Rachel's heart slammed against her chest. With every step Marcus took toward her, the buzz of approaching drones grew louder—shrill, threatening. Panic seized her. She backed away instinctively, not realizing she was inching closer to the glowing box.
" I SAID STEP AWAY FROM IT!" Marcus snapped, voice sharp and cold.
Rachel flinched. She glanced behind—just an arm's length from the box now. If she reached, she could grab it.
The voice echoed in her head again, calm but insistent: Take it. Trust me. I can help you.
Her eyes flicked between the box, Marcus, and the muzzle of his gun. Her instincts screamed. No way she'd reach the box faster than he could shoot. And the voice? What had it done for her except lure her into this mess?
"Don't be foolish, Rachel," Marcus said, almost pleading now.
She hesitated—then took a step back. Away from the box.
"I wasn't going to take it," she said quickly, voice nearly believable. "I just… saw a door in the closet. Got curious. That's all."
The buzz of drones was closer now. So were boots—fast, hard, approaching.
Rachel's eyes darted around wildly. Her gaze locked on the closet again.
"Please," she whispered to Marcus. Then, without waiting, she bolted.
She dove into the closet and yanked the door shut, twisting the lock with a faint click.
Seconds later, the main door burst open.
Drones swarmed in, red lights scanning like lasers. Armed men followed, rifles raised, eyes cold. The room filled with tension.
Rachel crouched in the dark closet, trembling. The security team was tearing through the room. Drones hovered overhead, their sharp red lasers sweeping across every surface, every crevice.
She pressed her back against the wall, barely breathing.
Through a tiny crack in the door, she peeked out—heart hammering like a drum. Her eyes locked on Marcus.
Her fate balanced on a thread. Not just luck. Also Him. Mostly him.
Then it happened.
A shrill wail pierced the air.
One drone froze midair, laser locked on the closet—on her eye.
Rachel stopped breathing.
Every guard turned toward the door, weapons raised.
Except Marcus.
He stood still, his expression unreadable.
Three security officers stormed forward, guns aimed at the closet. At her.
Rachel gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the worst.
She literally felt her world freeze.
This was it.
"Wait!" Marcus suddenly shouted—but his voice was drowned out by a piercing shriek that shattered the air like glass. A sharp, unnatural sound that sliced into their ears.
Everyone flinched.
Guards staggered, hands flying to their heads. Even the drones jittered midair, their red beams flickering.
Rachel winced, covering her ears. Her elbow struck the closet wall—hard.
A sharp thunk.
Heads snapped in her direction.
Gun muzzles lifted.
Then—bang! bang!
Shots cracked through the air.
One by one, the drones dropped like dead birds. Sparks. Smoke. Silence.
Only Rachel's ragged breath remained.
All the security froze: confused, rattled, afraid.
The guards' eyes darted around, guns twitching in every direction. Searching for the attacker.
Then they saw it.
The box.
Once silent, dull, forgotten—now glowing. A single blue light blinked steadily on its face.
They closed in slowly, weapons raised, like it might bite.
One step.
Two.
Three.
Still nothing.
One officer—braver or stupider than the rest—reached through the ring of lasers to touch it.
Rachel held her breath, peering through the closet hole.
Did that box really take down the drones? She doubted.
Then the voice, low and disdainful, echoed into her skull like radio static.
"I never thought I'd have to prove myself to a little girl," it muttered, wounded pride in every syllable. "Watch me."
Before Rachel could react, a sudden zap—a beam of blue light shot out.
The officer didn't even scream.
He dropped like a felled tree, eyes wide, body limp.
The beam hadn't just hit him—it went through him.
Rachel's gasp caught in her throat.
Before the security could even react, they collapsed—one after another.
No shots. No screams. Just thuds.
Bodies dropping like puppets cut from strings.
The blue light danced—flickering, humming—alive. Not a weapon. Not a drone. Something else.
Something watching.
Rachel's mouth went dry.
Only Marcus remained.
Standing. Frozen. Breathing like each inhale was a gamble.
Then the light turned to him.
It slid to his forehead and paused—teasing.
Then it moved. Slow. Too slow.
From his forehead… down between his eyes… grazing his nose… hovering over his lips… tracing his chin… then stopping at his throat.
Marcus was trembling.
