The wind hit Tess the moment the platform touched down.
She hunched forward, tool belt rattling, hair whipping across her
face. The rooftop was exposed—just ferrocrete and landing markers, no
shelter from the industrial haze rolling off Sector 4’s manufacturing
district. The air smelled of ozone and hot metal.
Petra attached a belt with her vibro-blades to her hip and stepped
off the platform without flinching, her armor taking the wind like it
was nothing. “This way.”
Tess followed, squinting against the gusts. The rooftop stretched
wide, marked with navigation lights and landing zones. A heavy door
waited on the far side, flanked by two figures in dark uniforms.
Her hand dropped to her tool belt. Checking. The communicator was
still clipped to her left hip. Multi-tool on the right. Plasma cutter in
the front pouch. All there. All secure.
She forced her hand away. Checking her equipment wouldn’t change
anything. It wouldn’t make this less uncomfortable. But her fingers
found the belt again anyway, tracing the familiar weight of her
tools.
Heavily armed guards.
As they approached, Tess got a better look. Both wore composite
armor, not the decorative stuff the city guards used. These were
professionals—rifles mag-locked to their backs, sidearms at their hips,
visors down. House Tertian colors marked their shoulders.
The guard on the left shifted as they approached, hand resting near
his sidearm.
Tess’s interface flickered.
She hadn’t meant to activate [ANALYZE], but her nerves must have
triggered it. The skill engaged automatically, pulling data from the
guard’s stance and equipment.
[Level 9 Ranger]
Level 9.
Marcus was level 11, sure, but not in a combat class. A level 9
Ranger was beyond anything she’d encountered up close. Even Petra’s
personal guards in the dungeon had been Level 4 and 7. These people were
serious.
[ANALYZE] flickered again, pulling data from the second guard before
she could stop it.
[Level 10 Shock Trooper]
Tess couldn’t help it. Her eyes went wide at the level and class.
This person was decked out in armor, and the rifle on their back had
some sort of ammo-barrel attached to it. They were military, not
civilian security.
Tess’s gaze shifted to the door behind them. Heavy ferrocrete
construction. Reinforced hinges. The sort of door designed to be just as
effective at keeping things locked inside as well as out.
This was less of a research facility and more of a bunker.
BEE: Tess, your heart rate just spiked. What’s
wrong?
“Nothing,” Tess muttered.
Petra glanced back. “What?”
“Just cold.”
The guards didn’t move as Petra approached. One of them raised a
scanner, pointed it at Petra’s wrist, and waited for the beep.
“Lady Tertian,” the guard said, voice flat. “Access confirmed.”
“Thank you.” Petra gestured toward Tess. “She’s with me. Repair
contractor.”
The guard’s visor turned toward Tess. She waited for acknowledgment—a
nod, anything—but the guard just lowered the scanner and stepped aside.
Klaxons blared and lights flashed as the heavy door swung open.
Petra walked through without hesitation. Tess followed, jaw tight,
feeling like a tool someone had forgotten to label.
The interior was a stark shift from the rooftop—warm, clean, and
quiet. The walls were polished metal and white paneling; the floors were
spotless. Recessed lighting cast everything in a clinical glow.
The wind and haze were gone, replaced by the hum of air circulation
and the faint buzz of Aether conduits running through the walls.
Fewer guards inside. That surprised Tess. The perimeter had been
locked down, but the hallways felt almost empty. A few researchers moved
past, wearing lab coats and carrying datapads. Most of them glanced at
Petra, then kept walking.
Something else stood out: most of the researchers had no classes. No
levels. Just blank identifiers where the interface should have pulled
data.
She’d seen that before—people who’d never entered a dungeon, never
received a class. She was one of them until recently, though it wasn’t
common in Sector 7. Most people ran the tutorial at least once over the
years; it’s even how Kade got his class a few years back.
BEE: What are you seeing?
“Research facility interior,” Tess murmured. “Clean. Expensive. Lots
of lab coats.”
BEE: And the containment system?
“Haven’t seen it yet, we’ve talked about this. I’ll let you know when
something comes up.”
A man in a crisp gray suit approached from a side corridor. He was
older, maybe fifty, with graying hair and a walk that said he owned the
building. His Class read [Level 12 Director].
Another class like Noble, something that didn’t seem to be directly
related to fighting in a dungeon.
