The first sound reached me as little more than a whisper—barely noticeable, like the last breath of something unseen. I froze mid-step, pipe in hand, tilting my head toward the horizon. For a moment, I thought it was my imagination, a trick played by exhaustion or the residual hum of the facility still ringing faintly in my ears.

But then it came again, sharper this time, in a group of three.

"Cortana," I whispered, tightening my grip on the pipe, "did you hear that?"

"I have no auditory sensors in my current state," she replied, her voice cool and steady. "What did you hear?"

"I'm not sure." My voice wavered slightly as I spoke. "It almost sounded like gunfire, but... something's off. It's distant. The sound doesn't feel right—like it's been carried too far by the wind."

The breeze shifted, colder now, carrying with it more than the salty tang of the ocean. Something metallic tainted the air—faint, acrid, like scorched metal or burnt fuel. I couldn't place it, but it set the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end.

Then I heard it again. Louder this time. A sharp crack echoed faintly across the desolate cityscape, unmistakably gunfire.

"Cortana," I said, my voice firmer now, sharpening with unease, "I'm hearing something. Distant, but... it sounds like fighting."

"Define fighting," she replied carefully.

"Gunfire," I said, scanning the horizon. "It's far, but it's getting closer. The echoes don't lie—it's moving."

For a moment, neither of us said anything. I tightened my grip on the pipe and strained my ears, waiting for another sound to confirm the first. But the wind only whispered through the crumbling ruins, teasing me with its emptiness.

"Whatever it is, it's not here," Cortana finally said. "But we should stay cautious. If there's conflict nearby, it may find its way to us sooner than we'd like."

I nodded, though unease churned in my stomach. Whoever—or whatever—was out there, I wasn't ready to meet them. Not yet.

My eyes flicked across the crumbling ruins around me, scanning for any place I could hide if the fighting spilled through here. A half-collapsed building loomed nearby, its entrance barely holding together beneath a tangle of vines and rubble. Further down the road, a rusted vehicle lay on its side, overgrown but still solid enough to provide cover.

The air felt heavier now, charged with the distant echoes of conflict. I gripped the pipe tighter, my palms slick with sweat. Whatever was coming, I had no intention of facing it out in the open.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice low, "if we need to lay low, do you see anywhere defensible nearby?"

There was a brief pause before her voice returned, calm but laced with urgency.
"From what I can access, the best option is the structure on your left. The walls are mostly intact, and it provides line of sight to the direction of the sound. It won't hold up against heavy firepower, but it should be enough for temporary concealment."

I glanced at the building she mentioned, noting the way the shadows pooled inside. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than standing out here in the open, exposed and vulnerable.

"Got it," I muttered, moving toward it. As I stepped closer, the sound of gunfire came again—still faint, but this time accompanied by a dull, distant thud. My pulse quickened, the pressure in my chest growing heavier with each step.

As I neared the building, a new problem decided to rear its head—a sharp ache in my stomach. It clawed at me, a stark reminder that I hadn't eaten all day. The gnawing hunger sent waves of discomfort through me, but I shoved it to the back of my mind. Survival first.

I crouched low, forcing myself to move carefully, slowly, doing whatever I could to conceal my tracks. The ground beneath my boots crunched faintly—loose gravel and debris that I tried to disturb as little as possible. I glanced over my shoulder, scanning the empty streets and crumbling ruins, half-expecting something—or someone—to emerge from the shadows.

Reaching the building, I slipped inside through a gap where the door had once been, the rusted frame now bent and twisted. The darkness inside swallowed me, cool and damp compared to the sunlit streets outside.

Letting my eyes adjust to the lack of light I could see a few desks and shelves, some still had books on them, worn and frayed covers, some looked like they would crumble apart the minute they were touched.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "I'm inside. Can you guide me to a spot where I won't be easily seen?"

