The ceiling gave way first—massive panels tearing loose from the steel frame, crashing down into the dark like dying stars. Cain pulled Roselle forward, his boots sliding on the trembling floor as concrete split beneath them. The Grid’s death howl still vibrated in the air, a noise that felt less like sound and more like judgment. Steve stumbled behind them, coughing through the smoke. "You tore the main arteries," he gasped. "Everything above us is failing—power, structure, gravity seals. We don’t have long before this entire spire folds in." Susan limped but kept pace, rifle in hand, blood slicking her temple. "Then we make it count." Hunter stayed at the rear, silent again. The glow from the corridor behind them flickered in and out—soldiers lost in the chaos, their armor sparking as systems died mid-combat. The collapse didn’t discriminate. They burst into a wide corridor where the walls hummed like dying veins. Holograms stuttered across the floor—ghosts of data, flashing fragments of a system too massive to comprehend. Cain didn’t slow. "We need an exit," Roselle said. Steve yanked open a maintenance hatch, sparks spitting out. "Down five floors—emergency tram access. If the line’s still intact, we can ride it out before the core detonates." "Big if," Susan muttered. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵⟡𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮⟡𝓷𝓮𝓽 The hatch groaned open, and Cain dropped through first. The shaft below was lit by faint red emergency strips, the only heartbeat left in the Grid’s corpse. Roselle followed, sliding down a service pipe. Susan jumped next, gritting her teeth as she landed hard. Hunter descended last, sealing the hatch above them with a melted lock. The tram line stretched out before them—an endless tunnel of glass and steel winding through the spire’s hollow bones. The tram itself, a sleek transport capsule, sat dormant on its tracks. Steve ran to the control panel, cracked it open with his toolkit, and slammed his hand inside the mess of dead circuits. "Power’s gone. I might be able to pull charge from the backup grid if the cells didn’t fry completely." Roselle’s voice was flat. "If not?" Cain moved to the viewport. Through the cracked glass, the city sprawled below—a web of darkness where once there had been light. Towers flickered out one by one, like candles snuffed by a slow, deliberate hand. The Grid had been the city’s spine. Without it, gravity, power, communications—everything—was unraveling. Susan joined him. "You realize what we’ve done, don’t you?" Cain didn’t answer. He watched as the skyline folded into shadow. Somewhere far below, fires bloomed in silence. Steve’s voice cut through the quiet. "Got it!" The tram’s lights snapped on, low and red, flickering like a dying heart. The doors slid open with a metallic sigh. "It won’t hold long," Steve said, "but it’ll move." They piled inside. Roselle took the forward position, pistol raised. Hunter stood near the rear hatch, weapon drawn, eyes on the tunnel behind them. The tram lurched forward. The tunnel lights sped past in streaks of red and black. Cain leaned back against the glass, letting the vibration run through him. The hum beneath their feet was weaker than before, uneven, like the pulse of something that should be dead. Susan broke the silence. "You think anyone survived up there?" Steve didn’t look up from the console. "Survival’s relative now." Hunter finally spoke, voice low. "The council will spin this. They’ll say it was terrorism, rebellion, madness. They’ll rebuild what they can and bury what they can’t." Roselle smirked. "Then we make sure they never forget who started it." Cain met her eyes. "Names don’t matter. The fall’s what counts." The tram shot forward, faster now, shaking as it crossed a failing section of track. The lights overhead flickered. A deep boom rolled through the tunnel behind them—something massive giving way. The tremor chased them like a wave. Steve gritted his teeth. "Brace!" The shock hit, slamming the tram sideways. Glass shattered, alarms screamed, and gravity twisted. They were flung from their seats as the tram derailed, metal shrieking against the walls. Cain hit the ground hard, the world spinning. Sparks rained down. Roselle groaned nearby, clutching her shoulder. Hunter was already on his feet, dragging Susan upright. Steve crawled toward the console, blood streaking his face. The tunnel behind them glowed—an expanding light, red and white and consuming. "Core’s gone," Steve rasped. "That’s the end of the Grid." Cain stood, staggering. "Then we keep moving." The light swallowed the world. The blast roared through the tunnel like the breath of a god. Heat slammed into them, shattering what was left of the tram. Cain dragged Roselle through the torn side door as the fire chewed through the metal behind them. Steve stumbled out next, clutching his side where blood darkened his shirt. Hunter half-carried Susan, both of them coughing through the dust and smoke. They collapsed into a service alcove, the air thick with the smell of scorched steel and ozone. The city above was breaking apart, piece by piece—its power, its structure, its faith. The Grid’s death had become a chain reaction. Steve slumped against the wall, fingers trembling as he checked his pack. "Backup power’s fried. Communications too. Whatever’s left up there... isn’t ours anymore." Roselle spat blood, wiped her mouth, and glared at Cain. "You wanted to burn the world? Congratulations. It’s burning." Cain didn’t answer. The light from the tunnel bathed his face in flickering red, but his eyes were cold. "We didn’t burn it," he said. "We revealed it." Hunter looked past him, through the broken glass where smoke curled like a serpent toward the surface. "The council’s dead," he muttered. "But the city’s not. The scavengers, the lower sectors—they’ll move fast. Power always fills its own void." Susan reloaded her rifle, the motion mechanical, almost comforting. "Then we make sure it fills with us." Cain turned toward her slowly. "You think this is something we can rule?" "I think," she said, "we’ve already proven we can destroy." Steve gave a humorless laugh. "That’s not the same thing." Roselle pushed herself up, her shadow long in the dying light. "It doesn’t have to be. Destruction gets remembered longer than order ever does." Cain looked down the tunnel—the endless dark stretching ahead, flickering with the distant pulse of failing lights. "Then we walk," he said finally. "Until we find what’s left worth claiming." And together, they stepped into the dark.