The corridors of the Deep-1 facility echoed with the deafening clatter of steel. The Sentinels moved like a swarm of insects, their mechanical claws scraping against the walls and floor as they pursued their prey. Snow, Rain, and Gemma sprinted down the narrow hallway, their breaths ragged, the air thick with the tang of rust and ozone.
"Keep moving!" Snow barked, glancing over her shoulder. The Sentinels weren't just gaining; they were adapting. Their clawed appendages, designed for more than just slashing, now fired off like crude projectiles, embedding themselves into the walls and floor around the trio. Each shot was narrowly off-target, the jagged claws whistling past their heads and clanging against the cold steel.
Rain stumbled, the map case clutched tightly to her chest. Her legs were trembling, and every step felt like dragging weights through quicksand. Snow grabbed her hand without breaking stride, practically yanking her forward. "I've got you! Don't stop!"
"I—I can't—" Rain's voice was weak, barely audible over the chaos, but Snow's grip was unrelenting.
"You can," Snow growled, pulling her along. "You have to."
Behind them, Gemma lagged just enough to hurl another shockbanger. The small device arced through the air, its tiny blinking light a fleeting beacon before it detonated. A sharp pulse of blue energy rippled outward, frying several Sentinels mid-step and sending their lifeless bodies clattering to the floor.
"Keep going!" Gemma shouted, her voice strained as she limped slightly, her pack heavy with the weight of her tools and remaining grenades. "Don't wait for me!"
Snow ignored her, eyes locked on the dim glow ahead—the exit, a battered bulkhead door that marked their only escape. The walls here were tighter, the ceiling lower, and every metallic clang of the Sentinels' relentless advance reverberated like the hammering of war drums.
"Move faster!" Snow yelled, her voice raw. Rain's chest heaved as she fought for air, but she didn't stop, her legs burning as she forced herself onward. Snow led her with iron determination, her hand firm and unwavering.
They burst into the open space before the exit, the bulkhead looming large and ominous in the low light. Snow skidded to a stop and spun around, shoving Rain behind her. "Get down, stay out of sight!" she barked.
Rain collapsed to the ground, gasping, as Snow raised her longshooter and trained it on the corridor they'd just fled. The weapon was nearly useless against the Sentinels' armor, but Snow's instincts wouldn't let her go without a fight.
Gemma appeared moments later, her face pale, her breathing labored. But before Snow could call out, a whirring sound cut through the air—a Sentinel's claw, fired with precision, slammed into Gemma's leg. She let out a cry of pain and staggered, nearly falling.
"Gemma!" Rain screamed, scrambling to her feet.
Gemma dropped to one knee, clutching her injured leg as blood seeped through the tear in her trousers. The Sentinels were closing in now, their glowing eyes burning bright as they poured into the room behind her.
"Snow, help her!" Rain pleaded, tears streaming down her face.
Snow hesitated, her heart pounding. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to move, to do something—but the swarm of Sentinels was too close. If she stepped out now, it wouldn't just be her life at risk; Rain would be left defenseless.
"I can't," Snow said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Please!" Rain begged, clutching at Snow's arm, but Snow didn't move. Her hand tightened on her knife, her knuckles white. "I can't," she repeated, louder this time, though the words felt like bile in her throat.
Gemma, still on one knee, looked up at them. Her face was pale, but her eyes were steady, resigned. "It's all right," she said, her voice surprisingly calm. She reached into her pack and pulled out her last shockbanger, holding it tightly. "I'm not getting out of here. You two—run. Now."
"No!" Rain cried, stepping forward, but Snow grabbed her, holding her back.
Gemma gave them a faint smile, tinged with pain but also something that might have been pride. "Rain," she said, her voice soft but clear. "You don't need my approval to be a Knower. You already are one. Remember that."
Rain shook her head, tears blurring her vision. "But you—"
"Go," Gemma interrupted firmly. "This world might not mean anything to me, but it does to you. So go save it. Make it worth something."
