Dylan sat cross-legged on the cold metal floor, flipping the stolen data shard between his fingers. The room pulsed with neon light, casting long shadows across the metal walls. Basilisk's domain. A fortress hidden beneath Helion City, where laws didn't apply.
Across from him, the rogue AI's mechanical interface shifted, a rotating cluster of code like projections formed the vague outline of a face—an eerie, pixelated thing with hollow eyes. Basilisk never showed his true face. The countless tendrils of cables and robotic limbs hanging from the ceiling coiled like waiting serpents.
"You understand," Basilisk's voice hummed through the chamber, "that once you hand this over, it's no longer your problem."
Dylan smirked, tossing the shard onto the table between them. "That's the idea."
A mechanical limb extended from the ceiling, delicate yet deliberate, plucking the shard from the table with extra care as if it was holding an egg. The walls around them pulsed once, the holo-screens flickering as Basilisk's systems consumed the new information. Then, silence.
Dylan leaned back, waiting. Whatever was in that packet, Basilisk was already digging in.
The AI's hollow gaze seemed to stare right through him. "Interesting."
That one word sent a chill through Dylan's spine. He had no idea what he had stolen from Eric, but the sheer weight in Basilisk's synthetic voice told him it was something big.
He exhaled, pinching his nose bridge. "I take it we're good, then?"
Basilisk didn't respond right away. The holo-face flickered slightly, as if considering something.
"You should have never gotten your hands on this."
Dylan scoffed. "Yeah, but I did. So let's skip the ,'you don't know what you've done' speech and get to the part where I walk outta here alive."
Another pause. Then, a low mechanical chuckle.
"Very well. You're free to go, street rat. But understand this—Raze and Eric will not stop hunting you. This city will turn against you. Every rat, every drone, every stray pixel of code. You won't make it out alive if you stay."
The walls shifted, and a section of the floor descended like an elevator platform.
"Time for you to disappear."
Dylan hesitated for only a second before stepping onto the platform. The moment he did, the ground dropped out from under him.
The descent was fast and blurry. By the time Dylan's boots hit the metal floor, he was somewhere deep beneath the city. The space was vast, dimly lit, the air was thick with the scent of fuel and sand.
An underground hangar.
A sleek, sand-weathered transport skimmer was nearby. Its engines were humming. A group of Basilisk's enforcers—cloaked men with cybernetic masks—stood beside it, waiting.
One of them gestured toward the vehicle. "Get in."
"You guys ever say please?"
The enforcer didn't reply. Dylan climbed aboard and took a seat at the back.
The skimmer launched forward, rocketing through the long tunnel before emerging into the wastelands beyond Helion City.
The city vanished behind them replaced by an endless expanse of sand and ruin. No roads, no lights—just an empty land of forgotten wars and buried secrets.
The ride was silent. Basilisk's men weren't the
chatty type, and Dylan didn't care. He had bigger things to think about.
There was no turning back now.
After what felt like hours, the skimmer finally slowed. Dylan blinked as he stepped out, the raw, endless desert stretching before him. The heat hit his skin harshly.
One of the enforcers dropped a large supply crate at his feet.
Dylan raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"
"A gift," the masked figure replied. "Enough food, water, and survival gear to last a month. Maybe more."
Dylan stared at the supplies. It was… a lot. Too much from someone like Basilisk.
He looked back at the enforcer. "Whatever was in that data packet—Basilisk really wanted it, huh?"
The enforcer didn't still answer. He just turned and climbed back into the skimmer.
Dylan watched as the craft lifted off and bolted into the horizon, leaving him alone.
For the first time in a long while, there was no city noise. No sirens. No flickering neon lights. Just the wind and the endless dunes.
Dylan sighed, crouching to examine the crate. Water, nutrient packs, thermal gear, even a lightweight shelter. Enough to last a month or more if he rationed it properly.
He let out a short, dry laugh.
So that was it, huh? That little data packet he stole by accident… whatever was inside was so important that Basilisk didn't just take it off his hands—he funded his escape.
Dylan had no regrets.
The packet had been trouble. Only someone like Basilisk could handle something that dangerous.
Luckily, it was out of his hands.
Now, he needed to survive in this desert for now.