CHAPTER 28

  BEDLAM

  Stella couldn't leave.

  She had tried. Three times in the past four hours, she had walked toward the tunnel exit—and three times, her systems had crashed.

  One moment she was functional, the next she was rebooting on the alcove floor, internal chronometer showing gaps of seventeen minutes, twenty-three minutes, eleven minutes.

  Time she couldn't account for. Memories that simply... stopped.

  The cocoon pulsed behind her. Aurora light washed across the chamber walls—blue to purple to silver—and with each pulse, something thrummed through the air. Not sound. Not exactly. Something beneath sound, below hearing, a vibration that bypassed her audio sensors entirely and resonated in her processors.

  When she stayed close to the cocoon—within five meters—her systems remained stable. The field didn't touch her here. She was in the eye of something vast and terrible, protected by proximity to its source.

  But the moment she tried to leave...

  The fourth time was the worst.

  She had made it eight steps—further than before—when her visual cortex simply . No static. No fragmentation. Just darkness. Complete sensory blackout while her motor functions continued on momentum alone. Her body kept walking into nothing, legs carrying her toward a destination her mind could no longer perceive.

  When awareness returned, she was face-down on the stone floor. Twelve meters from the cocoon. Her internal chronometer showed a gap of thirty-one minutes—the longest yet.

  And something new: error cascades in her memory architecture. Corrupted data packets. Fragments of her operational history that now read as garbled nonsense.

  , she realized.

  She crawled back. Hands and knees, synthetic muscles trembling in ways they weren't designed to tremble. The closer she got to the cocoon, the more her processes stabilized—the corruption halting, the errors ceasing their spread.

  But they didn't reverse.

  Whatever the field had done to her during those thirty-one minutes, it was permanent.

  Stella pressed her palm against the cocoon's surface. Warm. Warmer than before. The shape inside had grown larger—she could see it through the clearing shell, a silhouette that dwarfed what Arthur had been. Broader shoulders. Longer limbs. Spinal ridges that pushed against the crystalline membrane like mountain ranges.

  "I'm still here," she said quietly. "I'm not going anywhere."

  The cocoon pulsed in response. The roots threading through the walls flared with light—

  And through her sensors—the ones hardwired into her chassis, shielded against electromagnetic interference—she detected movement. Her external sensor network was useless now; the cheap motion detectors she'd placed around the perimeter had gone dark hours ago, fried by the field's expansion. But her own systems still functioned within the eye of the storm.

  People. Approaching through the tunnels. Energy signatures her internal radar could barely resolve at this range—fragmented, distorted by the field's outer edges.

  She couldn't intercept them. Couldn't warn them away. Couldn't even identify how many there were.

  She tried anyway.

  Three steps toward the tunnel exit. Her visual feed fragmented into static, reality breaking apart like a shattered mirror. Four steps—her motor control stuttered, limbs moving in directions she hadn't commanded. Five steps—

  , she calculated in the fractured seconds before shutdown,

  The fear that surged through her wasn't programmed. Wasn't a tactical assessment. It was something rawer—something that felt almost human.

  She woke on the alcove floor.

  Internal chronometer: twelve minutes lost. More corrupted data packets. More of herself... erased.

  The approaching signatures were gone from her sensor grid. Either they had withdrawn, or—

  She didn't want to know what .

  Stella crawled back to the cocoon. Pressed her hand against the warm surface. The field wrapped around her like a blanket, stabilizing her fractured processes.

  She stayed.

  All she could do was watch.

  And hope that when Arthur emerged, there would still be enough of her left to recognize him.

  * * *

  The Warren had been quiet for most of the morning.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Mara stood in the medical alcove, watching Dren's chest rise and fall. His breathing had steadied over the past two days—deeper now, more regular. The monitors showed brain activity returning in slow waves, consciousness swimming up from whatever dark place the creature's paralytic had dragged him.

  He would wake soon. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow. And when he did, she would have to explain what had happened.

  The thought sat heavy in her chest. Arthur Jones—the thing with glowing eyes and crystalline skin—had walked into tunnels that swallowed everyone else. Had carried her brother back through darkness that should have killed them both.

  She owed him.

  But her people were afraid. Children hidden when Arthur passed. Conversations dying in his presence. The community she'd built—fragile, precious, hard-won—was fracturing around the thing she'd let into their home.

  , she reminded herself.

  She'd wanted to believe it. Had nodded and let him walk out of the Warren without question.

  But her instincts screamed that something wasn't right.

  The way he'd moved. The way he'd spoken—just slightly off, like someone reciting lines they'd memorized rather than words they'd chosen. The timing of their departure...

  A commotion at the entrance pulled her from her thoughts.

  Voices. Raised, panicked. The sound of someone crying—deep, broken sobs that echoed through the Warren's central chamber.

  Mara moved.

  The scout team had returned. But not whole. Not .

  Yara was on her knees in the dirt, hands pressed over her ears, screaming at nothing. Her partner, Dex, stood beside her—but his eyes were wrong. Unfocused. Looking at something no one else could see. His lips moved in whispered conversation with thin air.

  The third scout, Tem, had made it further into the Warren before collapsing. He lay curled in a fetal position near the hydroponics section, blood streaming from his nose, his whole body shaking with violent tremors.

