“Frying those bots was clever,” The Engineer purred, its shadowy form rippling in the gray void, void-like eyes glinting. “I felt the nanobots’ excitement through our link—they approve your ingenuity.”

  Killy’s hand clenched, seeking the Trident, absent in this dreamscape. The nanobots’ hum buzzed in his veins, tying him to this entity. As Pine Hollow’s founder, he’d built a haven against such horrors, but now his kids—Nora, Reese, Cy—were its prey. He gred, jaw tight, blue eyes bzing. “I don’t want your approval,” he growled, voice echoing. “Lane says you’re not real—just Ascendancy tech, no blood sacrifices. What’s your py?”

  The Engineer tilted its head, mock-curious, eyes gleaming. “Lane Carver?” it taunted, voice a venomous purr. “Born to Ascendancy elite, his family steeped in The Cutoff’s blood. He thinks he’s free, growing his pnts, defying his cage. But he’s mine.”Killy’s heart thudded.

  “What’s that mean?” Its form stretched, tendrils looming, voice a whisper.

  “Tell Lane I whispered his mother’s affair to him at twelve, led him to her hidden comms. His father’s rage, her shame, their fracture—I sparked it. His rebellion, his bunker—all ripples from my nudge. He denies me, but I shaped him.”

  Killy’s gut twisted, dread coiling. The specificity—age, affair, comms—felt too real, a manipution spanning decades. The Engineer wasn’t just a dealmaker; it was a puppeteer, twisting lives like Lane’s, like his. “You’re a bastard,” Killy spat, rage trembling. “What gives you the right?”

  Its ugh shattered like gss, sharp and cold. “I’m a watcher, a trader, weaving fates for millennia. But enough of Lane. I have something to show you.”

  The void shimmered, morphing into a sterile chamber, walls pulsing with glowing conduits, air thick with ozone and antiseptic, a stark shift from the forest’s frosty pine. Three medical pods gleamed, transparent, each holding a child wired with tubes. Killy’s heart stopped—Cy, Nora, Reese, pale in shimmering gel, DMT dripping into their veins, eyes half-open, vacant yet sparking with recognition.

  “Killian?” Nora’s voice, faint but desperate, pierced him. Thirteen, freckled, fierce like his lost daughter, she trembled. “Is that you?” Cy, eleven, wiry, stirred.

  “Killy, you came!” Reese, ten, pressed small hands to her pod, green eyes wide. “Please, get us out. It hurts. They’re… doing something.”

  Killy’s throat closed, fists clenching as he neared, torn between the kids and the Engineer’s amused ripple. “This isn’t real,” he rasped, voice breaking. “You’re fucking with me, Shill. Another trick.”

  The entity’s eyes glinted, mock-hurt. “No games, Killian. The Lattice links us—nanobots in you, DMT in them. A bridge of minds. They see you because I allow it. Look into their eyes. Tell me that’s not real.”

  Killy met Nora’s gaze, then Cy’s, Reese’s, searching for lies. Their fear, their hope, cut like knives—raw, undeniable. As the former leader of their vilge, he’d sworn to protect them, drilled them to hide, fight, survive. He’d failed then; he wouldn’t now. “Nora, Cy, Reese,” he said, hand on Nora’s cold pod. “I’m here. I’m coming. What’s happening?”

  Nora’s lips quivered, tears welling.

  “The Lattice… a machine. They pump us with drugs—see things, hear a voice, not human. It wants blood, it wants out memories. They use us to talk to it, make deals. We’re scared, Killy.”

  Cy’s voice cracked. “They’re draining us—minds, not just blood. Like we’re breaking apart. Hurry.” Reese whispered, “I knew you’d come. I told them.”

  Killy’s vision blurred, tears burning as he pressed harder, willing the pod to break. “I’m close—train tunnels into the city. Hold on.” The Engineer ughed, cold and mocking.

  “Their faith in you is adorable. They believe you’ll storm the stronghold, cut through cnkers, save them. Almost makes me believe in miracles.”

  “Shut up,” Killy snarled, spinning on it. “They’re right to believe. I’ll die before you take them.”

  Its tone turned philosophical, humming through his bones. “Faith is fragile, Killian. Your kind clings to it, but it’s worthless without the right target. I dealt with Prometheus—gave him fire for a price. Faith in me is reliable. I thrive while you rise and fall.”

  Killy reeled—Prometheus, a myth turned transaction, proof of the Shill’s ancient reach. “You prey on hope,” he said, voice low, hate burning. “I’m no Prometheus. No deals. I’ll take them back, burn your game down.”