She could see it. His jaw clenched. Chest tight. Hands curling into fists.
The voice came again, slithering through her skull with a dark, amused grin.
"What to do with him, little girl? Do you have a crush on him?"
Rachel's throat tightened. She could barely breathe, watching Marcus frozen in place with that eerie blue light tracing his throat like a blade made of electricity.
The voice laughed again—low, indulgent, too close to her ear.
"You're trembling more than he is."
She clenched her fists. "Let him go." Her voice was hardened.
"So quick to give orders. Why should I? He was going to report you."
"No, he wasn't," she whispered. "He tried to stop them."
Silence.
Then a scoff. "Oh, how noble. You're lucky I like pretty little girls. Fine, he lives."
The light jerked away from Marcus. He collapsed to his knees, coughing, sucking in air like it had been robbed from him.
"But," the voice hissed, "I want something in return."
Rachel tensed.
"Free me. Take me out of here. After all that's why you're here."
She looked at the box. Small. Silver. Pulsing blue like a heartbeat. Whatever it was—whoever it was—it wasn't safe. But neither was anything else anymore.
Rachel's voice was hoarse. "You killed system agents. They'll know."
"They already do. But they're not coming. Not yet. They're watching—calculating. But with me, you can disappear."
Rachel didn't respond immediately.
Her brain screamed trap, but her heart said opportunity.
She needed an edge. A bargaining chip. Something the system hadn't calculated.
Marcus finally looked up at her, eyes wide. "Don't, Rachel. You don't know what it is."
"I know," she said softly, "that I don't have any other choice."
The voice purred, delighted. "Smart girl."
The box unlocked with a soft click.
A slot opened. Wires shimmered like veins, coiling inward, waiting.
Marcus rose, stumbling. "You can't take that thing."
Rachel looked at him.
"Then stop me."
He hesitated.
The blue light hovered again, warning him.
"Touch her, and I finish what I started."
He stepped back.
Afraid and powerless.
Rachel reached forward. The wires wrapped around her fingers, warm and pulsing.
The box sealed shut.
The blue light vanished.
"Now run, little girl. Let's see what kind of mess we can make."
*******
Rachel didn't wait. As the box sealed shut with a click, she grabbed it and bolted from the closet. Her footsteps thundered in her ears as she dashed past the fallen guards, careful not to step in the pooling blood. Marcus didn't follow. Couldn't. She didn't look back to see if he would.
The hallway outside blared with red sirens, flashing lights painting the walls in violent pulses. The wailing alarm made it hard to think, let alone breathe.
She kept to the edges, ducking beneath a security beam that hadn't recalibrated yet. The silver box pulsed gently in her arms, warm against her chest like a second heartbeat.
Her boots echoed on the cold floor. The corridor stretched ahead, the path narrowing toward the elevator she had come down in. The one she wasn't sure still worked.
As she ran, she hissed at the box, "You didn't help me earlier."
Her words weren't a question—they were a judgment.
The voice responded instantly, smooth and annoyingly calm.
"My area of influence was restricted. The chamber was shielded. Designed to suppress any digital lifeform like myself."
Rachel gritted her teeth. Her legs burned as she pushed herself harder, past the smoldering remnants of what had once been security drones.
"But I helped in other ways. The reason you and your friends survived as long as you did... that was me."
She didn't answer. She wanted to scream that it was lying, manipulating her, feeding her what she wanted to hear. But deep down, she remembered the odd moments. When she had listened to the faintest whisper in her head.
When taking a left instead of a right saved them from a patrol. When her hesitation had saved Skye's life. When it advised her to press that submission button.
So she stayed silent.
The elevator came into view—its sleek black doors glinting under the flashing red. The console was still active. She slapped her palm against the scanner. A flicker. A pause. Then, the familiar ding.
The doors slid open.
Inside, the walls were still lined with rows of security uniforms—odd, lifeless mannequins in pressed system-standard jackets and slacks. She took one cautious step in. Then another. Her eyes darted across the hanging coats and folded trousers, scanning for shadows.
Nothing moved.
Just fabric swaying gently with the ventilation.
She exhaled slowly. Tucked the box under her jacket.
"What now?" she whispered.
The voice chuckled.
"Alot. There's much we can do together. But careful now, little girl. This is where the system really starts watching."