The labyrinth beneath the arena stretched endlessly, the sterile corridors winding like veins beneath the structure. Jude’s footsteps echoed off the cold walls, each turn blending into the next with unrelenting sameness. Shadows pooled in the corners, the dim overhead lights casting a bluish glow on the cracked tiles. The air was tinged with the metallic scent of old machinery.

Navigating the maze of narrow hallways, sharp corners, and creaking elevators felt more suffocating than the maze they faced. Every step down the endless stairs pulled them deeper, the walls pressing in with a claustrophobic weight.

Finally, they emerged into a room shrouded in darkness, the only light coming from the soft hum of numerous screens that filled the space. Their glow painted the walls in an eerie, shifting blue, reminiscent of Thiago's living room but devoid of its chaotic charm.

Wires snaked along the floor, tangled and alive, like the hum of technology was a breathing organism.

Jude’s eyes scanned the room, "Did Thiago used to work here?" he asked.

Fatima stepped forward, her fingers grazing a dusty control panel as she flicked a few switches. A soft, fluorescent light buzzed to life, casting long shadows across the walls. "No," she replied. "Thiago was a Saint. He didn’t hide behind screens. He was out there, in the arena, fighting. Like all of us."

She paused, her eyes reflecting the glow of the monitors as if the images played out before her. "But he wasn’t just a fighter," she continued. "He was one of the first to put down his weapon, to agree to talk." Her hand lingered on the switch. "But his way of putting down his weapon was to show the world that Len and Paris were dropping theirs. And it was... " She was lacking in her wording.

"That’s a question for Len," Teresa said as an unspoken warning for Fatima.

The Friend's shoulders stiffened slightly, her gaze dropping back to the control panel as if she’d crossed an invisible line. Jude, sensing the shift, pushed gently, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Come on, Len can’t know everything," he said, teasing. "You’ve got an idea, right?"

Teresa’s eyes narrowed, her posture rigid. "You really think poking around will get you answers?" she shot back, almost daring him to continue.

Teresa’s gaze softened slightly, her stance relaxing just enough. "It started with a song," she admitted. "That’s all I know."

"A song?" Jude raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Come as You Are by Nirvana," Lucy chimed in. Her fingers were already dancing over the consoles, and curiosity lit up her face as she explored.

Jude blinked, clearly lost. "Who?" he asked, his confusion breaking the tension and earning Teresa a faint chuckle.

"You really don’t know anything, do you?" she teased, a rare smile tugging at her lips. "We... I mean, Len has a lot to catch you up on."

Lucy’s fingers paused on the console. "It’s a band," she said. "My dad used to play their songs over and over when I was in the hospital."

Jude and Teresa exchanged a quick glance but stayed silent, letting Lucy continue.

Her hands fidgeted slightly, tracing invisible patterns on the console's surface. "He was always searching," she added. "Searching for the people who had the updated version of the software."

She swallowed hard, a faint tremble in her voice. "He got arrested," she whispered, "because he wanted that CD. You can’t burn software on an MP3 player."

Jude’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a sudden jolt. "Brandon Smith?" he murmured, almost to himself.

Lucy, still tracing her fingers along the console, nodded without looking up. "Yeah," she confirmed. “Computer Science and Data Engineer Brandon Smith, that’s my dad.”

Jude exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to process the coincidence. "What a small world," he muttered, the words barely audible.

He turned to Teresa, seeking direction amidst the swirl of thoughts. "So," he asked, "what exactly are we looking for here?"

"Answers," Teresa replied. "Or at least the ones Len thinks you’re ready for."

Teresa moved along the rows of shelves, her fingers skimming over the dusty edges as she searched for something. Her eyes darted from one rack to another, scanning each label of VHS tape.

Fatima leaned over the glowing console, her hands dancing across the keys. She occasionally glanced sideways, watching Teresa's progress, though her fingers never paused their work.

