The sudden blaze of light hit them with blinding intensity. Karen's muscle memory kicked in before her brain could catch up—her remaining hand snapped toward her hip, fingers curling around...nothing.
She blinked, looking down at her empty holster, then over at Kai, who was already clutching her sidearm with white-knuckled intensity, the barrel trembling slightly as he aimed at the now-open doorway.
For a second, they just stared at each other.
"My gun," Karen said flatly.
Kai swallowed. "I—uh—"
Lucent didn't even glance back. "Focus."
The substation door yawned open before them, revealing only silence and the sterile hum of reactivated machinery. No movement. No ambush. Just the too-bright fluorescence of a lab that had no business still having power.
Karen flexed her empty fingers, exhaling through her nose. "You better not scratch it, kid."
Kai opened his mouth to respond—then thought better of it and just tightened his grip on the weapon.
The air inside was thick with the scent of burnt wiring and something chemical, medicinal. The kind of sterile stench that clung to hospitals and morgues. A single monitor flickered weakly in the corner, its cracked screen displaying a looping warning:
[CONTAINMENT FAILURE]
[SECTOR SEVEN BREACH]
Lucent stepped inside first, his knife glinting in the artificial light. The door hissed shut behind them.
The substation hummed with an almost eerie vitality after years of dormancy, its resurrected systems exhaling cool, filtered air that carried the faint metallic tang of active machinery.
The overhead fluorescents buzzed softly, their harsh white light revealing every scratch and stain on the aged equipment. Dust motes drifted lazily through the artificial atmosphere, catching the light like tiny stars in the sterile glow.
Karen's knees popped audibly as she lowered herself to the floor, her back finding support against a bank of inactive monitoring equipment. The metal paneling was cool through her jacket, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the tunnels.
She extended her hand toward Kai, palm up, fingers twitching slightly with residual tension. "Gun," she said, the single word carrying the weight of unspoken reproach.
Kai hesitated, his fingers tightening momentarily around the weapon's grip before he relinquished it with obvious reluctance. The pistol's weight settled into Karen's palm with familiar comfort.
She ran her thumb along the slide, checking for damage, then ejected the magazine with practiced ease. The brass casings gleamed dully in the fluorescent light as she counted them - all present, though two rounds showed slight deformities from chambering. Satisfied, she slammed the magazine home with a sharp click that echoed off the tiled walls.
"So… about Nex…"
Lucent's question hung in the air between them, its edges sharp enough to cut the temporary peace. Karen's jaw worked silently for a moment before she answered, her gaze fixed on some middle distance only she could see.
"Fast," she repeated, her voice rougher than usual. "That's how Nex went. One second he was calculating angles, the next..." She made an explosive gesture with her good hand, fingers splaying outward to mimic detonation. "Gristle was on us, the door was sealed, and Nex's Conduit was down to its last spark. Typical bastard - always knew exactly how much boom he needed."
She fished in an inner pocket of her vest, producing a compact Conduit unit crusted with old blood and grime. The device was a far cry from Nex's elaborate rig - this was a scavenger's tool, battered but serviceable.
Karen wiped the contact points on her pants before slotting it into an available charging port. The tiny indicator flickered weakly to life, its dim glow barely visible in the bright substation lights.
Kai busied himself with his own charging Conduit, his fingers moving with nervous energy as he checked connections.
"He saved you," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The moment they left his mouth, he seemed to regret them, his shoulders hunching slightly as if bracing for impact.
Karen's laugh was a short, sharp bark that held no humor. "Yeah. And now I'm stuck owing a dead man." She leaned her head back against the equipment rack, closing her eyes. The light played across the fine lines of exhaustion around her eyes, the sweat-damp strands of hair clinging to her forehead. "Worst part? He probably knew I'd hate that."
Lucent watched the power levels on his Conduit creep upward, the glowing numerals reflected in his dark eyes.
The silence that settled over them wasn't comfortable, but it wasn't hostile either - just the quiet of people who'd seen too much, with more still waiting in the dark beyond the substation doors.
For now, in this stolen moment of artificial safety, they could pretend they were just three tired travelers resting at the edge of the unknown.
The substation's harsh fluorescent lights buzzed like trapped insects, casting stark shadows across the trio's exhausted faces. Kai shifted his weight, the grating beneath his boots creaking softly.
The silence between them felt heavy, oppressive - the kind of quiet that made ears ring and old wounds ache. He glanced at Karen, watching how her fingers absently traced her lost arm, her calloused fingertips brushing against raw, tender flesh with a familiarity that spoke of constant pain.
