Where No One Goes: Chapter 4

Inside the auxiliary communications room of the Old Transit Station, the air grew heavy with the smell of scorched circuitry and cold sweat. Jack watched the terminal monitor as the pristine golden line of the Upper Tier defensive shields blazed to life on the horizon. The sirens in the distance continued to wail, a beautiful, mocking song of safety meant for someone else. He looked down at the station’s automated defense grid status on the console. It remained completely gray, disabled by a remote administrative override from the High Command Citadel, "They aren't coming," Jack whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow to the stomach, "They aren't going to open the turrets. They're leaving me here to die."

A violent slam against the barricaded lobby doors shattered his train of thought. The heavy metal desks he had piled against the frame groaned as the steel warped inward. The distinctive snick-tock of quadrupedal security drones echoed through the shattered glass panes of the front facade. Red laser lines danced across the cracked tile floor of the back room, methodically hunting for his heat signature.

Jack was entirely alone, cut off by the very people he had tried to protect.

But he was a scrapper from the lower fringes; he had spent his entire life surviving on grit and ingenuity. If the Enforcers wanted to let the dark swallow him, they were going to have to watch him fight for every inch of it, "Alright, you corporate *****," Jack muttered, tearing his eyes away from the useless terminal, "Let's see what this junk can do." He ripped open his heavy canvas tool satchel and dumped its contents onto the desk.

He had no firearms, no plasma shields, and no armor. He had a magnetic uncoupling wrench, three volatile lithium-ion battery cells salvaged from a cargo tram, a spool of high-tensile copper wire, and his trusty high-amperage power bypass kit. The lobby doors gave way with a deafening crash of tearing metal. Two quadrupedal security drones lunged into the corridor, their crimson lenses spinning rapidly as they locked onto Jack’s position. They didn't hesitate. The lead drone opened its chassis, exposing a high-frequency cutting laser that hummed with lethal energy.Jack didn't run. He grabbed the spool of copper wire, which he had already anchored to the high-voltage terminal of the communications console, and threw it across the doorway like a tripwire, pinning the loose end down with a heavy iron vise.

As the first drone lunged forward, its metallic forelegs snapped the copper wire. Jack slammed the manual override lever on his power bypass kit, sending a raw, unthrottled surge of five hundred volts directly through the line. The wire exploded in a blinding shower of blue electric sparks. The current rippled through the drone’s exposed chassis, overloading its delicate optical sensors and cooking its internal logic boards. The machine screeched, a horrific sound of grinding metal gears, before its battery pack ruptured, throwing it backward into the second drone in a fiery detonation. The blast threw Jack against the back wall, coughing violently through a thick cloud of black, acrid smoke.

He didn't have time to recover.

The second drone, its chassis scorched but fully functional, crawled over the wreckage of its companion. Its crimson eye locked onto Jack, and the cutting laser began to glow a furious, brilliant white.Jack scrambled backward, his hand wrapping around the heavy magnetic uncoupling wrench. As the drone fired its laser—slicing a perfectly neat, glowing red line through the concrete floor inches from Jack’s thigh—Jack lunged forward. He slammed the wrench directly into the drone’s exposed neck joint and activated the tool’s localized electromagnetic pulse function. The wrench pulsed once, a deep thrum that vibrated through Jack’s teeth. The drone’s laser sputtered and died, its limbs locking up instantly as the magnetic field scrambled its motor servos.Jack kicked the deactivated machine away, his chest heaving as he stood in the burning doorway. But his brief victory was cut short. Through the smoke in the main lobby, he saw a much larger shape silhouette itself against the red emergency lights. It was one of the cybernetic Vanguard soldiers. The machine-man stood nearly seven feet tall, its matte-black armor entirely unbothered by the smoke or debris. It raised a high-frequency plasma rifle, the barrel glowing with a volatile blue static that illuminated its expressionless, faceless visor.Jack knew his makeshift electric traps wouldn't stop armor like that. He turned and bolted toward the rear exit of the communications room, diving through a narrow maintenance hatch just as a bolt of blue plasma tore through the wall behind him. The heat of the blast singed the back of his jacket, vaporizing the metal desks and turning the concrete to bubbling glass.

He was inside the station’s old baggage handling area—a dark labyrinth of rusted conveyor belts, low ceilings, and deep shadows. It was the perfect playground for a scrapper, "Subject located," a deep, synthesized voice echoed through the dark room.

The heavy, rhythmic footsteps of the Vanguard soldier followed, stepping through the destroyed maintenance hatch.Jack hid behind a massive, rusted sorting machine, his heart hammering against his ribs. He looked at the three lithium-ion battery cells in his hand. They were highly unstable, prone to violent thermal runaway if punctured or overcharged.Using his scrapper tool, Jack rapidly stripped the remaining wire from his belt and wrapped it tightly around the three batteries, creating a crude, improvised demolition charge. He connected the wires to the manual trigger on his bypass kit, leaving the timer ticking down. He peeked around the metal corner. The Vanguard soldier was advancing slowly, its crimson optical visor scanning the shadows with a sweeping beam of light. It was less than twenty feet away. Jack took a deep breath, stood up from his hiding spot, and hurled the bundled batteries directly at the heavy automated sorting track dangling from the ceiling right above the soldier. The Vanguard unit tracked the movement instantly, swinging its plasma rifle upward and firing a precise bolt at the flying object. The plasma hit the batteries perfectly. The resulting explosion didn't just destroy the charge; it triggered a massive, secondary structural collapse of the rotting ceiling grid. Thousands of pounds of rusted iron beams, concrete blocks, and heavy steel conveyor tracks came crashing down in a deafening roar, completely burying the Vanguard soldier under a mountain of debris.Jack didn't wait to see if the machine would crawl out. He turned and sprinted toward the back loading dock doors, smashing the emergency release bar. He burst out into the cold, damp night air of the station’s rear courtyard. He was bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, but he was alive. He looked up one last time at the towering white citadels of the Upper Tiers, protected by their beautiful, cowardly wall of golden light. They had left him to die in the dark to protect their secrets, but he had survived the first wave.Jack vanished into the deep shadows of the drainage canals, descending further into the lower fringes. He was no longer just a scrapper trying to make a living; he was an outsider who held the truth, and he was going to make sure the rest of the world heard it.