Teresa muttered under her breath, barely loud enough for anyone to hear, “We used to keep a diary, you know, for emergencies. A record, in case things went south.” She stopped, tapping her foot lightly against the metal floor, her gaze narrowing as she inspected the rows. “But the tape’s missing.”

Fatima huffed softly, her focus fixed on the screen. Whatever she was navigating on the console seemed to be a puzzle of its own, her lips pursing in thought. Something was wrong, and Fatima did not share it.

Jude’s eyes followed the intermittent flicker of a faint blue light pulsing on the console. His finger raised, pointing toward it, "What’s that? The blue light—it keeps blinking."

Teresa and Fatima exchanged a quick glance, their expressions shifting from focus to alarm. Teresa’s jaw tightened, and Fatima’s fingers hesitated over the console, the faint tapping of keys suddenly absent.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Teresa stepped forward. “That’s a signal,” she said, her eyes narrowing as she studied the blinking light. “Someone’s trying to contact us.”

“It’s not just a signal,” Fatima murmured. “It’s coming from the outside, from Earth.”

Jude reached out, fingers hovering just above the button, curiosity pulling him forward. The flickering light reflected in his eyes, a faint glow of intrigue. He barely noticed Teresa and Fatima whip their heads toward him, panic flashing in their eyes.

"Don’t!" their voices rang out in unison.

He froze mid-motion, his hand lingering in the air. “Why?” he asked.

Teresa stepped closer, her eyes locked on the console. “We don’t know who’s on the other side,” she muttered. “Could be someone friendly—or it could be a trap.”

Fatima nodded, her fingers hovering over the keys, ready to react. “Once you open that line, you can’t close it. We need to be sure,” she added, her voice softer but no less serious. “We’ve had breaches before—things that shouldn’t be here got in.”

Jude withdrew his hand slowly. The blinking light now pulsed with an added sense of foreboding.

“Blue means it comes from outside,” Fatima explained.

Jude tilted his head, trying to grasp the implication. “Well, if it’s the other Friends, maybe we can talk,” he suggested.

Teresa’s gaze didn’t waver, and her expression hardened. “Jude, blue means it comes from Earth,” she clarified. “Anyone from Earth.”

“Anyone?” Jude echoed.

Teresa nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the blinking light. “Anyone,” she repeated.

Jude smiled as he turned to face the girls. Their expressions betrayed their unease, their instincts screaming that something was about to shift.

Teresa’s eyes darted between him and the others, her steps hesitant as she tried to close the gap. “Jude, buddy, we can talk this out. No need to—”

His expression didn’t falter. There was no anger, just a grim determination as he straightened, his voice cutting through her words like a blade. “Sleep, all of you!”

It wasn’t a shout. It wasn’t loud or frantic. It was a command, calm and adamant.

Lucy slumped forward over the console, her hair spilling across the keys as her body went limp. Fatima collapsed next, her legs giving way as she crumpled to the floor in a silent heap. Teresa, mid-step, faltered and fell in front of him, “Don’t betray us again… please.” she begged as her outstretched hand brushed his boot before the weight of unconsciousness pulled her completely under.

The room was silent except for the hum of the equipment and the faint flicker of screens casting cold light over the now motionless figures. Jude’s shoulders rose and fell as he exhaled with exhaustion—not from the act itself but from everything that had led him here.

He looked down at Teresa, her face peaceful in her forced sleep, and then to the others. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t cruel. He was just done.

No more secrets. No more being kept in the dark. He wanted to know who was behind that blue light.

----------------------------------------

The sound of duct tape ripping filled the small apartment. Brandon pressed the strips firmly along the edges of the windows, sealing each one. His eyes flicked toward Marta, who paced the room with her swollen belly leading the way.

She moved slowly, fanning herself with a magazine, her breath coming in short, tired bursts. Her other hand pressed into her back, rubbing in slow, circular motions. Her brow furrowed slightly, but she offered him a smile when she caught his worried glance.

“You sure you’re okay?” Brandon asked, pausing mid-tape.