"Hey," Kai began, his voice too loud in the sterile space. He cleared his throat and tried again, softer this time. "What was Nex really like? Before... all this." He gestured vaguely at their surroundings, at Karen's injuries, at the blood still crusted under his own fingernails.
Karen's hand stilled. For a long moment, Kai thought she wouldn't answer. Then she exhaled through her nose, a slow, controlled breath that seemed to carry the weight of years in its wake.
"Nex was a bastard," she said, but there was something almost fond in the way she shaped the words. "The kind of man who'd steal the bolts out of a sinking ship if he thought he could sell them."
She tilted her head back against the cold metal wall, her throat working as she swallowed. The light caught the fine web of scars along her jawline, the faded tattoo of a serial number behind her ear – marks far from a life Kai could only imagine.
"First time we met, he shorted me on a job payout. Said the buyer backed out." A dry chuckle escaped her. "Took me six months to learn he'd pocketed the difference."
Kai found himself smiling despite everything. "And you still worked with him?"
"Course I did." Karen's good hand flexed, fingers curling into a fist before relaxing. "Man might've been a thief, but he was honest about it. In the Junkyard, that's worth more than corporate credit." Her eyes grew distant, focused on some memory only she could see.
"We pulled a job once in Sector 8, back when the mag-lev tunnels were still half-flooded. Had to swim through coolant runoff just to reach the access panel. Nex went first, didn't even check for Dripfeeders."
Kai's breath caught. He'd heard stories about Dripfeeders - the gelatinous colonies that grew in the old coolant pipes, their translucent bodies pulsing with stolen electricity, their touch dissolving flesh like acid. "That's insane."
Karen's lips quirked. "Nex came up sputtering, covered in burns, holding a busted Aether core in one hand and someone's lost lunchbox in the other." She shook her head, the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth. "Sold the core for scrap and kept the lunchbox. Used it to store spare parts for years."
The image was so absurd, so vividly human, that Kai couldn't help but laugh. The sound felt strange in his throat, unfamiliar after days of tension and terror. "Sounds like a character."
"He was," Karen agreed, her voice softening. Then, quieter: "He was also the only bastard stupid enough to go back for me when the Black Units had me cornered in the scrap yards." Her fingers returned to her ruined socket, tracing the frayed wiring with unconscious precision. "Got himself shot twice doing it."
Kai watched the way Karen's shoulders curved inward slightly, the subtle tightening around her eyes. He'd seen that look before - on the faces of veterans in the Spire, the ones who'd lost squadmates to corporate black ops. It wasn't grief, not exactly. More like the quiet understanding that some debts could never be repaid.
Lucent observed the exchange from his perch near the charging station, his sharp features unreadable in the flickering light. He noted how Kai leaned forward, hanging on Karen's every word - not with the wide-eyed fascination of a Spire brat hearing exotic tales, but with the focused attention of someone learning to survive.
The kid's hands, once soft and uncertain, now bore fresh callouses and half-healed cuts. His eyes, once constantly darting in fear, now scanned the substation's exits with calculated awareness.
It should have been reassuring. Instead, it settled in Lucent's gut like a shard of ice. He'd seen this transformation before - watched as the Junkyard sanded away a person's edges until only something harder remained. Kai was adapting, yes. But adaptation came at a cost.
Karen stretched her legs out with a grunt, pulling Lucent from his thoughts. "What about you, kid?" she asked, eyeing Kai with something approaching approval. "You're not screaming at shadows anymore. That's something."
Kai rubbed at the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the raised scar where a Hollowed's claw had nearly taken his head off days before. "Had good teachers," he said, there was sarcasm but no lie in his voice when his gaze flickered to Lucent.
The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable. Just... heavy. The kind of silence that settled between people who'd faced death together and lived to regret it. Outside the substation, the facility's ancient ventilation system rattled to life, its wheezing breath carrying the faintest echo of something that might have been footsteps—or might have been the building settling into its grave.
Lucent's fingers tightened around his knife. The blade caught the light, its edge gleaming like a promise in the artificial glow.
The substation's harsh lighting flickered momentarily as the ancient climate control systems wheezed to life, circulating air that still carried the metallic tang of long-dormant machinery.
Karen shifted her position against the wall, her injured arm resting across her knees as she studied Kai with renewed interest. The pain had dulled to a persistent throb, and idle conversation proved a welcome distraction.
"So," she began, her voice rough but carrying an unmistakable edge of mischief, "let's hear it, Spire boy. All those fancy academy parties and corporate galas - you telling me you never found some senator's daughter to defile in an extravagant closet?" Her grin showed teeth, the expression making the scar along her jawline pull taut.
