The tal door behind them groaned, warping inward as Project Echo slamd against it. Each impact sent vibrations through the narrow stairwell, shaking dust loose from the ceiling.
“Move!” Damon hissed.
Shadow bolted down the steps, claws clicking on the iron stairs. Ember stayed beside Lira, pressing against her leg whenever she faltered. The stairwell spiraled sharply, illuminated only by a faint blue glow rising from the depths.
Lira clutched the rail. “Wh-why is it glowing down there?”
Damon didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
The bending door screeched.
Another hit like a battering ram.
The tal reached its breaking point.
Damon grabbed Lira’s shoulders. “Eyes forward. Don’t look back.”
But Lira couldn’t stop herself. She turned.
Through a widening crack in the dented door, she saw it.
The creature pressed its face against the gap—skin stretching, bones rearranging as if gladly breaking themselves to fit through. A pale hand reached, fingers scraping tal, bending in ways no fingers should bend.
It whispered again:
“Lira... co down...”
Damon yanked her forward. “Ignore it!”
They sprinted downward. The rumbling below grew louder—pulsing, rhythmic, like a machine breathing.
After three more floors of spiraling descent, the stairs abruptly ended at a reinforced hatch marked:
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
B4: MORY ENGINE
Damon’s breath hitched. “This shouldn’t exist anymore.”
“What’s a mory Engine?” Lira asked.
He hesitated.
Before he could answer, the stairwell above them screeched. tal tore. The creature had broken through.
“Later. Open it!”
The hatch was sealed by a manual wheel lock. Damon gripped it and turned—rust grinding painfully with each rotation. Ember and Shadow growled toward the stairs, their hackles raised.
The wheel clicked.
The hatch slid open with a hiss of decompressing air.
A freezing draft washed over them, carrying the sterile scent of chemicals... and sothing older. Sothing wrong.
They stepped inside.
Lights flickered on in a long corridor lined with glass pods—dozens of them—each containing preserved fragnts of human mories projected like drifting fog. Faces. Voices. Echoes.
Lira stared in awe. “It’s... beautiful.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “No. It’s dangerous.”
Shadow barked sharply.
The creature was crawling down the stairwell.
Not running.
Crawling.
Fast.
The hatch wouldn’t hold long.
“Move!” Damon urged.
They ran deeper into the mory Engine corridor. Lira felt the air shift around her—like whispers brushing her ears. Snippets of old conversations floated in the pods:
“Rember... rember... don’t forget...”
They passed a larger containnt chamber at the center of B4. Its door was cracked open, its inner lights pulsing. A label above it read:
CORE ARCHIVE — DO NOT ACCESS
Ember growled low, fur bristling.
Shadow backed away, whining.
The air in front of the open chamber shimred.
A figure ford.
Not solid.
Not alive.
A projection—human-shaped, but flickering like a faulty hologram. It stared directly at Lira.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Damon froze. “Lira... don’t respond.”
But she already had.
Her breath caught. “Wh-who are you?”
The projection stepped forward—and the entire floor humd as if reacting to her voice.
Behind them, tal scread.
Project Echo was almost at the hatch.
The projection whispered:
“I am the first mory... and I’ve been waiting for you.”
And the lights went out.
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