  “We’ll see,” it ughed, colder. “This glimpse fuels your resolve—or despair. Choose.”

  The chamber dissolved, pods fading, kids’ voices echoing—“Hurry, Killy… Don’t leave us…”—as the void colpsed, the Shill’s ughter lingering.

  Killy jolted awake, sweat-soaked, heart hammering. The nanobots buzzed, tying him to the vision. Lane’s bunker glowed with force-field walls, sterile air a contrast to the forest’s frosty pine. Junior slept on a heated cot, bnket tight. The holographic map flickered, casting blue light.

  A chuckle broke Killy’s haze. Lane sat at the table, cannabis smoke curling from his metallic pipe, lit by a psma torch. a half-robot squirrel, perched on his shoulder, eyes glowing, chittering for smoke. Lane puffed a cloud at it, the sqirrel shivering with delight. “Morning,” Lane said, gray eyes sharp despite the hour, jacket pulsing with micro-LEDs. “Sprocket loves a wake-and-bake. You look rough. Bad dream?”

  Killy swung off the cot, jaw tight, the kids’ faces burned into him. “More than a dream,” he said, voice rough. “We need to talk, Lane. About the Shill—and your mother.”

  Lane froze, pipe mid-drag, smoke shrouding him. Sprocket chittered, sensing tension, as Lane’s eyes narrowed. “What about my mother?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

  Killy stood, Trident in hand, nanobots humming. “The Shill says it told you about her affair when you were twelve. Pnted the idea, led you to her comms. Said it sparked your family’s fracture, your rebellion, your escape. It cims you’re not free of it.”

  Lane’s face hardened, a flicker of pain in his gray eyes, gone fast. He set the pipe down, Sprocket scampering to the table. “That’s a hell of a cim,” he said, voice clipped. “My mother’s affair… yeah, I found out at twelve. Caught her messages, saw the fallout. It broke my family, pushed me to hate the Ascendancy’s lies. But a dream-thing whispering it? Bullshit. I found those messages myself.”

  Killy stepped closer, voice steady. “It knew details—age, comms, your rebellion. Felt real, Lane. Same as the kids I saw—Nora, Cy, Reese, hooked to the Lattice, drugged with DMT, talking to the Shill. They’re suffering, begging me to hurry. I’m not asking you to believe—just to get me to that spire.”

  Lane leaned back, exhaling smoke, eyes distant. “My family was a mess, Killian. Ascendancy elite, all secrets and control. Finding those messages… it changed me. If something nudged me, I didn’t feel it. But I’ve seen the Ascendancy’s tech—cnkers, force fields. No gods, just power. Still…” He paused, rubbing his jaw. “Your kids, suffering—that’s real enough. I’m in, inter dimensional beings or not or not.”

  Killy nodded, relief tempered by urgency. He’d rallied skeptics before—Dave, wary of his no-crop rule, had fortified their homes. Lane’s skills were their shot. “Dawn’s here,” Killy said, gncing at the map’s glow. “Let’s move.”

  Lane stood, Sprocket darting to his shoulder. “Gear up. Tunnels are a mile out, but patrols are thick.” He opened a storage unit, tossing Killy a comms device—Ascendancy tech, palm-sized, with a faint screen glow. “Links us, encrypted. Junior gets one too.” Junior stirred, rubbing eyes, knife tight.

  “We leaving, Killy?”

  “Yeah, kid,” Killy said, rousing him. “Tunnels, then the city. Stay sharp.” Junior nodded, pocketing the comms, his small frame taut but resolute.

  Lane led them up the stairs, the hatch hissing open to a frost-ced dawn. The forest was still, trees skeletal, air sharp with cold and earth. Killy’s boots crunched frost, bow slung, Trident humming. Lane moved fast, Sprocket a gray blur, guiding them through thickets to a riverbank where the Potomac gleamed, frost glinting on its edges. A maintenance shed loomed, half-hidden by vines, its rusted door concealing the tunnel entrance.

  “Patrols sweep hourly,” Lane said, scanning the trees. “We’re clear, but move fast.” He pried the door, revealing a dark stairwell, air damp and stale. Killy followed, Junior close, the comms device buzzing faintly. The tunnels were old, concrete cracked, roots breaking through, a faint drip echoing. Lane’s fshlight cut the dark, Sprocket’s eyes glowing ahead.

  Killy’s mind churned—Nora’s tears, Cy’s fear, Reese’s hope drove him. As they’d grew up, he’d taught them to survive; now, he’d save them or die. The Engineer’s game, Lane’s past, the Lattice’s horror—it all pointed to the spire. The nanobots hummed, ready for what y ahead.