Letting my eyes adjust to the dim light, I could make out the outlines of a few desks and shelves scattered across the room. Some of the shelves still held books, their worn and frayed covers barely clinging to the spines. A few looked so brittle I thought they might crumble into dust at the slightest touch. The air inside was stale, heavy with the scent of mildew and decay, a stark contrast to the salty tang outside.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "I'm inside. Can you guide me to a spot where I won't be easily seen?"

There was a pause, the silence pressing in around me as I waited for her response.

"Scanning," she replied at last, her tone soft but focused. "Move toward the back of the room. There's a cluster of desks near the far wall. They'll provide some cover, but you'll need to stay low. Be cautious, there's a lot of debris, and any sudden movements might disturb it."

"Understood," I murmured, gripping the pipe tighter as I crept further into the shadows.

The sound of gunfire was growing louder now, no longer just a faint echo on the wind. Each burst was sharper, clearer, as if the fighting was steadily drawing closer.

Then, a new noise cut through the mix—a high-pitched whine, building in intensity, followed by a sudden thoomp. The sound was mechanical, deliberate, and unmistakably unnatural. It repeated again, the same pattern: a charging hum, sharp and electric, followed by a forceful release that reverberated like distant thunder.

I froze, gripping the pipe so tightly my knuckles turned white. My heart was pounding now, the eerie, mechanical noise gnawing at my nerves.

"What is that?" I whispered, my voice barely louder than my breath.

"I can't hear it," Cortana reminded me calmly, though her tone carried an edge of urgency. "You'll have to describe it for me."

"It… it sounds like something charging up. High-pitched, like it's building energy. Then there's this… release. It's loud—like a mechanical shockwave or an explosion. And it keeps repeating."

There was a pause as Cortana processed my description.

"Based on your description, it's likely some kind of energy weapon," she said finally. "Possibly plasma-based, railgun, or an electromagnetic pulse system. Without direct access to sensors or more data, I can't narrow it down further."

"I don't think it's a weapon, after each release there is not sound of impact it's almost like someone wanted to make it obvious that it was locking on, or starting an action"

"I don't think it's a weapon," I whispered, my voice low but firm. My pulse was still racing, but the thought was beginning to take shape in my mind. "After each release, there's no sound of an impact. Nothing exploding, no follow-up noise. It's... deliberate. Almost like someone wants to make it obvious they're locking onto something—or starting some kind of action."

Cortana's reply came after a brief pause, her tone measured. "That changes the context. If there's no sound of an impact, then it's less likely to be a conventional weapon. A targeting system, perhaps? Or a signal meant to intimidate or warn?"

"Whatever it is, it's working," I muttered, shifting my grip on the pipe as I fought the urge to look over my shoulder again. The hum and release repeated, mechanical and steady, like a heartbeat made of metal.

"If it's locking onto something, it means there's a target," Cortana continued, her tone calm but edged with urgency. "That could mean you're not alone out here. Either it's found something—or it's still searching."

I swallowed hard, my unease deepening at her words. My gaze flicked toward the fragile remains of the building around me, my mind racing. If something was "locking on," there was a chance it could find me—or worse, someone could already know I was here.

"Cortana, what's my best move?" I asked, keeping my voice steady despite the anxiety clawing at my chest.

"For now, remain hidden," she said without hesitation. "Monitor the sound and try to observe without revealing yourself. If the noise is a form of targeting, movement might draw its attention. Stay low, stay quiet, and avoid giving it a reason to focus on youself."

"What capabilities are available to you that can help monitor my surroundings?" I asked, my voice tight, trying to keep calm even as the vibrations beneath me grew more pronounced.

There was a pause. "Limited," she admitted. "However, I have a short-range pulse scan available, using your neural interface as a relay. It could provide some immediate data on your surroundings, but there's a risk."

"What kind of risk?" I whispered, gripping the pipe tighter as I shifted into a more stable crouch behind the desk.

"Given the degraded state of my systems and our environment, the pulse could draw attention from nearby sensors or electronic surveillance systems. The energy signature might ping whatever's out there—if it's equipped to detect such things."

