HOVE – LOCATION UNKNOWN – DISTRICT III
Holographic glyphs shimmered like spectral fireflies around Shakes' head as he hunched over the console, sweat trailing down his temples like tiny meteors burning through gravity.
Fingers flew across the glass interface, yet again, only to end with the same bitter error:
"Sequence Terminated. Unknown Construct."
He slammed the console.
"I don't get it... It's not working. Every sequence, every simulation... failed."
His breath fogged the glass. Data, he could read. But interpretation? That was slipping through his fingers like stardust. The mission was supposed to be clean: decrypt, isolate and reprogram the Horde Codex, unleash the viral sequence, and reduce Havery's empire to digital ashes.
But the virus... was alive.
He exhaled and reached for the emergency core under the desk — a dusty black prism marked [SHAKY v0.99].
He hadn't activated this relic in years. A chaotic shard of his former self, unfiltered and unstable. A mirror with too many cracks.
"Let's wake the devil," he muttered, slamming it into the port.
A surge. The lights flickered violently — then from the holo-grid, a digital figure emerged. Crooked grin, eyes like blinking neon code, hair flickering like static.
"Yo! Back from the graveyard, huh? Missed me, meatbag?"
"Let's do this, Shaky. One more run."
"One more? I was built for this. Unlike you, chicken balls!" Shaky cackled like corrupted thunder.
Across the chamber, Bridget stepped into view, eyes narrow, arms crossed over her sleek tech-weave jacket.
"You're getting serious, huh? Thought you swore off that parasite."
"He didn't hate me," Shaky interjected. "You can't hate what you can't replace. I'm all code and no cold, baby!"
Bridget didn't laugh.
"Funny. I know someone else he replaced."
Her voice dipped into steel. "Someone he left behind."
She turned and walked out, heels tapping like gunshots on the metal floor.
Shakes sighed but didn't flinch. He stared at the hologram now materializing in front of him — the Horde Virus: a writhing cube, jet black and semi-organic, its angles constantly folding in and out of themselves, unstable like a quantum storm.
It pulsed. It vibrated. It breathed.
"What the hell is that?" Shaky recoiled.
"For an AI, you're pretty much—"
"Say it, and I'll murder you in cold blood. Or should I say, code blocks! Oh!" Shaky winked, satisfied with his pun.
"Cross-analyze it. Ref the last fifty years of Horde movement archives, BlackNet leakage, orbital spill logs."
Shaky grumbled.
"Damn. All work and no joke, that's what you are. But I can't analyze this thing."
"Why not?"
"Because it's not—"
The lights snapped. The hum of life extinguished. The room fell into a void.
A beat later, red emergency lights bathed the chamber like blood. Shaky disappeared in a fizz of pixels.
From the far comms, screams erupted.
"—Shakes, get out! We've been—"
Bridget's voice fractured into static... then a high-pitched scream, followed by gunfire and the distinct boom of a plasma grenade.
Shakes spun, fingers darting to hack into surveillance drones. Cameras blinked online.
Outside, chaos.
Three figures — Guerrero, Spyder, and Echo — tore through guards and machines like celestial beasts of war.
Guerrero smashed a turret-bot with his fist, bullet casings bouncing off his steel jaw as he grinned savagely.
Spyder, limbs snapping with unnatural angles, danced through the security team, blades dripping.
Echo hovered mid-air, her voice a frequency pulse that shattered reinforced glass and flesh alike.
"Shit…" Shakes whispered.
"Oh no, I am so dead!" Shaky reappeared briefly. "Just kidding . I'm immortal. Good luck, nerd." He vanished with a digital cackle.
Shakes turned back to the Horde. The cube's pulses now synced with the facility's failing power grid — it was feeding.
He grabbed a magnetic isolator rod and his last flash key, then sprinted toward the central containment robot — a spider-like construct with exposed wires and one cycloptic eye.
Behind him, the heavy doors hissed open.
Havery, draped in a darkened neo-military cloak, stormed in with his elite guard. His voice was volcanic.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! Finish the job, or I'll finish you myself!"
But outside, death reigned.
A wall exploded as Guerrero crashed through it, dragging three bodies in his grip, laughing as he flung them like dolls. Spyder followed, carving a path, blood and oil indistinguishable on her silver-blade arms. Echo floated in silently, disintegrating weapons with each flick of his fingers and blast from his mouth.
And just as they regrouped, a strange, lone figure stepped past the fire and rubble.
Rolo.
"I've come to make peace... and tea!" he declared.
He stepped into the chaos, eyes wide at the carnage.
"...Tea?" he whispered, horrified.