, releasing a dim light that made the dust in the air shimmer.
The ease of entry to a site rumored to store sensitive material unsettled her.
At the first floor landing, she nudged the door just wide enough, slipping into a narrow hallway lined with doors—or the memories of them. Rust-eaten hinges, shattered frames, concrete split with age. Dust like layered sediment.
Her mental map told her the artifact wasn't here. Without hesitation, she turned and climbed to the next floor.
The second floor. Something... was different. Or at least something in her gut warned her. Same corridor, same doors, but her pace kept slow, each step measured. Out of the corner of her eye, something stood out.
A door. Intact.
The only one untouched by time. Its keypad coated in dust, dull and worn but... off, somehow.
Dot hesitated. Scanner out, and there was nothing. No ping from the walls, no read from beyond. For a moment, doubt crept in. The map showed six doors, three on each side. Here, there were only five. The last one was this one. Whole. Untouched.
She wiped the keypad with a cloth, brows drawn tight. The layout didn't add up.
Then, without warning, the door gave. A soft sigh.
No code. No resistance.
Just her fingertips.
Her body stiffened, then shifted forward. Careful steps. The air inside felt colder, not from temperature but from something else, like the room itself was holding its breath.
The place was small, nearly claustrophobic. At the back, among half-dead panels pulsing faintly, a single monitor rested on a desk, yellow light blinking in standby.
Fear slid over her skin. Something wrong was waiting here.
Dot held her breath, searching for sound, light, anything to explain. As she crept closer, she noticed another chamber sealed off to the side. Sensors flared green across the walls, scanning her for a second before vanishing.
A click.
The chamber door eased open.
Dot stepped back instinctively, not from fear but reflex. The door slid with unnatural smoothness, like some stubborn system still clung to life. What escaped was no mold, no dust. Metallic. Sterile. Cold.
She stopped just short of entering, stunned.
The room was immaculate. No dust. No cracks. As if time hadn't touched it. Light came from nowhere, a glow that felt like memory.
Her gaze fell and her breath caught.
Bodies.
Two skeletons, maybe three. Arranged almost ritually. One leaned against the far wall, arms crossed over its chest as if it had chosen to die there. Another sprawled toward the center, hands outstretched toward an object.
But then she looked more precisely and noticed that there was a third skeleton. And it was worse.
Near the entrance, half-buried in ash-like debris, lay a body in partial mummification. Skin shriveled but not rotted. Eyes open, glass-dry, still staring blankly at the ceiling.
A shiver cut through Dot. Not at death itself, she'd seen plenty, but at the lack of explanation.
Suspension.
As though this room were alive, choosing who to accept... and who to reject.
She stepped closer. Scratches on the floor caught her eye, marks carved in haste, maybe with fingernails. Words in several languages. One phrase caught the light, stabbed at her:
"NOT MEANT FOR US."
Her stomach clenched.
At the center, the artifact. Suspended by metal cables that didn't touch the floor. A dark, irregular prism pulsing faintly within, like neurons sparking in a language forgotten.
Dot moved closer, each step too loud against the pristine floor. It felt like trespassing in a temple. The air around it carried a chill. Not of temperature, but of presence.
As if it was dead.
Until she reached for it.
Her finger stopped short of contact. No need. The space between trembled, a vibration running up her arm, into the bone itself. The prism lit from within, swirling blue. No sound. No heat.
But the world seemed to stop turning.
The whole room answered. Lights shifted. Cables recoiled. The prism lowered, bowing to her.
And then... it entered.
There was no other word. The prism folded in on itself, a dance of collapsing lines, dissolving into a mist, liquid light that sank into her arm. Pain shot through her blinding, brutal, but was gone in an instant, replaced by something worse: the feeling of being read.
Visions crashed through her. Shattered images, sounds in tongues she'd never heard but somehow understood.
She staggered back, gasping, her arm trembling under the weight of something definitely ...odd.
And then, a sound rose.
A low, long beep, almost a digital whisper. A phrase seared itself directly into her mind:
"Signal restored. Genomic unit recognized. Activation sequence initiated."
Dot's eyes dropped to her arm. Where the artifact had sunk, a mark spread like circuitry inked beneath her skin, glowing faintly in sync with her heartbeat. Cold sweat traced her spine as images and voices collided inside her skull. Her knees buckled and she clutched her arm, certain she was losing it.
There was no more time to think.
From the other room, she noticed a sound coming from the other room and a monitor snapped awake. Red letters scrolled across the screen:
***Initiating Destruction Sequence***
25sec.
24 sec.
— Shit! — The word tore out of her.
Dot lurched to her feet, still clutching her arm, half-stumbling as her body bolted forward. Vents hissed, releasing gas she hadn't noticed before.
This, she hadn't signed up for.
She covered her nose as she could and sprinted. The monitors around her, until moments ago looking ancient , now flickering with the same countdown:
10 sec.
9 sec.
She burst into the hallway, dove through the first room with a broken window glowing faintly from outside. Without hesitation, she ran and hurled herself through.
Glass shattered behind her, exploding into shards that sliced the night air. She hit the ground hard, rolling through grass and debris, arms shielding her head until the world stilled, just for a breath.
She tried to rise. No chance.
The explosion came like a visceral thunderclap, flinging her across the yard. The shockwave crushed her chest like a wall of raw force. She tumbled, scraped, slid, stopping only when her body slammed against the base of a wall.
For a moment she lay there, curled on her side, a low groan spilling out. The ringing in her ears drowned the world, muffled and distant, until a bark. Sharp. Near. Dogs.
The warning was clear: no time.
Dot forced her arms, staggered upright. Her breath ragged, a hand gripping her aching side. She scanned the ruins. Not too far away, she saw an opening in the wall, crumbled stone offering a way out.
She stumbled toward it, feet dragging, her breath completely a mess. She reached the street and stopped for two seconds, no more. Enough to pick a direction.
Then she ran.
Ran as if she could escape herself. As if something inside was already chasing her.