I swallowed hard, weighing the options. My surroundings were pitch dark, and whatever was out there sounded like it had a targeting system that might not rely on conventional sight. Sitting still in complete ignorance felt like suicide, but triggering something that could get me killed faster wasn't exactly appealing either.

"How far does the scan reach?"

"Approximately ten meters in all directions," she replied. "It's limited in scope but may reveal potential movement or obstructions immediately around you. However, the visual data will be rudimentary and incomplete."

I exhaled slowly, my nerves fraying at the edges. "Do it. Just... make it quick."

"Understood. Activating pulse scan."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, faintly, I felt a strange sensation, like the barest ripple of static brushing across my skin. It was over in less than a second, and Cortana's voice returned almost immediately.

"Scan complete. Visualizing data."

A translucent map appeared in my vision, overlaying the dim room in faint shades of blue and white. It was crude, almost skeletal, showing only rough outlines of objects in the immediate area. The desks and shelves were there, as was the pile of rubble I was crouched behind. Beyond that, the scan revealed no immediate signs of movement—until my eyes landed on a faint, pulsing outline near the edge of the map.

"What's that?" I whispered, staring at the shape. It was humanoid, though it moved with an unnatural precision, its steps slow and deliberate. The vibrations I'd been feeling suddenly made sense.

"Contact at the very edge of my range," Cortana said, her voice measured but tense. "Whatever it is, it's bipedal—fairly small, which suggests a recon unit. Stay absolutely still. If it's at the edge of the pulse, there's a chance it didn't register the scan."

My grip on the pipe tightened instinctively, my knuckles aching under pressure. I pressed myself lower behind the rubble, barely daring to breathe.

"Do you think it noticed the pulse?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

"There's no way to know," Cortana replied, her tone firm but not dismissive. "At this range, it's unlikely to have detected the scan unless its sensors are unusually sensitive. Regardless, err on the side of caution. Assume it's searching for something—and avoid giving it a reason to think it's found you."

As her words settled in my mind, the distant gunfire that had been little more than an echo before suddenly sharpened, no longer muffled by the ruins. The sharp crack-crack-crack of automatic weapons now pierced the air with unsettling clarity, mixed with the dull thoomp of explosions. It wasn't just distant noise anymore—it was close, close enough that I could make out the rhythm of the fighting.

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. Whatever battle was happening out there, it wasn't some small skirmish. The sounds were relentless, chaotic, but I could feel an almost mechanical rhythm behind them. It wasn't just humans fighting. This was something else.

A sharp whine cut through the noise—a sound almost too crisp and pure to be natural. It was high-pitched, electronic, like a system booting up or reconfiguring itself. For a moment, I thought it was coming from the recon unit, but then I heard a voice—calm, precise, and entirely unfamiliar.

"Alert: data anomaly detected. Investigating source."

The voice was monotone, mechanical, yet oddly expressive in its delivery. My heart skipped a beat.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice trembling slightly, "did you hear that?"

"No," she said sharply, her tone laced with frustration at her own limitations. "Describe it."

"It was... a voice. Robotic. It said something about a 'data anomaly.'"

Cortana paused, clearly processing my words. "That doesn't match the signature of the recon unit. It's possible there's another system or AI in the area. If it mentioned a 'data anomaly,' it may have detected either the pulse scan or my presence within your neural interface."

I gritted my teeth, my grip tightening on the pipe. "You think it's looking for you?"

"Or us," she replied grimly. "If it's referencing a data anomaly, it could mean interference in its systems—something foreign, something unexpected. My integration with your neural interface could qualify, but so could the recon unit if it's broadcasting signals."

"Priority: eliminate obstruction to data integrity. Escalating scan protocols."

The mechanical voice rang out again, colder and more deliberate this time, and my stomach twisted into knots.

"Cortana," I whispered sharply, glancing toward the faint flicker of blue light now visible through the cracks in the crumbling wall, "it's definitely looking for us. It's scanning. If it starts reading us—can you stop it? Can you block it from getting any data from us?"

