The corridor forked twice, then split again, opening into a secondary transit gallery lined with old machinery. Rail lines, once designed for cargo carts or powered transports, ran in parallel grooves under their feet. The whole space felt off—too quiet, too red, the lighting pulses timed just wrong.

“This wasn’t designed for human traffic,” Uscoshi murmured. “The spacing is wrong.”

Joe looked around. “More like it was designed for machines—or something else altogether.”

Garland checked his device and pointed. “There’s a stairwell up ahead. The echolocator said the access ramp should be just past it.”

Kitamar halted abruptly, raising a hand. “I see a set of deactivated glyph plates ahead. Probably pressure-triggered. Someone cleared a path around it—just barely.”

“Another herd path,” Joseph muttered. “Just like before.”

Garland crouched by the glyph plates, studying its faint shimmer. “Not a kill ward. Looks like a behavior override command from the hooks. Probably tuned to knock out enhancements. Whoever designed this wasn’t just trying to keep people out—they wanted control of what got in.”

“Or out,” Bryce added.

They sidestepped the trap with careful steps, Mac lifting Rose across the widest segment when the footing got narrow.

Beyond the glyph plates, a short corridor branched off to the left—ending in a reinforced door. Garland frowned and scanned it.

“I’m getting a partial power signature. This one’s been accessed recently.”

Joseph approached it warily. “What’s behind it?”

Garland hesitated. “It’s not on the map. And now the power signature’s gone dark.”

Before Joseph could reply, a soft hum rolled down the hallway. Lights shifted—turning from red to amber.

Doors at the far end clicked. One by one, locks disengaged with sharp, metallic clicks.

“Someone’s opening the way,” Uscoshi said. Her voice was hard now.

Joseph looked to Garland. “Tell me that was you?”

Garland raised both hands. “Wasn’t me.”

No one moved.

“Then who the hell’s helping us?” Joe asked.

No one had an answer.

They passed through the newly opened doors in wary silence, stepping into a narrower corridor flanked by containment cells—some open, others pulsing with glyph locks. The walls here were cleaner, more clinical. Someone had tried to sterilize this part of the facility. The hum of power was stronger.

Garland checked his device again. “We’re close. That door ahead.”

Kitamar moved forward and tested the air. “No guards.”

“Doesn’t mean no danger,” Joseph said. “We didn’t expect those containment glyphs, either. Everyone stay alert. Don’t touch anything until Garland gives the okay.

The door had three levels of security: a palm-print glyph pad, a keyed mechanical seal, and a biometric tone lock. All were active.

Dorrin stepped forward, eyes hard. “Move.”

He raised his mace, but Garland blocked him with a flat hand.

“Wait, Prelate. I can get it open without flattening the hallway or letting everyone else within five hundred yards know where we are.”

Dorrin scowled but lowered his mace.

Garland knelt, working fast—glyph card to pad, stylus to port, a copper strip pressed across the locking seam. His fingers moved faster than most could follow.

The final click came after ninety seconds. The door unsealed with a hiss. Garland felt a hand clap his shoulder and turned to see Dorrin flashing an appreciative smile. “Well done, Garland.”

Garland felt a surge of pride. He wasn’t used to praise for his work. This felt good.

Inside, the room was cold. Lit by low green emergency lights. There were three rows of containment pods. Most were empty, but about six were closed. Each had a small viewing window positioned over the occupant’s face. wires and glyph threads wrapped around the edges of each pod like cages of light and bone. There were small displays that made little sense to any of the group and seemed to be written in an unknown language.

Suddenly, a light came on above one of the pods. 

Everyone looked at each other. They were definitely being herded, but Dorrin didn’t care. He crossed the room in three strides.

She was inside. Pale. Unmoving.

He looked at Rose. “It’s her.” Then to Garland, “How do we get her out?”

Garland covered his mouth with his first two fingers, thinking as he examined the pod. “I’m not sure, Prelate. Let me see if I can pull up any glyph schematics. It might have a fail-safe to prevent rescues like this one, or…”

“What about that button?” Bryce innocently asked.

Garland and Dorrin joined Bryce on the other side of the pod. A large translucent button was now glowing with a soft green light that appears to swirl in a counterclockwise direction inside the button.

Dorrin sighed. “I’ve never seen anyone say, ‘Press Me,’ so elegantly.” He turned to Garland with a raised eyebrow.

Garland shrugged. “It wasn’t on when we came in. I’d say our mystery helper is hard at work here, Prelate. But it’s your friend, your call.”

Dorrin looked at Rose with a question in his eyes. Rose nodded once. If he was looking for support, she would give it.

He pressed a hand to the button. A low hum came from the pod, and then a hiss as the pod’s lid slid back on both sides. Inside was the older blond woman they had been desperately seeking

“Marigold.” He covered her nakedness with his cloak, unable to take his eyes from her face. “Marigold, I’m here…”

At first there was no reaction. Then a low groan, followed by the fluttering of her eyelids. Her fingers twitched. Her brow creased. Then her eyes snapped open.

