RONAN A single finger twitched on the machine’s cold, unforgiving hand. That was enough. There was no pause to think and no room for doubt. My body reacted before my mind could catch up. Feet turned. Muscles locked. Breath tore from my chest as I ran. Speed mattered more than form. Distance mattered more than control. Something inside the machine had to be broken. It had to be damaged from the earlier fight. Commands were probably being rerouted around fried circuits, dumped into processors that were barely still alive. Logic chains were failing. Safeties were gone. None of that slowed it down. Heavy footsteps pounded behind me, each one precise and merciless.Metal struck the floor in a steady mechanical rhythm that clawed at my nerves. That sound had followed me too many times already. Three days. Three encounters. The same hunt, every time. The next intersection rushed toward me. Too close. Too narrow. No space to hesitate. Nguyen burst around the corner ahead. His rifle came up fast. The muzzle lined up with my chest, but his eyes were locked past me, tracking what I could not afford to look at. No slowing down. No warning shout. Everything went into my legs. Every last shred of strength burned as I pushed harder. The moment I cleared the line of fire, pressure slammed past my side. Air rippled like a solid wall. A sharp, violent crack split the space as the armor-piercing round tore forward. Metal screamed. Plastic detonated. That sound stopped me cold.Shoes scraped hard as I skidded and turned. The robot flew past Nguyen, its own momentum carrying it forward. It slammed into the base of one of the stacked bodies. The impact shook the room. The human tower collapsed in on itself, bodies spilling down in a broken avalanche. Flesh buried metal. Limbs tangled. The drone vanished under the weight. The fallen mass cut the room in half. Nguyen stood on the far side. I stood alone on mine. Silence followed. It pressed down hard. Too heavy. Too sudden. My chest heaved as I fought for air. Each breath burned. Sweat ran into my eyes. Across the pile, Nguyen kept his rifle aimed at the bodies, finger steady, posture locked. “That was new,” he said. His voice was flat, controlled, and tight. A harsh laugh tore out of me. There was no humor in it. “Welcome to the party, pal.” Nguyen did not smile. “Think you can get over here?” His rifle never moved. “We need to get out. Now.” Something snapped. “Fuck that shit.” My body straightened on its own. An arm lifted and pointed at the pile of bodies. Rage flooded through my veins as the truth finally landed with full force. That machine had slaughtered everyone in this room. My mother. My family. All of them. “I’m pulling data from that thing. I’ll use it to find who built it.” Nguyen’s eyebrow lifted. “And how do you plan to do that?” Steps carried me closer to the pile. The smell hit first. Blood. Burned plastic. Death. “I climb over them. I pull bodies off until we find it. Then you shoot its actuators until it can’t move.” His jaw tightened. “That’s insane. We exfil before backup arrives.” Heat crawled up my neck. Temper surged fast and ugly. The anger was not really for him. He was right. He always was. If our roles were reversed, caution would be my voice too. But safety meant nothing now. Revenge meant everything. “You’re reconnaissance, right?” The words came out sharp. “Yes.” “Then act like it.” The pistol shook in my grip as I gestured toward the dead. “That machine is a data vault. We can find who made it. If we do, this whole nightmare might end.” Nguyen’s stare sharpened. “That’s not why you want them.” “Of course not.” The shout ripped out of my throat. “I want to pull the trigger myself. I want their blood on the floor. I want their family to feel what mine felt.” Spit flew as the pistol cut through the air, pointing at the bodies. “If you won’t help, get out.” Knees dropped into the pile. The bodies shifted under my weight. Balance wavered as flesh slid and collapsed. Hands sank into cold skin and soaked fabric. Breath hitched, but the work continued. One body at a time, I lifted and dragged, creating small gaps to look beneath. Eyes scanned for metal. For movement. For the faintest sign that the machine was still alive. Boots stepped closer. “Where are the actuators?” Nguyen asked. Motion stopped. A tired breath escaped. Relief followed, sharp and unexpected. “Joints,” I said. Then my head turned toward him. “Thank you.” “You aren’t the only one who lost people.” His eyes tightened. Pain lived there, deep and quiet. Understanding hit hard. He had never mentioned his wife or his daughter after the Ashcroft Estate. Not once. No words came that would matter. Comfort felt empty. Condolences would mean nothing.One sentence felt right. “We do this for them.” Nguyen nodded once. “Hooah.”