Before Rain could say another word, Gemma raised her slugger and fired at the control panel beside the bulkhead door. Sparks flew as the mechanism whirred to life, the door groaning as it began to close.
"Gemma!" Rain screamed, struggling against Snow's grip as the door descended.
Gemma didn't look back. She turned toward the advancing Sentinels, clutching her shockbanger tightly. "Come on, you bastards," she muttered, her voice steady even as the swarm surrounded her.
The bulkhead slammed shut with a resounding clang, cutting off the sight of her entirely.
Rain fell to her knees, pounding her fists against the sealed door. "Gemma! No! Open it! Please!" Her cries were raw, desperate, but there was no response.
Snow stood behind her, silent, her face pale and drawn. She stared at the door, her knife still in hand, as if expecting it to open again, to see Gemma emerge victorious. But the cold, heavy silence that followed said otherwise.
Rain slumped against the door, her sobs echoing in the now-empty corridor. "She's gone," she whispered. "I finally found someone like me, and now she's gone."
Snow's jaw tightened, her hands trembling as she sheathed her knife. "I'm sorry," she said, though the words felt hollow. She crouched beside Rain, placing a hand on her shoulder.
Rain turned to her, her tear-streaked face filled with despair. "Why didn't you help her? Why didn't you do something?"
Snow's throat tightened. "I had to keep you safe," she said quietly. "I couldn't risk losing you."
Rain shook her head, pulling away. "But now she's gone," she said, her voice breaking. "And it's my fault."
"No," Snow said firmly, though her own doubts clawed at her. "It's not your fault. She made her choice."
Rain didn't respond, staring at the closed door as if willing it to open. Snow watched her, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her chest.
Had she done the right thing? She didn't know. All she knew was that Gemma was gone—and they were still alive.
————————————————————————————————————————————
The streets of Greybranch had never felt so oppressive. The industrial sprawl, with its winding alleys of clanking machines and the acrid smell of oil, pressed down on Snow and Rain as they trudged through it. Even the lights seemed dimmer, casting long shadows across the scrap-metal walls and makeshift towers.
They walked in silence, their boots scraping against the uneven ground. Snow's longshooter hung heavily from her shoulder, and Rain carried the map case as though it weighed a thousand tons. Neither had said much since leaving Deep-1. Snow glanced at Rain now and then, noting the slump of her shoulders, the blank look in her eyes.
When they reached Gemma's workshop, it was unsettling to see how normal it looked, as if its occupant might stride out at any moment, grease-stained and sharp-tongued, ready to fix whatever broken relic someone dragged in. But the silence inside was absolute.
Flint met them at the door, his usually calm expression replaced with a mix of concern and weariness. The wiry man took one look at their faces and seemed to know.
"Where's Gemma?" he asked, though the question already hung heavily in the air.
"She didn't make it," Snow said bluntly, her voice flat.
Rain winced at the words, looking down at her feet. Flint closed his eyes briefly, his hand tightening on the doorframe.
"What happened?" he asked softly, ushering them inside.
The workshop was just as chaotic as ever, cluttered with half-finished projects and shelves overflowing with tools and parts. The familiar mess only made it harder for Rain, who sank into one of the rickety chairs and clutched the map case tighter.
Snow leaned against the workbench, crossing her arms. She recounted everything—the Sentinels, the shockbangers, Gemma's final words, and the sealed bulkhead door. Her voice didn't waver, but she kept it clinical, leaving out how it felt to see Gemma sacrifice herself.
Flint listened intently, his face unreadable. When Snow finished, he let out a long breath and ran a hand through his graying hair.
"Gemma," he murmured. "She was the best we had. Always sharp, always thinking ten steps ahead…" He trailed off, then straightened, looking between the two girls. "But you two shouldn't blame yourselves. Gemma knew the risks. She wouldn't want you to carry that weight."