Her response came quickly, her voice clipped and precise. "The neural interface has minimal active signal output, but I can create interference patterns to obscure our presence. However, this will consume significant processing power, and if the unit is nearby, it may still detect the interference itself. It's a temporary solution at best."

"Do it," I hissed, gripping the pipe tighter, my pulse hammering in my ears. "Whatever you can do, just make sure it doesn't get anything from us."

"Understood. Activating low-level interference."

For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Then, faintly, I felt a strange pressure in my skull—like the static charge in the air before a lightning storm. It wasn't painful, but it was enough to make me clench my jaw as my vision flickered briefly, Cortana's presence in my neural interface shifting slightly.

"Interference active," she said after a moment. "I'm masking your neural signature and emitting decoy signals to simulate environmental noise. The goal is to blend into the background, but if the scanner is sophisticated, it may notice the anomalies."

The mechanical hum outside grew louder, the wall to my left began to tremble. The vibrations I'd been feeling suddenly spiked, growing more violent as something heavy approached. Dust rained down from the ceiling, and the shattered remains of a nearby desk shifted with a soft groan.

"It's breaching the area," Cortana said, her voice sharp. "Be ready. It's now or never."

I tightened my grip on the pipe, my hands slick with sweat, my mind racing through every possible move I could make. The faint thud-thud of metal hitting the back wall. Cracks started to form pieces of the wall falling off reveling the recon unit The recon unit emerged through the broken wall, its short, compact frame gleaming dully in the faint light. Its limbs twitched with jerky precision, the glowing sensor on its head pulsing like a heartbeat as it scanned the room. 'Kill. Kill. Kill,' it intoned, its voice a grating monotone that sent a chill down my spine.

The recon unit scanned the room, its round head swiveling with deliberate precision. Red lights pulsed from its eye, flashing in rhythmic bursts like a camera capturing the environment in snapshots. Each flash made my heart leap, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint hum of its sensors. I crouched lower, my fingers tightening around the pipe, praying it wouldn't notice me.

It froze suddenly, its glowing eye locking on something near the pile of rubble I hid behind. My breath caught in my throat. Is it looking at me? I tightened my grip on the pipe, my pulse pounding as I prepared to run or fight—whatever came first.

A metallic screech cut through the air, a sound so jarring that I flinched and nearly dropped the pipe. The recon unit lurched forward, its head snapping to the side as if in shock. A long, curved blade pierced through its chest with a shriek of metal on metal. Sparks erupted from the wound, and the bot convulsed violently.

Before it could fully react, the blade withdrew, leaving a gaping, sparking hole in its frame. The recon unit collapsed to its knees, its red eye dimming as a final, garbled string of static crackled from its speakers. A brilliant flash of light followed—one swift, surgical slash that severed its head cleanly from its body. The head hit the ground with a dull clang, rolling to a stop mere feet from me. I stared at its lifeless lens, wide-eyed, as silence reclaimed the room.

Before I could process what had happened, a muffled voice echoed from somewhere deep within the hole in the recon unit's ruined chest. Distorted, yet commanding, it cut through the quiet like a ghostly reminder that something else was still here.

"Pod, disregard anomaly. Scan for nearby enemies."

"Affirmative," the Pod replied, its voice calm and robotic. "Combat directives acknowledged. Target parameters uploaded."

"The two fighting factions don't seem to have fully noticed us yet," Cortana said, her tone calm but edged with urgency. "Only a single unit sought us out because of the pulse. Unless you want to be discovered, this might be our best moment to escape the skirmish."

"Right," I whispered, the word barely leaving my lips. My chest felt tight, my heart still hammering as the reality of what just happened settled over me. I had been seconds from dying—seconds from being ripped apart by that recon unit.

My grip on the pipe loosened, my fingers trembling as I fought to steady my breathing. I pressed my back against the crumbling wall, forcing myself to focus. There wasn't time to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

"Keep moving," Cortana urged, her voice a steady anchor in the chaos. "I'll guide you out of the area. Head toward the building's south exit—it's still partially intact, and it leads away from the combat zone."

