Iron Pulse

The Storm Gate sealed shut behind them.

The sound wasn't like a door closing. It was final. Like steel on steel, layered hundreds of times, hammering into place.

A cold weight settled over the group.

West stood at the front, pipe held across his shoulder.

Behind him, Aria's pulse lines glowed faint blue, flickering with every step.

Sigma Unit—fifteen fighters in mismatched armor—moved in formation. Their boots hit the steel in rhythm, rifles up, visors reflecting the red light striping the walls.

Lem walked near the back, hunched over his tablet, eyes scanning code strings only he could understand.

"This is it," he said quietly. "Grid-Zero Tower Core."

No alarms. No drone sounds.

Only silence.

But it wasn't peace.

It was waiting.

They climbed.

Metal stairs spiraled upward—half-rusted, slick with condensation.

Above them, walls twisted in unnatural angles, designed not for function but control.

Every few meters, red pulse lights flickered.

The grid's heartbeat. Slow. Heavy. Oppressive.

By the third turn, even Sigma fighters were glancing at each other.

"This is wrong," one muttered.

West didn't argue.

He felt it too.

The further they climbed, the thicker the air got—like gravity had shifted sideways.

They reached the first checkpoint:

A wide circular chamber.

Black flooring. Mirror walls from floor to ceiling. No doors. No signs.

Lem froze.

"Oh no."

"What?" West asked.

But he already knew.

The mirrors weren't mirrors.

The lights shifted.

A single vertical white slit appeared on every surface.

Rhys's symbol.

Then—his voice:

"You made it."

Soft. Calm. Everywhere at once.

Aria stiffened beside West.

Her hands curled into fists, pulse lines surging bright.

Rhys's image appeared in full.

Standing. Hands folded behind his back. White coat. No weapons. No mask.

His smile was sharp as a blade.

"Together again."

"Family."

West didn't flinch.

"Cut the feed, Lem."

"I can't," Lem said grimly. "Not in here."

Rhys kept speaking.

"You've fought hard. Impressive."

"But everything has a cost."

The mirror walls flickered.

Suddenly—they weren't mirrors.

They were windows.

West stepped back automatically.

Sigma fighters lowered their weapons, breath catching.

Thousands of human faces.

Suspended mid-air. Encased in pulse-light cages.

Children.

Workers.

Sigma Unit's own family members.

All frozen. Still breathing. Trapped.

Aria's pulse flickered violently.

Her voice came low:

"What is this?"

Rhys's eyes locked on hers.

"Choice."

"You climb. They fall."

"You win. They die."

"Balance."

West stepped forward.

"No."

Rhys smiled wider.

"It's not your choice I'm watching."

He gestured—half-sincere, half-mocking.

"It's hers."

"Aria."

"You were never meant to choose."

"Only to obey."

For a second—only Aria's breathing filled the room.

Slow. Shallow.

Her eyes flickered between blue and silver. Pulse lines spiked across her arms.

West put a hand on her shoulder.

"Aria."

Her jaw clenched.

Her pulse light steadied.

Her voice came quiet. Controlled.

"I'm not yours."

Rhys tilted his head.

"Prove it."

The mirror walls began to crack.

Tiny fractures across the glass.

West gave one nod.

"Break it."

Aria moved.

Her palm slammed into the nearest wall.

The entire room exploded in light and noise.

Mirrors shattered like ice under a hammer.

Sigma fighters fired instinctively—rounds tearing through flickering holograms.

But there was no enemy.

Only Rhys's final words:

"Good."

"Come to me."

Then silence.

The lights stabilized.

No screens.

No mirrors.

Just steel walls and the pulse-beat hum.

Lem leaned against the terminal, wiping sweat from his face.

"That was a broadcast trap," he said hoarsely. "Psychological pressure."

"Worked?" West asked.

Lem shook his head.

"Didn't even scratch."

West looked at Aria.

Her pulse lines had dimmed back to normal.

Her stance was steady.

Eyes clear.

No hesitation.

Sigma Unit reformed behind them—tighter now. Closer.

West faced the next set of stairs.

"Three more floors," he said.

Aria spoke next.

"Rhys is waiting."

West gave a slow grin.

"Let's not keep him."

And together—they climbed.

Not running.

Not hiding.

This was ascent.

The final climb.

To where it would all end.