She blinked, focused—and saw him.

“It’s you.” she rasped. “Of course it’s you, big damn paladin hero. You always did love making an entrance…”

Before he could speak, she grabbed the collar of his tunic and yanked him forward into a kiss that was half fury, half relief.

When they finally pulled apart, she didn’t let go. Just stared into him.

“What took you so damned long?” she whispered.

Dorrin touched her cheek, his hand unsteady for the first time in years. “I’m here now,” he said.

“You’re late,” she whispered.

“I got distracted,” he murmured. “Some idiot put an army between me and the woman I love.”

Behind them, Garland whispered under his breath to Bryce. “Well… that’s one way to say hello.”

The green glow from Marigold’s pod had barely faded when the room lights flickered again—just once, a surge through the conduit lines. Then a soft hum rose behind them.

A small wall monitor near the doorway powered on. It had been dark when they entered.

The screen flashed with glyphs—strange, flickering loops and spirals that none of them recognized. After a moment, the symbols resolved into blocky, white, harsh text on a background of pale blue light:

WE GAVE YOU WHAT YOU WANTED.
NOW GIVE US WHAT WE REQUIRE.
STOP THE ONE WHO CALLS HIMSELF THE REAPER.
THE COMMAND THEATER IS OPEN.
PROCEED.

No one moved.

Joe took a cautious step toward the monitor. “That’s not creepy at all.”

Garland shook his head. “This place just keeps getting better.”

Kitamar’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s sending these?”

Joseph look at the ceiling and said. “We need to free the others trapped here. We came for Marigold, but I swore to protect all of them.”

Dorrin joined him. “And we paladins cannot ignore those in need. We must help everyone who is here against their will.”

The screen went blank. For a long moment nothing happened. Then the screen changed.

WE WILL FREE THE OTHER TEST SUBJECTS.
YOU WILL PROCEED TO THE COMMAND THEATER.
YOU WILL STOP THE REAPER.
PROCEED NOW.

Garland didn’t answer. He was already glancing at his locator pad—watching new power signatures bloom across his mapping display.

Behind the walls, hidden in the surveillance chamber, the observer watched with stillness unnatural even for its host. The other was fully active now, its influence curled through nerves and synapses like roots through soil. Its thoughts were not the host’s thoughts.

It assessed the group again:

UPDATED OBSERVATION CONFIRMATIONS 

Subject: Tharnen, Rose — Human Subclass Theta — Metabolic variant confirmed.
Subject: Tharnen, MacKensie — Human Subclass Theta-2 — assessment complete. Lethality elevated. Reclassified as Subclass Theta-1. 

*******ALERT: Priority 3 notification is required*******
UPDATE: Notification to Central Repository paused.
Primary Objective priority supersedes notification routine priority.

Subject: Ward, Elias — Human Subclass Gamma-2 — Command pattern behavior consistent with profile
Subject: Tharnen, Mercedes — Human. Baseline-class. Tactical Competence: Above Average
Subject: Tharnen, Joseph Junior — Human. Potential Gamma-2. Tactical Competence: Above Average 
Subject: Garland, Michael — Human. Baseline-9 class. Strategic acuity confirmed. Host viability confirmed.
Subject: Ybarra, Dorrin — Human Subclass Gamma-1 — Vanguard unit suitability: Failed.
Subject: Maldonado, Inez — Human Subclass Gamma-1 — Vanguard unit suitability confirmed.
Subject: Mahoney, Bryce — Human Subclass Gamma-1 — Vanguard unit suitability confirmed.
Subject: Stormpetal, Uscoshi — Human Subclass Alpha — Conscious manipulation of biometrics. Threat level upgraded, but controlled.
Subject: Dawnstrider, Kitamar — Human Subclass Alpha — Conscious manipulation of biometrics. Threat level upgraded, but controlled. Host suitability downgraded to nominal.

The observer processed the new inputs.

The target remained at large. But not for long.

PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: IN PROGRESS. 
SECONDARY PROTOCOL INITIATED:
MOTIVATE SUBCLASS THETA AND GAMMA SUBJECTS TO ELIMINATE ALPHA-PRIORITY DISSIDENT: RUSK, ALRIC.

ROUTE BETWEEN SUBCLASS THETA AND GAMMA SUBJECTS AND ALPHA-PRIORITY DISSIDENT OPTIMIZED 
BARRIERS UNLOCKED. 
ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARDS REROUTED. 
SUPPORT PERSONNEL PARTIALLY REROUTED
GLYPH TRAPS SUSPENDED.

It sat in silence for a moment longer, watching their movement on the monitors. Then, with a seemingly more urgent note, the screen changed:

PRIMARY MISSION: OBSERVE. 

