The guard's enhanced systems flickered and died, steam rising from ruptured cooling lines. Kasper let the body drop, already scanning for the next threat. His father's exoskeleton whined in protest as he shifted stance – the knee joint grinding against damaged gears.

"Target has neutralized Torres." The Director's voice carried that same clinical fascination, like Kasper was just another lab specimen exceeding parameters. "Note the precision of the strike pattern. Pure human combat techniques proving remarkably effective against enhanced operators. Most illuminating."

Kasper's empty ports burned at the words, phantom pain mixing with memories of Circuit screaming on the processing table. The data stick felt heavy in his chest pocket – weighted with evidence of every atrocity The Director had committed in the name of evolution. Every enhanced child twisted into a weapon. Every failed experiment disposed of in Costa del Sol's industrial furnaces.

The maintenance tunnel stretched ahead, baroque angels watching through copper-stained tears as steam and blood mixed on colonial tile. Three drops of blood. That's all it would take to give him away.

The exoskeleton's knee gave out with a sound like a dying animal, sending Kasper stumbling against centuries-old tile. His hand left a crimson smear on Costa del Sol's bones – third one in the last hour. Rookie mistake. Fatal mistake. The maintenance shaft reeked of burnt coffee and coal smoke, morning offerings from the workers' shrine above where they still left cups of yerba mate for Santa Muerte. Their whispered prayers mixed with the constant thunder of ancient processors crushing carbon into diamonds.

A burst of static through the facility's ancient speakers: "Enhancement rejection accelerating. Find him. Now."

The Director's voice made Kasper's empty ports burn. Twelve hollow sockets where Lazarus-grade chrome used to be. Twelve reminders of what they'd stripped from him during "processing." Each one a lesson in how much pain a human could take before breaking.

His father would've had a fit seeing the exoskeleton run this ragged. "Maintenance before mission, kid." But his father had never been carved open while conscious, never felt The Director's "specialists" remove enhancement ports one by one. Never watched his team die on clinical tables while being "processed" for research.

The tunnel's baroque angels stared down through copper-stained tears as tactical chatter echoed through ventilation grates:

"Target's moving deeper into processing..."

"Enhancement rejection at critical threshold..."

"...bleeding but still mobile. Like a damn cucaracha..."

The last one was pure Santos – the casual contempt of someone who'd hunted humans too long for the cartels. Through his fever haze, Kasper caught the subtle change in air pressure that meant company coming. No enhancement sensors needed – just the instincts they'd drilled into him at the academy before loading him up with chrome.

He wedged himself into an alcove as footsteps approached, each step carrying the artificial precision of military-grade enhancements. The exoskeleton's damaged knee screamed against colonial marble. Above, someone was burning copal incense in the cathedral, the sacred smoke finding its way down through ancient vents. The smell made his empty ports ache with memories of Sarah lighting the same incense before enhancement surgery. Before The Director had twisted her faith into something monstrous.

"Careful around the corners, pendejos." Santos's voice bounced off carved stone, closer now. His enhancement ports cast shadows that made the angels look like they were bleeding light. "Our pure human friend's already cost us three operators. Making us look like amateur hour."

"Should've put him down at processing." The new voice carried military harmonics – someone running chord mods in their vocal enhancement. "Instead of playing guinea pig for The Director's evolution protocols."

"You think I don't know that, Victor?" Real anger cracked through Santos's professional facade. "Fifteen years I've been hunting chrome runners, and this pendejo's making us look like fresh recruits. But orders are orders. Director wants him alive for study."

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Kasper did a resource check as their footsteps faded. six rounds left in his pistol. Combat knife dulled from desperate work. Half a stim-pack that would probably stop his heart. And his father's exoskeleton, now running at maybe forty percent capacity. The suit's knee ground against damaged gears with each micro-adjustment.

Blood dripped onto colonial tile. Four drops now.

T

He chose a direction at random, driven more by animal instinct than any real plan. The tunnels all looked the same - carved angels and colonial tile stained with centuries of industrial grime. Without his tactical overlay, without his enhancement sensors, every junction became another gamble.

