[SYSTEM ALERT] [LOCATION: VENTILATION SHAFT 4B] [AIR QUALITY: 20% OXYGEN, 80% ASBESTOS] [CURRENT OBJECTIVE: DO NOT GET BLEACHED]

  "This is non compliant," Walter wheezed. He was crawling ahead of Kai in the narrow metal tunnel. The sharp steel grating bit into Kai’s knees with every shuffle, and the air tasted of burning dust and dead photocopiers. "Building Code 7.1," Walter muttered into the darkness. "Ventilation shafts must be accessible. We are breathing pure liability."

  "Keep moving, Walter!" Kai urged, glancing back. Far down the shaft, in the gloom, there was a sound. Squeak. Squeak. Squeak. It wasn't a rat. It was the wet, rubbery squeak of polished shoes on metal. And a low, distorted sound like audio playing backward. Bawk... bawk... bawk...

  "They are gaining," Walter whispered. "The Cleaners. They have high agility stats on linoleum surfaces." "What are they?" "Sanitization Protocols," Walter grimaced. "When the System has a mess it cannot delete... it scrubs it."

  CRUNCH. Metal buckled behind them. Kai looked back. Ten feet away, a giant, yellow foam beak smashed through the side of the vent. A head followed a massive, smiling Chicken Mascot head, the kind you see handing out flyers for a failing fast food chain. But its eyes were black voids. And it held a spray bottle of industrial bleach like a pistol.

  "RUN!" Kai screamed. "I am moving at maximum velocity!" Walter shrieked, scrambling forward like a panic stricken crab.

  They reached a grate. Light shone through the slats. "Exit!" Walter yelled. He kicked the grate and it clattered to the floor below. Walter tumbled out and Kai dived after him.

  They hit the floor of the Mail Room. It was a sea of canvas sacks and sorting machines. Kai scrambled to his feet, his shirt grey with dust. "Block the vent!" Too late. The vent cover exploded outward. Two figures dropped into the room.

  The first was the Chicken. It stood six feet tall in a yellow grease-stained onesie. It held a mop in one hand and a bucket in the other. The second was a Pizza Slice. A triangular mascot with pepperoni nipples and a terrifyingly wide grin. It wielded a high pressure hose connected to a tank labeled [SOLVENT].

  "Oh god," Kai breathed. "It's the fast food mascots." "Do not engage!" Walter warned, diving behind a cart of letters. "They have area of effect attacks!"

  The Chicken took a step forward. It stopped. It reached into a pocket and pulled out a bright yellow plastic sign. It set the sign on the floor: CAUTION: WET FLOOR. Then, it attacked.

  The Chicken lunged, swinging the mop. Kai ducked. The mop head slapped the wall. HISS. The paint on the wall didn't just get wet; it vanished. The mop stripped the texture right off the drywall, leaving a grey wireframe grid behind. "It deletes friction!" Walter screamed. "If they mop you, you will slide into the void!"

  The Pizza Slice aimed its hose at Walter. SQUIRT. A jet of clear liquid hit a stack of invoices. The paper turned white instantly, the ink erased, the paper dissolving into goo.

  Kai scrambled back. He watched the Chicken. Before it swung again, the mascot paused. It looked at a smudge of dirt on the floor a footprint Kai had made. The Chicken twitched. It stopped advancing. It aggressively mopped the footprint until the floor sparkled. Only then did it look back at Kai.

  "Wait," Kai said, his eyes narrowing. "It prioritized the dirt." "Kai, run!" "No, Walter, look! It's not a soldier. It's a janitorial setting." Kai grabbed a recycling bin overflowing with shredded paper. "They're programmed to clean," Kai realized. "So let's give them a job."

  He hurled the bin into the air. Thousands of strips of shredded paper exploded across the room like confetti. It covered the floor. It covered the mail carts. It covered the Cleaners.

  The Chicken froze. Its black eyes twitched. [PRIORITY OVERRIDE] [MESS DETECTED: CATASTROPHIC] [MUST. CLEAN.]

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The Chicken dropped into a frenzy, mopping furiously at the paper strips. The Pizza Slice began spraying the floor, ignoring Walter completely. "They're stuck in a loop!" Kai yelled. "Go!" He grabbed Walter’s arm and they burst out of the Loading Bay doors into the grey light of South London.

  [LOCATION: BERMONDSEY, SOUTH LONDON] [TIME: 12:30 PM] [EVENT: MATCH DAY (MILLWALL VS. ANYONE)]

  They stumbled onto the street, gasping for air. "We are not safe," Walter panted, adjusting his crooked sunglasses. "The Admin has a tracker. We need camouflage."

  Kai looked around. The street was a river of people. A sea of blue and white shirts. Horizontally challenged men with shaved heads and pies. Men singing songs that contained 80% profanity. They were walking toward a massive concrete structure in the distance: The Den. "Football fans," Kai realized. "It's Millwall."

