They left at first light.
Not that anyone could see the sun underground—but in this world, "first light" was just a word survivors used to mean we're going now, ready or not.
Nice adjusted the shoulder strap of his rifle as he walked beside Ezra and Cleo. The three of them moved in silence through the tunnels, footsteps echoing against ancient, rust-covered rails. Overhead, the concrete ceiling sagged in places, weeping moisture that dripped like slow tears.
Ezra walked in the middle, his patched-up laptop mounted to a chest harness like a bomb vest. He checked the signal map as they went, occasionally tapping one of the jerry-rigged antennae spiked to his shoulder.
"You sure this is the right way?" Nice asked.
Ezra nodded. "Yeah. Swarm signals get stronger this direction. Like… way stronger."
"Comforting."
Cleo moved ahead without a word. She carried no electronics. No light. Just her coat, her knives, and her unnerving stillness. Nice still wasn't sure what she was, but he trusted her instinct more than Ezra's tech.
They passed through a collapsed station, the tracks buried under bones and rusted shopping carts. Nice's eyes scanned everything—walls, ceiling, shadows. The smell here was different. Not just rot. It was sweeter. Like sugar and infection.
Ezra broke the silence. "So… you guys ever wonder if we're already dead and this is just what hell looks like?"
Nice didn't answer.
Cleo did. "No. Hell's quieter."
They moved on.
By the time they reached the surface access hatch, the signal was pulsing louder through Ezra's rig. He knelt and checked the readings again.
"We're close," he said. "Echo Seven should be a couple blocks northwest. But the noise levels are spiking."
"Define noise," Nice asked.
"Interference. But it's not… random. It's like something's pushing against the frequency. Like it doesn't want us to hear what's really playing underneath."
Cleo rested a hand against the concrete wall. "It knows we're coming."
They emerged into the shell of a ruined city street. What was once midtown was now buried in alien overgrowth—fleshy vines coiled around lamp posts, pulsing faintly like veins. Buildings slumped into each other, wrapped in bio-mass. The sky overhead was tinged green, even though no sun broke through the clouds.
Nice kept his rifle ready, but his finger off the trigger.
Cleo crouched beside a collapsed van. "We're being watched."
Nice didn't see anything—but he believed her.
They moved quickly, weaving between cover, following Ezra's tracker until they reached a burned-out high-rise.
"This is it," Ezra said, pointing to the jagged tower. "Signal origin point is on the twelfth floor."
"Elevator?" Nice asked.
Ezra snorted. "You really wanna press a button in a Swarm building?"
"Fair point."
They entered through a split section of the wall, stepping into darkness that smelled like old blood and wet stone. Nice led, flashlight cutting a narrow cone of vision. Everything was wrong here. Too quiet. Too wet. Too… alive.
On the fifth floor, they found the first body.
Not human.
Swarm.
It had been torn apart—flesh stripped back, bones cracked open like crab legs. Its eyes were wide and frozen. It had been afraid.
Nice crouched beside it. "They don't kill each other."
Cleo stepped closer. "Not unless something stronger tells them to."
Ezra knelt and ran his scanner across the corpse. "We're getting close."
They climbed in silence, floor by floor, stepping over shattered glass and the whispering remains of things too warped to identify.
On the twelfth floor, they found it.
A room lined with alien tech fused into the walls—pulsing membrane-like cables connected to a single figure in the center, suspended in a cocoon of black-red tissue.
Ezra gasped. "Oh my god. That's him."
The body inside the cocoon was still breathing.
Face pale. Mouth partially fused shut. Eyelids twitching. A broken military patch on his chest read: Aegis-9 // Royce.
Nice moved forward, gun raised. "Royce?"
The man inside stirred.
Then a low, static-choked voice leaked from the walls, not from his mouth.
"…you shouldn't have come…"
Ezra stumbled back. "That's not him talking."
"No," Cleo said. "It's what's inside him."
The cocoon pulsed. Veins along the walls throbbed.
Royce's eyes snapped open—black with Swarm webbing.
Nice fired a shot into the ceiling. "Back. Now."
Too late.
The entire floor began to breathe. The walls closed. The cocoon split open.
From it, Royce screamed—a sound layered with at least four voices.
And something crawled out from behind him.