The tunnel split ahead into darkness. Left or right? His vision swam as he tried to focus through the fever. The air to the right had a different taste - sharp chemicals that made his empty ports burn, mixed with something else... candle wax? A shrine maybe, though down here it could have been anything.

The facility's PA system crackled to life, making his skull throb: "Fascinating adaptation. Even with significant blood loss, his neural architecture shows remarkable resilience. Most... illuminating. Bring him to Processing with minimal additional trauma."

Kasper's hands shook as he checked the exoskeleton's seals, fighting vertigo that made the baroque corridors spin. Through some grate above, fragments of singing drifted down, mixing with the thunder of industrial machinery. The hymns could have been coming from anywhere, bouncing off stone and metal until direction became meaningless.

A fallen length of pipe caught his eye in the dim light. The exoskeleton's servos whined as he reached for it – the sound echoing too loudly in the confined space. It would draw them, but maybe that was exactly what he needed. His father's voice cut through the fever fog: "Pressure finds weak points, mijo. Enhancement tech hates thermal shock."

His hands found a steam valve more by luck than skill. He didn't know where he was, didn't know where any of these tunnels led, but he knew this: enhanced operators couldn't handle sudden temperature spikes.

"Heat signature moving." The voice bounced off stone, making Kasper flinch. Too close. "Got him trapped in section—"

The steam valve exploded.

Superheated vapor caught the enhanced operators full force, their cooling systems failing against the sudden spike. Through the scalding cloud, Kasper caught fragments of motion - chrome-plated bodies stumbling as their temperature regulators overloaded. The pipe felt heavy in his hands as he moved, targeting joints and ports with mechanical precision. No enhancement targeting needed - just the endless drills his academy instructor had beaten into muscle memory.

"Madre de Dios!" Santos's warning came too late as Kasper's improvised weapon found the gap between helmet and collar - the same weak point every early-model combat suit shared. The lieutenant's secondary cooling lines ruptured, spraying brass-colored fluid across stone angels. His artificial voice broke into something raw and human.

The exoskeleton's knee finally gave out as Kasper dove through the steam cloud. Pain shot through his broken ribs, but momentum carried him past their firing lines. His father's mechanical masterpiece fought to compensate, hydraulics straining as he rolled under what felt like a security gate.

Blood pounded in his ears as he forced himself deeper into the darkness. Filter masks. They'd be wearing filter masks now, adapting to his steam trick. But filter masks meant reduced peripheral vision. Meant having to turn their whole heads to check corners. Meant opportunities.

He pressed himself into an alcove, breathing through clenched teeth as boots echoed off stone. The first guard passed within arm's reach, enhanced vision focused forward, filter mask limiting his field of view exactly as predicted. Kasper's pipe caught him behind the knee - the same point where leg armor had to flex. Carbon fiber cracked. The guard stumbled.

Before the others could react, Kasper was moving. The exoskeleton's damaged servos screamed as he grabbed the falling guard, using him as a shield. Two rounds sparked off the enhanced armor before his attackers recognized their mistake. That hesitation was all he needed.

He hurled his human shield into the nearest shooter. They went down in a tangle of chrome and curses. The pipe followed, catching another guard's filter mask with enough force to shatter its seals. Steam rushed in. Enhancement ports sizzled as emergency cooling systems failed.

"Containment protocol seven!" Santos's voice carried undertones of genuine fear now. "Don't let him reach—"

Static swallowed the rest as Kasper stumbled through the chaos. Blood and hydraulic fluid marked his path through darkness, but the steam would mask his heat signature. Buy him precious seconds while they recalibrated.

He caught movement in his peripheral vision - a guard trying to flank through a side passage. Amateur mistake. The pipe caught his enhancement ports with surgical precision. Quick. Clean. The way they'd trained him before technology made everyone sloppy.

The exoskeleton's servos whined as he forced it into motion. Behind him, boots echoed off stone as Santos reorganized his team. Ahead, that strange presence waited in the dark. No choice but forward. No way but through.