“Lady Tertian.” He offered a polite nod. “Welcome. I’m Director
Allen.”
“Director.” Petra’s tone was formal, controlled. “This is Tess
Rivera, the contractor.”
Allen’s eyes flicked to Tess for half a second. “I see.”
That was it—no handshake, not even an acknowledgment of her name.
Tess kept her expression neutral.
“If you’ll follow me,” Allen said, already turning. “We’re on a tight
schedule.”
They walked deeper into the facility. The corridors branched and
intersected, each marked with alphanumeric designations. Lab 3, Lab 5,
Storage Wing B.
Allen walked quickly, not bothering to explain.
They passed Lab 4. The door was sealed, but a viewport ran along the
upper section. Tess glanced through it as they walked.
Inside, three researchers in full containment suits worked around a
table. Something sat in the center—an organic structure, crystalline
growth spreading from a central mass. One researcher held a scanner over
it while another made notes on a datapad.
Tess’s interface tried to [ANALYZE] it through the glass and failed.
Too much distance. Too much interference.
But the shape was wrong. Crystals don’t grow like that. Not
naturally. The branching structures looked almost deliberate, like roots
searching for soil.
One researcher looked up, saw her watching through the viewport. Tess
kept walking.
“Research,” Tess whispered. “Some kind of organic crystalline
structure. They were scanning it?”
BEE: Organic crystal formations suggest something like skill
crystals. Perhaps it is from the dungeon?
“Yeah, maybe.”
Petra kept pace beside Allen. “What exactly are we repairing,
Director?”
“Containment field generators for Lab 9.”
“What kind of containment?”
“Standard protocols. Aether regulation, environmental sealing.”
Petra frowned. “What are you containing?”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Research materials.”
“What kind of research materials?”
Allen’s jaw tightened. “Volatile configurations. Nothing that
concerns the repair itself.”
“Director, if Tess is going to fix your containment fields, she needs
to understand…”
“With respect, Lady Tertian, the technical work is straightforward.
Miss Rivera will have full access to the control systems. That should be
sufficient.”
Tess opened her mouth.
Allen cut her off. “Miss Rivera, you’re here to repair equipment, not
to ask questions about classified research. I trust that’s clear?”
“I need to understand the system architecture,” Tess said. “What kind
of Aether throughput are we dealing with? Peak load capacity? Did the
failure start with the primary field or the backup relays?”
“The diagnostic systems will provide that information.”
“What about…”
“Miss Rivera.” Allen stopped walking and turned to face her. “You
will have access to every technical specification you need once we reach
the control center. Until then, I would appreciate if you saved your
questions for the equipment. Am I clear?”
Tess’s hands curled into fists. “Crystal.”
BEE: Your vitals are suggesting anger or deep frustration
with whomever you’re speaking with.
Allen glanced back. “Something to add?”
“Just confirming the job,” Tess said evenly, ignoring Bee’s
observation. “Lab 9 containment fields. Standard protocols.”
“Exactly.”
They reached a checkpoint—a sealed blast door with another security
station. Two more guards, both Level 9, both armed. The scanner read
Petra’s wrist again, and the door slid open with a heavy clunk.
The corridor beyond was narrower, with heavy walls and fewer
lights.
This wasn’t an estate repair. This was locked away, buried deep in a
facility designed to keep people out—or keep something in.
BEE: Tess, I am feeling concerned. Shall I inform
Marcus?
“Yeah.”
They passed through a second checkpoint five minutes later. There was
the same uncomfortable silence as the guards checked Petra’s credentials
and ignored Tess completely.
By the time they reached the third door, Tess was calculating how
hard it would be to get back out. Two checkpoints, three blast doors, at
least six armed guards between her and the rooftop. If something went
wrong, running wasn’t an option.
Petra must have felt the same. Her posture was stiff; her usual
confidence dimmed. She glanced at Tess once, a flicker of unease showing
in her eyes. Her hand drifted towards the blade at her hip.
The guard at the third checkpoint scanned Petra’s wrist. The display
beeped, but he didn’t open the door.
He frowned at the screen. Tapped it twice.
Allen stepped forward. “Is there a problem?”
“Clearance verification,” the guard said. “One moment.”
He spoke into his communicator, voice too low to hear. Waited, and
listened to the response. Tess counted the seconds—fifteen, twenty,
thirty—before the guard finally nodded and lowered his communicator.