  "Excellent," Walter said, straightening his cardigan. "High density crowd. Chaotic audio. The System cannot render individual targets in this much spaghetti code." He looked at a group of burly men walking past. "I shall initiate 'Lad Culture' protocols," Walter whispered. "I have studied the dialogue trees."

  "Walter, no," Kai warned. "Just walk." "I must blend in!" Walter stepped into the path of a man who looked like he could bench press a hatchback. "Greetings, fellow hooligan!" Walter shouted, putting on a bizarrely posh accent. "Did you witness that ludicrous display last night?" The man stopped. He stared at Walter. "What?" "The thing about Arsenal," Walter continued, sweating, "is they always try to walk it in. Right, bruv?"

  The man looked at Walter's beige cardigan. He looked at Kai. "Is he drunk?" "Yes," Kai said quickly. "Very drunk. Stag do. Sorry." "Right. Keep him moving, son. Kickoff's in ten."

  Kai dragged Walter away. "Stop quoting The IT Crowd, Walter! They will eat you alive!"

  They ducked into a pub called The Millwall Brick. It was a fortress of noise. The air smelled of stale lager, meat pies, and aggressive males. Kai pushed through the crowd to a corner table hidden behind a fruit machine. "Stay here," Kai ordered. "Don't speak. Don't sanitize anything. Just drink this." He slammed a pint of Guinness in front of Walter. Walter stared at the black liquid. "Is this engine oil?" "It's stout. Drink it. It will make you feel better."

  Outside the window, a flash of yellow caught Kai’s eye. He froze. Through the frosted glass, he saw a silhouette. A giant, foam Chicken Head. The Cleaner was scanning the street. It turned toward the pub door.

  The Chicken took a step toward the pub. Suddenly, the pub doors burst open. Three enormous Millwall fans stumbled out, singing ‘No One Likes Us, We Don't Care’. They bumped into the Chicken. "Oi!" one of the fans shouted, shoving the mascot. "Watch it, Big Bird!"

  The Chicken stared at them. Its scanner beeped rapidly. [ERROR: SOCIAL PROTOCOL NOT FOUND] [CHAOS LEVEL: EXTREME] [UNABLE TO SANITIZE TARGET] The Cleaner paused. It looked at the fans. It looked at the pub full of 200 angry men. The complexity of the social aggression was simply too high to render. It slowly backed away. It turned and walked down the street, its mop dragging sadly behind it.

  "It retreated," Walter whispered, peeking over his sunglasses. "The tribal intimidation factor... it overpowered the AI." "God bless Millwall," Kai sighed, taking a long drink.

  [MEANWHILE: KAI'S FLAT] [BOREDOM LEVEL: CRITICAL]

  The flat was quiet, too quiet even. Grom sat on the floor, his legs crossed. He was staring intensely at the television. On the screen, Homes Under the Hammer was playing. Grom was taking notes in a small notebook he had stolen from Kai. "This Dion Dublin," Grom rumbled, tapping the page with a pen that looked like a toothpick in his hand. "He is a ruthless warlord." Maya, who was lying on the sofa staring at the ceiling, sighed. "He's a presenter, Grom." "He demands 'Stairs to the Bedroom'," Grom noted. "A bold strategy. It forces the enemy to fight uphill to reach the sleeping quarters. I shall implement this in the Fortress."

  Gideon was in the kitchen. He was bored. A bored Knight is a dangerous thing. He was holding one of Kai’s spoons. He was grinding it against the exposed brick of the fireplace. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. "The blade must be keen," Gideon muttered.

  Viscount Pigglesworth was sitting on Kai’s laptop. "I have found a merchant," Pigglesworth announced. "It is called 'Amazon'. It claims to have Prime delivery. I assume this means it is delivered by the Prime Minister itself?" "Get off the laptop, Pigglesworth," Maya groaned. "I have ordered silk," the Viscount sniffed. "And a velvet smoking jacket. Do not worry, I selected 'Same-Day Delivery'."

  DING. A notification popped up on the screen. [DELIVERY STATUS: OUT FOR DELIVERY] [DRIVER: KEN] [ESTIMATED ARRIVAL: NOW]

  Pigglesworth clapped his hands. "Excellent service! The courier is already here!"

  THUD... THUD... THUD. Three heavy, rhythmic impacts shook the front door. Dust fell from the frame. It wasn't the tap of a knuckle; it was the heavy, dead sound of something solid hitting the wood.

  Maya sat up, her eyes narrowing. "That’s not a delivery guy," she said, her voice dropping. "How do you know?" Gideon asked, reaching for his spoon shiv. "Because delivery guys drop the box and run," Maya said, sliding off the sofa. "They don't knock like the police."

  Grom stood up. He watched the door frame vibrate. "And that was not a hand," Grom rumbled, racking the slide of his minigun. "That was a breach tool. This is not a delivery. It is a siege."