A flash of light hit me, blinding and sudden. The decayed room around me flickered, replaced by an overlay of the night sky so vivid and vast it made me dizzy. The stars shimmered, impossibly bright, as if the ruined walls had crumbled away to reveal the cosmos themselves.

"No," I whispered, my voice barely audible, distorted and distant, as though it weren't my own. Panic clawed at me. "Not now. This is the worst time."

The decayed room vanished completely, swallowed by a familiar scene: the platform. I was standing on it again, that vast cosmic void stretching endlessly around me. The stars blazed in constellations I couldn't name but somehow felt deeply connected to. Two new motes of light floated into view, joining the others already orbiting around me.

They pulsed faintly, then shot out in tendrils of shimmering energy, reaching for a star near the edge of my vision. The motes wrapped firmly around the star, pulling it closer until it merged with me in a blinding rush of light.

A flood of information poured into my mind, alien yet instinctively familiar, as if I had known it all along. The Organic Mosaic Procedure. The knowledge bloomed fully formed in my thoughts—the ins and outs of the technique, the tools needed, the precision required. I could perform the surgery on anyone: human, animal, it didn't matter. The risks were minimal, my hands would be steady, my mind sharp.

As the knowledge settled into place, another fragment followed: survival on Mars. Methods to endure the harsh Martian environment, to process the thin atmosphere, to scavenge nutrients from its barren soil. It was a torrent of survival techniques that seemed utterly useless in my current situation.

"Why?" I asked aloud, my voice echoing into the void. "Why now? None of this helps me here."

The platform began to flicker, the stars dimming one by one until the void was gone. The celestial brilliance faded, leaving only the faint vibrations of the recon unit's steps echoing distantly in the back of my mind. The ruined room rapidly came back into focus, the cold, stale air pressing against my skin like a reminder of where I really was.

I blinked hard, shaking off the disorientation as my heart hammered in my chest. "Cortana," I whispered hoarsely, gripping the pipe tighter as I fought to steady myself, "how far are we from the solar arrays? That might be the safest place for us now."

Her reply was immediate, her voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Approximately two hundred meters to the south. The arrays are positioned on an elevated platform surrounded by a fenced perimeter. If the structure is still intact, it could provide temporary cover—but getting there will require crossing open ground."

I exhaled slowly, trying to push down the panic rising in my chest. The vibrations from the recon unit's steps were fading now, but the distant gunfire was growing louder, sharper, the rhythm of the fighting unmistakable. The skirmish outside was moving closer.

"Do you think it's clear enough to make a run for it?" I asked, scanning the cracks in the wall for any sign of movement.

"Unclear," she admitted. "The recon unit was likely a scout, and with multiple factions engaged nearby, the area could become volatile quickly. If you intend to move, now would be your best chance—before additional units arrive or the fighting spills into this zone."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to focus. Two hundred meters. I could make that. I had to make that.

"Okay," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the pipe and shifting my weight toward the south-facing exit. The ache in my legs and the hunger gnawing at my stomach were distant concerns now, overshadowed by the urgency of the moment. "Guide me. Let's go."

"Understood," Cortana said, her voice firm and steady. "Head out of the room and take the corridor to your right. From there, follow the most stable path—watch for anything that looks unstable or out of place, and I'll help guide you."

The recon unit's remains sparked faintly on the floor, its lifeless frame a stark reminder of how close I'd come to dying. My eyes lingered on the spot where the other had stood just moments ago, their blade slicing through the machine with inhuman precision.

I didn't have time to dwell on it. Clenching my jaw, I slipped out through the crumbling gap in the wall, staying low as I moved toward the corridor. The sound of gunfire crackled sharply in the distance, punctuated by the heavy thoomp of an explosion that shook the ground beneath me.

"Stay low and move quickly," Cortana urged. "Keep your eyes and ears open. If you notice anything unusual—movement, sounds, shadows—stop immediately. I'll rely on your observations to help us stay ahead of any threats."

