The city did not scream.
It shifted.
Yin Lie felt it the moment he took that second step—
a subtle change beneath his feet,
as if the ground itself had decided to stop resisting
and start redirecting.
Not helping.
Not protecting.
Making paths.
"Mian," he murmured, breath unsteady.
"…it's opening."
Qin Mian looked around, confused.
"Opening what?"
Before anyone could answer,
the street behind them dropped.
Not collapsed—
slid.
A rectangular section of asphalt folded inward with a grinding groan,
revealing a dark shaft beneath the road,
lined with rusted rails and maintenance lights
that flickered on one by one,
as if awakened from a long sleep.
Kai's eyes widened.
"…Old transit spine," she breathed.
"Pre-Grid era."
The Director turned sharply.
"That access was sealed," she said.
Kai laughed once—sharp and humorless.
"So was half this city," she replied.
"Before you turned it into a cage."
The underground opening continued to widen,
dust rolling upward like smoke from a wound.
A tunnel.
Not a system-controlled gate.
Not a sanctioned route.
Something older.
Something the city had never fully surrendered.
Yin Lie swayed.
Qin Mian grabbed him instantly.
"Lie—stay with me—don't drift—"
"I'm here," he whispered.
"Just… dizzy."
The effort of standing, choosing, resisting—
it was tearing at him from the inside.
Kai didn't hesitate.
"Move," she said.
"Now."
The Decision Window
The Director's gaze flicked from the tunnel
to Yin Lie
to Qin Mian.
Calculating.
Rewriting probabilities in real time.
"This is inefficient," she said calmly.
"Phase Two containment is still viable."
Kai stepped backward toward the opening,
never turning her back.
"You don't need efficiency," she replied.
"You need control."
The Director smiled faintly.
"And you need distance."
She raised her hand.
Above them, the sky brightened—
not lightning,
but alignment.
Orbital platforms adjusting position.
Kai cursed.
"She's locking onto the vertical grid—
we've got seconds."
Qin Mian tightened her grip around Yin Lie's waist.
"I can hold him," she said quickly.
"I can keep him stable—just tell me where to go."
Kai looked at her.
Really looked.
Then nodded.
"You go first," she said.
"I'll cover."
Yin Lie shook his head weakly.
"No—she'll die—"
Kai met his eyes.
"I know exactly what I'm doing."
And before either of them could argue,
she shoved Qin Mian forward.
The Drop
The tunnel swallowed sound.
Qin Mian stumbled as the ground vanished beneath her,
gravity yanking her down into darkness—
Yin Lie cried out once, instinctively wrapping an arm around her.
The Anchor field flared—
not violently—
but supportively.
Their fall slowed.
Not floating.
Guided.
They landed hard but intact on a metal service platform,
knees buckling, breath knocked from their lungs.
Above them, light fractured.
The opening shrank.
Kai dropped last.
She hit the platform in a roll,
came up instantly, blade already in hand.
The tunnel sealed above them—
not cleanly,
but forcefully—
concrete grinding back into place like a clenched jaw.
Darkness rushed in.
Then emergency lights flickered on,
casting the tunnel in dim amber strips.
Silence.
For half a second.
Then—
BOOM.
The street above detonated.
Not from an explosion—
from compression.
The sound hit like a physical blow,
dust raining from the tunnel ceiling.
Qin Mian screamed.
Yin Lie flinched, clutching his head.
"…She collapsed the surface," he gasped.
"She's sealing routes—"
Kai wiped blood from her temple.
"She's flushing us downward."
The tunnel groaned.
Old metal protested.
Water dripped somewhere far below.
The Underground Breathes
They ran.
Not heroically.
Not cleanly.
Stumbling through narrow walkways,
past corroded signage written in obsolete languages,
through spaces never meant for people anymore.
The city above them moved like a net.
The city below them moved like a maze.
Kai led without hesitation,
turning corners before sensors could activate,
kicking open sealed hatches with practiced brutality.
"How do you know where to go?" Qin Mian shouted.
Kai didn't slow.
"I grew up here," she said.
"Before the grid.
Before the lies."
Behind them, something mechanical shifted.
A deep hum.
Yin Lie staggered.
"…Sweep Teams," he whispered.
"They're adapting underground."
Qin Mian felt his weight increase.
"Lie—hey—look at me—breathe—"
"I'm trying," he said through clenched teeth.
"The pressure's lower here…
but my body—
it doesn't like confined space."
The tunnel lights flickered violently.
Not from power loss.
From resonance.
Kai glanced back.
"Can you move?"
"Yes," Yin Lie said.
"But if I lose balance—
I won't be able to pull it back in time."
Kai nodded once.
"Then don't lose balance."
The First Gate
They reached a massive circular door—
a rusted bulkhead half-buried in collapsed debris.
Old warning symbols marked its surface.
Qin Mian stared.
"What is this?"
Kai pressed her palm to a recessed panel.
"An emergency evacuation spine," she said.
"No longer mapped.
No longer monitored."
The panel flickered—
dead.
Kai swore.
"Power's gone."
Yin Lie stepped forward shakily.
"…It's not," he murmured.
"It's just… asleep."
He placed his hand against the metal.
Not forcing.
Not freezing.
Just present.
The bulkhead vibrated softly.
Ancient systems stirred.
Lights crawled back to life along the door's edge.
Qin Mian felt her Anchor field resonate—not with strain, but recognition.
The door unlocked with a sound like a long-held breath being released.
Kai stared.
"…You didn't override it."
Yin Lie swallowed.
"I didn't need to."
The door rolled open.
Beyond it—
depth.
A vast vertical shaft disappearing into darkness,
with ladders, rails, and maintenance platforms spiraling downward.
Kai gestured sharply.
"Down," she said.
"We don't stop."
Above them, the tunnel ceiling trembled again.
The city was still closing.
The Director was still watching.
But for the first time—
They were moving
by choice.
Qin Mian took Yin Lie's hand.
He squeezed back, weak but real.
And together,
they disappeared into the underground arteries of the city—
where the grid was blind,
the past was thick,
and the hunt had only just begun.