“Verified. You’re cleared for Lab 9 control access.”
The door slid open. Too late to back out now.
The third door opened into a control room. Tess stepped inside and
stopped.
The room was spacious, filled with monitor banks and diagnostic
terminals. A wide viewport dominated the far wall, overlooking the main
facility floor below. The glass was thick and spotless.
Director Allen walked to the center console and activated the primary
display. “This is Lab 9’s control center. You’ll have full access to the
containment field generators from here.”
Tess moved to the console, eyes scanning the readouts. Power
distribution. Field integrity. Aether flow regulation.
And a lot of red indicators.
“How long have these systems been failing?” Tess asked.
“Approximately twelve hours. The degradation accelerated
recently.”
“Why?”
Allen’s expression went flat. “That’s not relevant to the
repair.”
Tess bit back a retort and focused on the console. She pulled up the
diagnostic interface, tracing the containment field’s configuration.
BEE: What are you seeing?
“Containment field generators. Lab 9. Multiple critical failures.”
Tess spoke clearly, repeating Allen’s words. “Aether regulation,
environmental sealing, standard protocols.”
BEE: Acknowledged. Continue.
Tess moved to a secondary terminal on the left side of the room.
Power distribution readouts. The primary generator was pulling 40% more
Aether than design specifications. The backup system was compensating.
So, at least there was power.
She crossed to another console. Field integrity sensors. The
containment boundary was fluctuating—stable for three seconds, then
spiking, then dropping. The pattern repeated every eight seconds, like a
failing heartbeat.
A third terminal showed Aether flow regulation. The substrate
pathways were configured in a pattern she recognized—parent-child
hierarchy, direct routing protocols, priority distribution. Standard
dungeon tech architecture like the environmental controls.
This whole room was the containment field generator, it wasn’t down
in Lab 9 which was a relief. All of these terminal screens existed to
configure the field, power it, and keep it steady. Except it was
throwing a lot of errors on the displays.
Tess returned to the containment control console and activated
[ANALYZE]. The skill flooded her vision with nested patterns.
·········································
CONTAINMENT FIELD SYSTEM
Designation: Primary Containment Field 09
Origin: Corrupted Reference
Parent Node: Unresolved
Connection Status: Orphaned
User Tech Skill: 6
·········································
WARNING: Containment integrity at 31%
Core Generator: Offline
Power Distribution: Intermittent
Backup Relays: Marginal — 12% reserve
Last Error: Parent node timeout — awaiting handshake
·········································
Crystal A — Field Generation
Status: Offline [Tech 7]
Crystal B — Boundary Stability
Status: Critical [Tech 7]
Crystal C — Aether Regulation
Status: Critical [Tech 8]
Crystal D — Environmental Seal
Status: Critical [Tech 7]
·········································
TECH 7 and 8 work—way beyond her current capabilities. The core
generator was offline, power distribution was fractured, and the backup
relays were barely holding.
She could fix some of it. Maybe. But not all of it.
“This is beyond my TECH skill,” Tess said.
Allen crossed his arms. “We’re aware. Focus on the components within
your range. Re-stabilize the primary field. That’s the priority.”
BEE: What do you see?
Tess stared at the [ANALYZE] output. The architecture was wrong.
Parent-child structure. Skill crystals. An orphaned connection still
searching for a handshake.
But it was the missing values that caught her attention.
“No loot seed,” Tess whispered.
BEE: I do not understand.
It didn’t look like dungeon loot; it looked like dungeon
infrastructure. Something torn straight out of a maintenance tunnel.
“What is this?” Tess asked.
Allen’s expression didn’t change. “A containment field
generator.”
“It’s configured like dungeon infrastructure.”
There, just for a second. Surprise. “That’s not your concern.”
“It absolutely is my concern if I’m supposed to fix it.” Tess turned
to face him. “This system is trying to connect to a parent node. That’s
why it’s failing. What is the parent node?”
“Miss Rivera, I agreed to bring you here to repair the system, and
not to ask questions.”
“I need to know more about how…”
Allen stepped closer, his tone hardening. “You’re a contractor. You
follow instructions. If that’s beyond your capabilities, I’ll find
someone else.”
Tess wanted to tell him he was welcome to. But the thought of
multiple security checkpoints on the way out made her hesitate.