I nodded silently, my pulse pounding in my ears. Two hundred meters had never felt so far.

Creeping deeper into the building, I kept myself on high alert, every unfamiliar sound setting my nerves on edge. Each creak of the walls, each whisper of shifting debris made me flinch, straining to pick out anything that didn't belong to the distant rhythm of fighting. My steps were slow and deliberate, my breath shallow, the weight of the pipe in my hand both reassuring and pitifully inadequate.

The corridor ahead stretched out like a grim tunnel, shadows pooling in its corners. My heart sank as I moved farther in. Large chunks of the left wall had crumbled away entirely, exposing glimpses of the outside world—a jagged skyline framed by encroaching vines and pale light filtering through the decay. To my right, a series of rooms opened into the hallway, their interiors in worse condition than anything I'd seen so far. Collapsed ceilings and piles of rubble swallowed the spaces, leaving them hollowed-out husks that stank of mold and abandonment.

Just keep moving. Slow and steady. I crouched slightly, keeping my body low, trying to make myself as small as possible as I crept forward. My footfalls were deliberate, every step slow, careful not to disturb loose debris or anything that might betray my presence.

Crack.

I froze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. The sound came from somewhere close—too close. My pulse spiked, a cold dread settling in my chest. If I didn't know any better, I'd swear it came from right next to me.

Swallowing hard, I pressed my back against the crumbling wall, hand outstretched, trying to feel for vibrations. My palm skimmed over the cool, rough surface of the concrete, every nerve in my body straining for some sign of movement. Is it another one of those robots? Is it trying to break in?

Nothing. Thank goodness.

I let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through me, though it did little to calm the thundering in my chest. Come on, legs. Move. But my body wasn't listening, frozen in place as if the air around me had turned to cement. Every instinct screamed at me to keep going, to put more distance between myself and whatever might be out there. Yet I couldn't seem to take the next step.

The longer I stay here, the closer I am to being found.

I pressed my palm harder against the wall one last time, hoping for some reassurance. Nothing. No vibrations. No sign of movement. Slowly, painfully, I forced my legs to move again, one hesitant step after another. My muscles felt stiff, as though fear itself had seeped into my bones, locking them in place.

Just keep going.

I continued deeper into the building, each step quieter than the last, every sound around me amplified by the oppressive silence. The decay in the structure seemed to grow worse the farther I went, the air growing heavier with the smell of mold and damp concrete. But I couldn't stop. Not now. Every second spent standing still felt like an invitation to disaster.

"Cortana," I whispered, my voice tight with frustration and fear. "What do I do now? I've hit a dead end."

There was a brief pause before her calm voice returned, steady but edged with urgency. "Keep moving. From what I can still track from the pulse I sent earlier, there should be an exit somewhere to the right. But to reach it, you're going to have to go deeper into the building first."

"Deeper?" I hissed, glancing back at the decayed hallway behind me. My hands tightened around the pipe, and I swallowed hard. "How much deeper?"

"It won't be far," she replied quickly. "The corridor should lead to an alleyway. It'll open up there, but be warned—it's going to leave you exposed for a bit. Once you're through, you should see another building. Get inside as quickly as possible. Find any entrance you can."

I let out a slow, shaky breath, glancing around the crumbling walls and shadowed corners. Every instinct told me I was walking straight into a trap, but there wasn't a better option. I adjusted the strap of my backpack and squared my shoulders. "Got it. Let's hope you're right."

I slipped out of the building and into the alley Cortana had mentioned. The cool air hit my face like a slap, but the temporary relief didn't last. I was exposed now, the cracked walls on either side offering only the illusion of cover. I stayed low, moving as quietly as I could, the distant crackle of gunfire and low thoomps of explosions a constant backdrop. For a moment, it felt like the chaos was retreating behind me.

