The door thudded shut behind her, muffling the chaos she’d left in the corridor.
For a moment, Raven just stood there—shoulders heaving, hammer still in one hand.
Then the silence settled—dense, clinical.
She tucked the hammer into the crook of her arm and turned slowly, taking in the hallway.
Polished concrete. Clean lines. Frosted security glass that revealed just enough of what lay ahead. Beyond the partition, rows of black server towers loomed in perfect symmetry, their diagnostics blinking lifelessly.
She moved forward, boots muffled by the matte epoxy floor yet echoed in the empty corridor with each step—a reminder of just how alone she was now.
Phoebee was gone.
Not gone-gone, she reminded herself. Just... asleep.
Still, her jacket felt heavier. Like she was carrying a body, not a machine.
She paused outside the glass wall separating her from the main server chamber. A keypad and ID panel sat dormant beside the sliding door—another casualty of the EMP.
Good.
She shoved the panel aside and found the manual override—a red lever beneath a safety flap. It took all her weight to crank it down. The door groaned as it unlocked, then slid halfway before jamming on its track.
She slipped through sideways, heart still racing.
The server room was colder. The hum of air filtration louder. Thin streams of mist curled from floor vents—swirling like ghost breath around her boots.
She racked her memory. The professor had said something. A hint. The newest section—it had to be.
Then—she saw it.
A central column stood at the room’s far end—an isolation stack encased in glass, cables coiled thick around its spine. Still dark, but waiting.
She climbed the three stairs to the raised section.
There, on the side of a matte black server casing, was a rough white “X,” drawn hastily in correction fluid. Just like he’d said.
Below it, a label: NQN-Server-1.
The professor’s words came rushing back.
Raven let out a shaky breath and stepped forward.
She crossed to the console beside the quantum stack and found the access port—the same one she’d watched him use months ago, when this place was full of life. Full of hope.
She found it. The rack’s protective case had been tampered with—deliberately. The screws were loose, the faceplate unlatched.
He prepared this.
She slid it open. Just behind the glass plate sat a slotted core unit: a sleek, ceramic-coated quantum processor etched with Phoebee’s wave symbol. A single blinking diode pulsed in Morse code.
S.O.S.
She reached in, fingers trembling, and pinched the processor free with a soft click.
It was no larger than a coin, but impossibly intricate—etched with fractal patterns that shimmered under the low light. Not circuits, exactly. More like frozen lightning across crystal.
It pulsed—dimly, steadily. Like it knew she was there.
Then—
“Visual on the target!”
A drone rounded the corner.
A red laser swept across the racks.
Raven bolted—sprinting between the towers, ducking as taser rounds cracked past her. One clipped her backpack, tearing through the strap. The bag spun, crashed against a cabinet.
She dove for it. Phoebee’s brick skidded across the floor. Lifeless. She dove after it like it was a fallen comrade.
Processor in hand, Raven dropped to her knees. She cradled the brick and searched—desperately—for a slot.
Nothing.
Then—a click.
Three panels on the brick’s top slid open in a flowerlike pattern. At the center, a faint glow. A symbol: an abstract neural node.
She pressed the processor in.
It clicked.
A rush of static ran through her arms as the brick sealed itself.
Then—
Silence.
Even the drone’s beam died.
A beat passed.
Raven scrambled into her bag, found the bottle of cleaning fluid. She sprayed it wildly across the racks and floor.
She plunged her hand back in—found the lighter.
Click.
The flame caught, flared—almost took her with it as she dove clear.
{Upgrade installed. Reinitializing core consciousness. Please stand by...}
The drones rebooted.
The guards shouted.
She had seconds.
“Phoebee, now would be a great time to pull a rabbit out of your silicon hat!”
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