PROBABILITY OF DESIRED OUTCOME: 49.65%

PROBABILITY OF DETECTION: 19.33%
DETECTION THRESHOLD EXCEEDED

PURGE CONTINGENCY ENABLED.
_______________________________________________

PRIME DIRECTIVE: DO NOT REVEAL EXISTENCE

SELF-PRESERVATION: SECONDARY.

PREPARE CONTINGENCY PLAN EPISLON-6.

PREPARE HOST TRANSFER CONTINGENCY.

PREPARE OBSERVATION TRANSMITTAL PACKETS

They moved quickly but not without care.

Before leaving the pod chamber, Rose and Kitamar gathered spare linens and clothing from a storage locker in the corner—likely meant for transfers. Between the two of them, they helped Marigold into loose trousers, and a sleeveless tunic. Mercedes contributed a spare pair of boots that almost fit. Her limbs shook, but her spine stayed straight.

“I can do it,” Marigold muttered as they steadied her. “I’ve done worse.”

“You don’t have to,” Rose said gently. But she helped anyway, silent and efficient.

“Thank you for coming back for me, Rose.” Marigold hugged her friend. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me there.”

“I couldn’t, Marigold.”

“And I see you brought the cavalry. Did he burn down anything getting here?”

Mercedes grinned, “There was that Trade Authority depot in Morgan’s Landing. Does that count, Mama?”

“Mama? This girl is yours, Rose?”

Rose nodded. “She is. Captain Mercedes Tharnen, Raleigh Ranger Corps, be known to Commander Marigold Rowan, late of the Veiled Garden.”

“This is all very nice,” Kitamar interjected. “Perhaps we can save the needless introductions for after we have escaped the facility overrun with people who want to hurt or kill us—no matter what our names are.”

“That’s all right, dear,” Marigold said, reaching up and patting Kitamar on the head. “You’ll understand when you get older.”

Kitamar stiffened at the touch—eyes narrowing. She stepped just out of reach and arched one brow with frosty precision.

“That gesture implies either affection or condescension,” she said coolly. “Given your tone, I assume both.”

Marigold only chuckled. “When you get to be my age, you learn two things: Always know the names of the comrades you’re going into battle with.”

She then pulled the left boot over her foot.

“And the second, O Wise Mother?” Kitamar asked.

Marigold looked Kitamar in the eye and said “That one’s simple. Make sure you kill everyone pointing something sharp your way.”

Once dressed, Marigold leaned heavily on Dorrin. When Rose reached out to assist, Marigold waved her off without looking.

“If you let go,” she said to Dorrin, voice low and raspy, “I’ll kill you.”

He didn’t smile. Just adjusted his grip and held her a little tighter.

They exited the chamber in silence. The door hissed shut behind them.

Ahead, the corridor lights shifted—amber to white—and two doors opened of their own accord. Garland checked his folio and frowned.

“Path’s being updated in real time. Whoever’s doing this? They’re guiding us.”

“Why?” Mercedes asked.

Joseph’s voice was grim. “They want us to find this fake Reaper.”

Rose shook her head. “Why would they want us to do their dirty work? What’s their play in this?”

Marigold piped up, “Fake Reaper? Obviously, I’ve got some catching up to do, dear, but to me, the real question is: What do they intend to do once we do meet up with this upstanding citizen? Or afterwards?”

The hallway forked, then split again. At one juncture, they passed a room with ruined pod lids and wiring dangling like entrails. Another held stunned captives—wide-eyed and silent—watching the group move past.

“They’re letting people out,” Inez murmured.

“Someone is,” Kitamar corrected.

Joe whistled, “How did they gather this many people?”

Uscoshi snorted, “Slavers, of course. Like the ones we disrupted in Surfside.”

Garland nodded to a new data pulse. “Most of the doors being opened aren’t near us. We’re being cleared a path.”

Uscoshi paused by a scorched room and muttered, “This one held something large. Not sure what would be that big.”

Rose looked in and grimaced. “Slavers didn’t just send warriors. This was broader. They were testing across clades. Dwarves, gnomes, who knows what else?”

At the next junction, Mac slowed and raised a hand. His voice dropped to a mutter.

“Something went bad here.”

No one asked how he knew—only followed his gaze to the blackened wall and the half-melted blade discarded nearby. Then behind them, a blast door slammed shut.

Only one path remained.

Joe exhaled. “We’re being driven. Like cattle.”

The corridor ahead was smooth and quiet—newer panels, polished floors, and glyphwork so precise it made Garland uneasy. He checked the folio again.

“Big power signature straight ahead, people. Looks like a central node. Probably the command hub.”

Joseph gave a tight nod. “The Command Theater our guide mentioned. Then we’re close.”

At the far end, a massive set of steel doors loomed—closed, but not for long. They began to rumble open before the team arrived.

Cold air poured out.

No alarms or sentries. Just silence.

Joe glanced at Bryce, then toward the others.

“This ain’t a trap,” he muttered. He stepped forward anyway.

“It’s an invitation,” Mercedes said.

“Or a command.” Bryce muttered.