"Keep moving," Cortana urged, her voice steady but clipped. "The farther we are from the combat zone, the better. Stay sharp—listen for anything unusual."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure if she could sense it. The metallic tang of scorched air still clung to my throat, and every creak of debris beneath my boots made me flinch. The alley narrowed, forcing me to sidestep around a collapsed section of wall. My grip tightened on the pipe as I scanned ahead, my eyes darting between shadows. Every instinct screamed at me to keep going, but the air felt heavy—charged with the same mechanical unease I'd felt back in the building.

Reaching the end of the alleyway, I still hadn't found an entrance to the building. Frustration bubbled up, but I forced it down and pressed myself against the corner of the crumbling wall, peering out cautiously.

The road ahead was overshadowed by the remains of a massive highway that loomed overhead like the bones of a long-dead beast. Once a proud, elevated stretch of concrete, it now sagged unevenly, its support pillars cracked and weathered, some tilted at precarious angles as though ready to collapse.

A large section of the highway directly above the alley had completely fallen away, leaving only jagged edges that jutted out into empty space. Sunlight streamed through the gap, illuminating the road below in eerie patches of light and shadow.

The intact portions of the highway weren't much better. Large holes punctured the remaining concrete slabs, their jagged edges blackened as if scorched. In some places, rusted rebar protruded from the broken edges like splintered veins, and smaller cracks spiderwebbed across the surface, threatening to split the structure further.

Rainwater had pooled in the highway's sagging dips, dripping down in slow, steady streams onto the road below. Vines had climbed the support columns, wrapping them in green spirals, while moss and lichen clung stubbornly to the eroded concrete. What little remained of the guardrails was bent and corroded, barely clinging to the highway's edges.

Below the highway, the road was littered with debris—chunks of broken concrete, rusted metal beams, and the remains of old vehicles that had fallen from the upper levels long ago. A few of the cars still clung to the edges of the highway above, their rusted shells leaning precariously over the gaps as though they might tumble at any moment.

I stared up at the highway, my chest tightening. It felt impossibly unstable, a crumbling monument to an era long forgotten. The sheer weight of the structure—even in its broken state—seemed to press down on the street below, suffocating in its quiet threat.

"Cortana," I whispered, gripping the pipe tightly, "there's a highway overhead. A section is missing... but the rest doesn't look much better."

"Then move carefully," she replied, her tone clipped. "If it's unstable, vibrations from heavy movement—or worse, combat—could bring parts of it down. Avoid being directly underneath whenever possible."

I nodded, my gaze shifting to the road ahead. It was clear but far too exposed, with the gaps above creating beams of harsh sunlight that made the shadows seem even deeper. The sound of distant fighting echoed faintly, the dull Boom of explosions sending vibrations through the ground beneath my feet. I swallowed hard, scanning the gaps in the highway for movement. If anything's up there, I won't see it coming.

Shaking off the thought, I crouched lower and moved carefully into the open, my boots crunching softly against the debris-strewn ground. A faint drip-drip of water echoed from the highway above, accompanied by the occasional creak of stressed metal. Each sound set my teeth on edge, as if the highway itself was groaning in protest against its own weight.

Author's Notes:

Hello, and thank you so much for reading my story! I'm excited to share two chapters with you today. Originally, I planned to keep a chapter in the backlog to help maintain my motivation, but I got a little overzealous with Chapter 5. It's the longest chapter I've posted so far, and I'm really happy with how it turned out.

I wanted to share some thoughts about the Celestial Forge system in the story. Moving forward, I'm considering skipping over the failed rolls entirely. Instead, I might briefly mention that a roll didn't result in anything or even skip mentioning it altogether. I'm also thinking about adjusting the frequency of the rolls. Right now, I'm rolling quite often, and while it's exciting, it's adding a lot of extra complexity to the story. I'm considering changing it so that rolls happen every 2,000–3,000 words instead.

This adjustment would help keep the focus on the abilities that are most relevant and exciting while giving me more time to explore and incorporate them into the narrative. Some of the rolls I've already chosen have introduced ideas that require a lot of research on my part, so this change might make the pacing smoother.

Thank you again for taking the time to read my work! Your support means the world to me, and I'm excited to keep sharing this story with you.