Targeted for Erasure
Kaelen Vane didn’t just feel the recoil of his victory; he felt the structural decay of his own nervous system. The Aegis-Link, embedded at the base of his skull, hummed with a parasitic heat that bled into his vision, painting the hangar in jagged, neon-blue probability lines.
"Kaelen, look at me," Mira snapped, her soldering iron hovering inches from his neck. "Your synaptics are redlining. If you don't dump the cache, you’ll be a vegetable before Halloway even bothers to send a formal execution squad."
Kaelen gripped the edge of his mech’s chassis, his knuckles white. The feedback wasn't just noise; it was a data-bleed from the Academy’s backbone. He saw the schematic of the tower’s foundation, a subterranean labyrinth labeled Floor Zero. It wasn't a maintenance level. It was a furnace.
"It’s not a malfunction, Mira," Kaelen rasped, his vision flickering with digital ghosts. "The match was a catalyst. The module is pulling data from the Academy’s core. They aren't training us. They’re harvesting us."
Mira’s face went pale, then hardened into a mask of cold resolve. "Then we need better plating. If Halloway knows you’re sniffing around the foundation, the next ‘accident’ won't be a remote kill-switch. It’ll be a structural collapse of your entire life. We move to the Sector 4 depot. Now."
They slipped into the maintenance corridors during the shift change. The air here was thin, metallic, and tasted of ozone. Kaelen’s neural link pulsed in sync with the overhead conduits, a rhythmic, agonizing throb. Every step was a gamble; the Aegis-Link’s predictive pathing highlighted the patrol drone’s route in flickering crimson, but the cost was a searing, needle-like pain behind his eyes.
"Quit shaking," Mira whispered, her fingers flying across a portable decryption deck at a junction box. "If the drone detects your signature spiking, we’re not just expelled. We’re erased."
Kaelen braced himself against the bulkhead. The drone glided past, its optical sensor sweeping the floor in a rhythmic, predatory arc. He watched the probability lines shift—a three-second window of blind spot. "Move," he signaled.
They sprinted. Kaelen forced his legs to ignore the tremors, his boots silent on the grated floor. As they reached the high-grade storage bay, a piercing whine echoed through the chamber. The drone had pivoted early, its sensor locking onto the heat signature of Kaelen’s overclocked link.
"Security alert," the automated voice boomed. "Unauthorized access in Sector 4."
"Grab the plating and get to the server room!" Mira shouted, shoving a canister of industrial-grade alloy into his chest. "I’ll draw them off!"
Kaelen didn't argue. He slammed into the server room, locking the blast door just as the drone’s pulse-fire scorched the metal behind him. Inside, he plugged his interface directly into the terminal. His fingers danced over the keys, bypassing firewalls that felt like rusted iron gates. He wasn't just looking for parts anymore; he was hunting for the truth.
"It’s all here," Kaelen muttered, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The energy distribution nodes—they’re siphoning output from the lower-floor frames. They’re turning the students into human batteries to keep the upper levels running. The Proving Ground isn't a test of skill. It’s a filter to see who produces the most heat before they burn out."
Mira skidded into the room, breathless. "That would mean the Academy isn't a school. It’s a harvester."
Kaelen ripped the drive from the terminal as the blast door groaned under an external override. He had the proof, but he was now a marked man. The ladder of the Academy wasn't just a climb; it was a death trap.
"We have the proof," Kaelen said, his voice cold. "Now we just have to survive long enough to show them."
Outside, the muffled cheers of the Proving Ground began to bleed through the vents. The crowd was starting to notice the underdog who wouldn't die. Kaelen looked at the drive, then at his trembling hands. The ladder was rising, and he was the only one who knew how high it went.