Kai's face flushed a deep crimson that crept all the way to the tips of his ears. He opened and closed his mouth several times before managing a strangled, "That's not—I mean—we didn't—"
Karen barked a laugh that turned into a wince as it jarred her injuries. "Oh, this is better than I imagined," she crowed, wiping at her watering eyes with the back of her good hand. "The mighty Spire brat, tongue-tied over a little bedroom talk."
Lucent remained silent at his post by the door, though the subtle tightening of his shoulders betrayed his attention. His fingers continued their methodical maintenance of his blade, the rhythmic scrape of steel against steel providing steady counterpoint to their conversation.
Kai finally found his voice, though it came out several octaves higher than intended. "It wasn't like that! The Spire academies have strict conduct codes and—"
"And yet," Karen interrupted, leaning forward with predatory interest, "you're not actually denying it happened." She tapped her fingers against her knee, the dull thud of metal reinforcements in her gloves audible against the fabric of her pants. "Come on, kid. We're all gonna die horribly soon anyway. Spill."
The substation's lighting chose that moment to flicker dramatically, casting their faces in alternating pools of light and shadow. Kai swallowed hard, his throat working visibly as he weighed his options. Finally, with the air of a man walking to his execution, he muttered, "There was... one time. At an autumn equinox mixer."
Karen's eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline. "A mixer? That's what you rich kids call it?" She made a crude gesture with her hands. "We just say 'fucking' down here."
"Will you let me finish?" Kai snapped, his embarrassment giving way to exasperation. "It was... well, it was during a power outage. We got separated from the main group and..." His voice dropped to a mumble. "There was a storage room."
Karen whooped with laughter, slapping her thigh with a loud crack. "Of course there was! No silk sheets? No champagne? No moonlit balcony?" She clutched at her ribs, gasping through her laughter. "Just some dusty brooms and a mop bucket?"
Kai's flush deepened. "It was... spontaneous," he defended weakly, then added with unexpected bitterness, "And she dumped me two days later for someone whose family owned a satellite network."
Karen's laughter died abruptly, replaced by a look of genuine surprise. "Oh ho! Not just a conquest, but a heartbreak too!" She leaned back against the wall, shaking her head. "Damn, kid. Didn't take you for the sentimental type."
Lucent's grinding paused mid-stroke, his dark eyes flicking briefly toward Kai before returning to his work. The subtle shift in his posture was the only indication he'd been listening at all.
Kai picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, his voice quieter now. "What about you? Or are we pretending you sprang fully formed from the Junkyard with that rotor-saw already attached?"
Karen's smirk returned, though softer now. "First time was behind a gutted mag-lev engine in Sector 5." Her fingers still absently traced the edge of her other arm. "The guy's name is Jake. Lasted about twenty minutes before the night shift change." She shrugged. "Wasn't about forever. Just about..." Her good hand flexed in the air, grasping for the right word.
"Feeling alive?" Kai offered quietly.
Karen's eyes narrowed. "Don't get poetic on me, Spire boy. It was sweaty, uncomfortable, and I got a rust infection after." But there was no real venom in her words.
The substation's ventilation system cycled with a loud clank, momentarily drowning out their conversation. When the noise subsided, Kai found himself asking, "What about you, Lucent? Any tragic romances in your past?"
The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Lucent went still, his entire body freezing in a way that had nothing to do with the chill air. For a long moment, the only sound was the distant hum of the facility's ancient machinery.
Karen broke the silence with a sharp laugh. "Oh, this I've got to hear. Come on, knife boy. Don't leave us hanging."
Lucent's fingers tightened around his blade's hilt, the knuckles standing out white against his skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was colder than the steel in his hands. "We're done talking."
The finality in his tone left no room for argument. Karen's smirk faded into something more contemplative as she exchanged a glance with Kai. The message was clear - some doors weren't meant to be opened.
Kai cleared his throat, deliberately changing the subject. "You asked what I missed most about the Spires?" He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the flickering lights. "The showers. God, the showers. Endless hot water. Actual water pressure. Soap that didn't smell like industrial solvent."
Karen chuckled, the tension dissipating like morning fog. "Priorities, kid. I respect that." She stretched her legs out with a groan. "Me? I miss real coffee. Not that synthetic swill they brew in the lower tiers. Actual coffee beans."
The conversation drifted into safer waters - small comforts, favorite foods, inconsequential memories.
For a brief, stolen moment in that sterile substation, surrounded by flickering lights and the ghosts of their pasts, they could almost pretend they were just three people sharing stories, rather than survivors bracing for whatever horror waited beyond those doors.