Petra cleared her throat. “Director, with respect, Tess is the best
option you have. Maybe if you explained the context…”
“Lady Tertian, this facility operates under strict confidentiality
agreements. Miss Rivera doesn’t have clearance for that
information.”
“Then how is she supposed to…”
Allen’s communicator buzzed.
He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted.
He stepped away from the console, answering the call.
“What? No, I told you to monitor the…” His voice dropped. “When?”
Tess exchanged a glance with Petra.
Allen’s back was turned, but his posture was rigid.
“Stabilize it manually,” Allen snapped. “I don’t care how. Just keep
it contained until…” He paused. “Fine. I’ll deal with it.”
He turned back to Tess, shoving the communicator into his pocket.
“Change of plans. The containment field needs to be operational
now.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Immediately.”
Tess stared at him. “I just told you I can’t fix all of this. These
components are TECH 7 or higher.”
“Then fix what you can and get the primary field online. We don’t
have time for excuses.”
“I’m not making excuses, I’m telling you the system is…”
“Miss Rivera.” Allen’s voice went cold. “Do your job. Or I’ll inform
Duke Tertian that you wasted our time.”
Tess’s jaw clenched. Do it. Tell him.
Allen turned and walked toward the exit. “I’ll be monitoring your
progress. The field needs to be operational within the hour.”
The door slid shut behind him, and the control room fell silent. Tess
stood at the console, staring at the diagnostic screens, red indicators
flashing their warnings.
Petra let out a slow breath. “Tess…”
“I know.” She didn’t need Bee to tell her Allen was lying—or at least
omitting critical information. The tension in his posture, the urgency
in his voice—none of it matched “standard containment protocols.”
BEE: This system configuration is not standard. And if the
containment field is offline, that implies something is being contained.
Or was supposed to be.
Tess turned to Petra. “Did you know about this?”
“No.” Petra’s voice was flat. “I’ve never been here before. My father
mentioned we had research facilities in Sector 4, but he didn’t say what
they were for.”
“And you didn’t ask?”
“I assumed skill crystal research. Manufacturing maybe. Not…” Petra
gestured at the console. “Whatever this is.”
Tess looked down at the viewport.
From this height, she could see the facility floor below. Multiple
lab rooms separated by reinforced walls and sealed doors. Researchers
moved between them, carrying equipment and datapads. Most of the labs
were lit, but a few were dark.
One of them was Lab 9.
Tess squinted, trying to make out details through the thick
glass.
Lab 9’s containment chamber was enormous. Circular. The walls looked
like reinforced ferrocrete, and the floor was scored with Aether
regulation conduits. In the center sat a structure she couldn’t quite
identify from this angle.
Something crystalline and organic-looking.
The structure rose from the floor like a malformed tree—central mass
maybe two meters tall, with branching growths extending outward in
asymmetric patterns. The crystals were translucent, almost white, but
with veins of darker material running through them. Aether conduits
connected to the base, feeding power into the structure.
But it was the growth pattern that made Tess’s skin crawl. The
branches seemed to reach for anything they could touch. Curving toward
the walls, toward the ceiling, like they were searching for something.
Some of the crystalline tendrils had fractured, leaving sharp edges and
exposed internal structures.
And at the base, where the conduits connected, something pulsed.
Faint. Rhythmic.
“What is that over there?” Tess muttered.
Petra leaned over the console, following Tess’s gaze. “I don’t
know.”
BEE: Please describe it?
“Some kind of structure in the center of Lab 9. Two-ish meters tall,
crystalline growth with branching formations. Translucent white with
dark veining, connected to Aether conduits at the base.” Tess watched
the faint pulse at the structure’s core. “And it’s… pulsing. Like it’s
alive.”
BEE: MATCH FOUND. Tess, you and Petra need to leave. It is
highly likely that is a dungeon spawner.
Tess froze. “A dungeon spawner? But that would require physically
removing dungeon infrastructure. Which shouldn’t be possible,
right?”
BEE: It should not be.
Tess looked at Petra.
Petra was staring down at the lab, her face pale. “My family
wouldn’t… We don’t…”
“Petra.”
“I didn’t know.” Petra’s voice cracked slightly. “Tess, I swear, I
didn’t know.”
Tess believed her.
Which somehow made it worse.