  Mara had seen this before.

  Vek. Lenn. Carra.

  The same thousand-yard stares. The same whispered conversations with ghosts. The same that came from the deep tunnels.

  "Get them inside," Mara ordered. Her voice came out harder than she intended. "Medical alcove. Now."

  Hands reached for the broken scouts. Gentle hands, careful hands—but Yara screamed when they touched her, thrashing and clawing at rescuers who were trying to help.

  "Don't let them in!" she shrieked. "They're wearing faces—wearing faces—but they're not you! They're NOT YOU!"

  Dex turned slowly. His eyes found Mara—or tried to. They kept sliding past her, tracking movement that wasn't there.

  "The colors," he said. His voice was distant. Dreaming. "They sing, Mara. Did you know that? The colors sing, and if you listen long enough, you can hear what they're saying."

  "What are they saying?"

  Dex smiled. It was the worst thing Mara had ever seen.

  * * *

  The three scouts lay in adjacent cots now, sedated into fitful sleep. Their vitals were stable—physically, at least. But their minds...

  Mara stood outside the medical alcove, arms crossed, watching through the doorway.

  Griss appeared at her shoulder. Silent as always. His shaved head gleamed in the amber light.

  "The restricted tunnels," Mara said. It wasn't a question.

  "They didn't even get close." Griss's voice was rough granite. "The junction you mentioned—they were still three hundred meters out when Yara started seeing things."

  "Three hundred meters."

  "The range is spreading. Whatever's down there—it's getting stronger."

  Mara's jaw tightened. "Whose patrol was this?"

  "Hakim's." Griss shifted his weight. "He's had scouts sweeping the nearby tunnels since you got back from his place. Looking for Arthur and the girl."

  "I didn't authorize—"

  "You know Hakim doesn't need your authorization." Griss's tone wasn't accusatory. Just factual. "He got curious after your meeting. Started running his own operation. These three were part of his network."

  Mara closed her eyes. Thought of Kevin—the maintenance manager who'd been covering their power drain for months—sending worried reports about consumption quadrupling in the past forty-eight hours.

  But something was down there. Something that was getting stronger. Something that was drawing power like a dying star consuming its neighbors.

  And whatever it was, it had to do with them.

  "I need to make another trip," Mara said. "Hakim needs to know what his people walked into."

  Griss's eyes found hers. Something passed between them—understanding, or perhaps concern.

  "Want me to come?"

  "No. Watch the Warren. If this gets worse—"

  She didn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to.

  * * *

  The tunnels to Hakim's territory were darker than Mara remembered.

  She moved through maintenance passages and forgotten junctions, following routes she'd memorized years ago. The Dust Wyrms didn't advertise their presence. You found them when they wanted to be found—or not at all.

  But Hakim had given her the frequency. A professional courtesy, or maybe an investment. Information brokers never did anything without calculation.

  The security appeared gradually. Sensors in the walls. Cameras with tracking lenses. Drones humming through the passages on patrol circuits. Then the turrets—corporate-grade hardware, the kind of firepower that made the Warren's defenses look like toys.

  Mara transmitted her identification code. The turrets tracked away, granting passage.

  Hakim waited at the entrance to his fortified command center. The same sand-cloak, the same weathered leather face, the same pale blue eyes that saw everything and revealed nothing.

  "Mara." His voice was unhurried. Patient. "Twice in three days. I'm flattered."

  "Your scouts." She didn't have time for pleasantries. "Three of them walked into the restricted zone. They're broken now."

  Something shifted in Hakim's expression. Not surprise—he was too controlled for that—but attention. Sharp focus.

  "Come inside."

  * * *

  The fortified command center was exactly as she remembered: displays glowing with data feeds, the smell of tea and electronics, cushions arranged around a low table. Hakim's domain.

  "Tell me," he said, settling into his seat.

  Mara told him. The power drain Kevin couldn't explain. The restricted tunnels. The scouts seeing things, hearing colors, losing themselves three hundred meters from the junction.

  She told him about Arthur's transformation—the crystalline formations spreading along his body, the way he'd crawled out of the deep tunnels carrying Dren like something born of genetic nightmares. The glowing eyes.

  And she told him about her suspicion.

  "He said he was leaving. Heading to the surface. His companion had already departed." Mara's voice was flat. "I let him walk out of my Warren."

  "But?"

  "But something is down there. Something drawing power from half the grid. Something that breaks minds at three hundred meters and growing." She met Hakim's eyes. "And whatever it is, it started right after Arthur Jones went into those tunnels."

  Hakim was quiet for a long moment. His fingers traced the rim of his tea cup—an unconscious gesture, or perhaps a calculated one.

  "My scouts were looking for him," he said finally. "After our conversation, I was... curious. I wanted to know where they'd gone."

  "You found out."

  "Not them. Something else." Hakim set down his cup. "The three you have—they're not the first. I've lost two more in the past day. Different approaches, same result. The field is expanding, Mara. And it's not random. It's . Like something is broadcasting deliberately."

  Mara thought of Dex's words. .

  "What do you think it is?"

  "I think Arthur Jones didn't leave your Warren." Hakim's pale eyes held hers. "I think he's still down there. And I think he's becoming something we haven't seen before."