Rain looked up, her eyes red. "But if I'd been faster—if I hadn't slowed us down—"
"Stop," Flint interrupted gently. "Don't do that to yourself. We all knew what kind of person Gemma was. She wouldn't have let you take that blame, not for a second. She chose to protect you because she believed in what you're trying to do."
Rain bit her lip, tears threatening to spill again. Snow stepped in. "What happens to Greybranch without her?" she asked, steering the conversation away.
Flint sighed and gestured around the cluttered workshop. "We'll adapt. Gemma always said this place couldn't rely on just one person forever. It'll take time, but we'll train others—spread her knowledge. She left enough notes, schematics, half-built prototypes to guide us."
He paused, then added, "But the two of you—you don't have to shoulder all this guilt. Stay here for a while. Let us help you."
Rain shook her head almost immediately. "No," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "You've already done so much for us. I—we don't want to burden the Easterners any more."
Flint looked at her with a mixture of sympathy and sadness. "It's not a burden. You're one of us now."
Rain didn't answer. She clutched the map case to her chest, her gaze fixed on the floor. Snow noticed how her knuckles whitened and felt a familiar pang of worry.
"Thank you," Snow said quickly, cutting in before Flint could press the matter. "But we'll manage. We'll stay in town for a bit, just to regroup."
Flint studied them both, his mouth opening as if to argue, but he seemed to think better of it. Instead, he nodded. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."
The hotel was little more than a shack bolted to the side of Greybranch's market district. It smelled faintly of damp metal and old grease, the walls thin enough to hear the clamor of the market even at night. Snow shoved the creaking door open and gestured for Rain to enter.
Rain sat down heavily on the sagging cot, the map case still in her lap. Snow leaned her longshooter against the wall and pulled over a rusted stool, watching her friend carefully.
"You've been quiet," Snow said after a moment.
Rain shrugged, her fingers tracing the edge of the map case. "I just keep thinking… Gemma's gone. The Niners are gone. Everyone keeps leaving. And maybe—maybe they were right. Maybe Knowers do more harm than good."
Snow's stomach tightened. She thought back to the drunken trader, the venom in his words about Knowers, and how Rain had flinched at every insult. "Don't start believing that crap," she said firmly.
"But what if they're right?" Rain looked up at her, her eyes glassy. "What if all this—what if it's just another dead end? What if the world can't be saved?"
Snow didn't have an answer. Instead, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "We've come this far," she said finally. "If you want to go to this 'Paradise,' we'll go. But don't let what they said get into your head. You've got more guts than any of them."
Rain managed a weak smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks," she murmured. She set the map case on the cot and opened it, pulling out the satellite map. The red dot marking Paradise seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
"It's in the Darklands," Rain said, tracing the path with her finger. "North. Through the fissures and the storms. It's supposed to be impossible to cross, but maybe—maybe it's changed."
"Maybe," Snow said, though her tone was skeptical. The Darklands were a death sentence to most who tried to traverse them. "Or maybe this 'Paradise' is just another broken ruin."
Rain nodded slowly. "Maybe. But if there's even a chance…"
Snow didn't argue. She could see the determination in Rain's eyes, fragile but burning. Instead, she reached out and gently closed the map. "We'll figure it out tomorrow. Get some sleep."
Rain hesitated, then nodded and lay down on the cot, clutching the map case like a lifeline. Snow leaned back against the wall, her longshooter within reach, and kept watch.
Rain's soft muttering broke the silence. Snow couldn't make out all the words, but she caught fragments—apologies to the Niners, to Gemma. Her heart twisted painfully, but she said nothing.
When Rain's breathing finally evened out, Snow let her eyes close, though sleep didn't come easily. Her hand rested on the longshooter, her mind replaying the events of Deep-1 over and over.
The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery from the market below. Snow sighed, her shoulders heavy, and prepared herself for another restless night.