Marta waved the magazine with more vigour, trying to cool herself down. “Yeah,” she replied with exhaustion. “Just... my back is killing me.”

She leaned heavily against the edge of the couch, closing her eyes for a moment.

Brandon pressed the final strip of duct tape against the glass, smoothing it into place with the palm of his hand. Each window in the apartment now bore a silver X.

The apartment trembled slightly under the howling gusts outside. The violent wind rattled the glass panes, a low, ominous moan echoing through the building. Brandon paused, listening intently as the wind surged again, slamming against the walls. They were expecting several tornadoes in their direction, and it seemed closer than ever.

A distant crash echoed from somewhere down the street—another neighbour’s window giving way—shards of glass scattered.

Brandon’s jaw tightened as he scanned their own makeshift fortifications, his fingers lingering on the cold edge of the tape.

Marta, still leaning against the couch, flinched at the sound. Her eyes met Brandon’s, a flicker of worry passing between them, though neither spoke. All these noises sounded like the end of the world.

Brandon’s thought drifted toward the basement corner, where the small pod hummed softly. Lucy was still with them.

He ran a hand through his hair as if trying to comb away all the stress that had accumulated in the last weeks. His eyes flicked back to Marta as she shifted uncomfortably.

The wind outside roared, shaking the walls again. The apartment trembled even more than the last time. Every part of him screamed to flee, to find safety, but leaving wasn’t an option, not without Lucy, at least not knowing she was still alive.

Lucy’s vitals weren’t improving, yet she held on with a resilience that mirrored his own desperate hope. But he knew, Marta knew, it was all a matter of when.

“We can try tomorrow if you don’t feel like it today.”

Marta gave a small, tired smile but said nothing. Her silence gnawed at him. At this point, her water should have already broken. Instead, she remained still, almost defiant, as though she were holding the baby hostage within her.

She wasn’t like his wife—not at all. Marta was a Friend. Her body followed rules that weren’t entirely human. That made everything more uncertain, more unpredictable. It made him feel helpless.

Even so, she looked calm, but Brandon saw through it. The way her hand lingered on her stomach wasn’t comforting—it was cautious, almost protective. How long could she hold out?

He ran a hand through his hair and leaned against the wall, glancing at the duffle bag he’d packed days ago, ready for the trip they might never take.

She stopped by the window, her free hand resting against the taped glass, staring out into the storm without really seeing it. The apartment lights flickered briefly, but her focus didn’t waver.

“Marta, if... if you need to rest, we can try again tomorrow. It doesn’t have to be today.”

Marta turned, her eyes meeting his. There was a quiet strength that made her different from anyone he had known. Yet, beneath that strength, he saw the same weariness he felt. But she wasn’t ready to give in just yet. “Maybe we should try to go to a hospital?”

“Hospital?” Marta's chuckle was brittle, her eyes dropping to her swollen belly. "Not once," she murmured. "The ultrasounds… I did those in a friend's basement." Her laugh barely held warmth, more a release of tension than genuine amusement. "Hospitals? They’d treat me like some freak show."

Brandon’s gaze shifted to the chaos beyond the glass. It felt almost surreal. "With everything going on out there," he said, thoughtful, "do you really think anyone would care? People are too caught up in their own shit."

Marta's lips curled into a faint, humourless smile. "Maybe. Maybe not. Come," she said. "We have work to do."

Brandon followed her to the staircase. The basement was filled with the hum of machines, their persistent beeping and whirring providing a grim soundtrack to their routine. Marta eased herself into a chair by the computer, the magazine still fluttering faintly in her hand, a futile attempt to cool her flushed face.

Her gaze fixed on Lucy’s monitors, the soft glow illuminating the small, fragile figure on the screen. Marta’s chest tightened as she watched the numbers flicker.

She swallowed hard, guilt twisted in her gut, an unspoken wish lingering in the back of her mind. It felt monstrous, thinking that maybe, just maybe, it would be better if Lucy’s suffering ended once and for all.