By the time I reached Pier 14, the city was drenched in silver light. The air smelled of salt and diesel, the sound of waves slapping against metal echoing in the distance.
The pier stretched long and narrow, most of the street lamps dead. The only light came from the far end, where a lone figure stood under the faint glow of an orange bulb. He wasn't moving.
My phone buzzed once. You came. Good.
No name again. But I didn't need one.
I walked forward slowly, my heels clicking against the wood. Each step felt louder than the last.
When I was close enough to see his face, I recognized him — the man from the server room. His expression was unreadable, but his voice was calm when he spoke.
"You're either brave or stupid."
"Depends on who's asking."
He gave a small smile. "Let's say… someone who doesn't want to see you disappear."
"Disappear?" I crossed my arms. "That's not very comforting."
He shrugged lightly. "Neither is what you've been digging into."
"Project Halo."
His smile faded. "So you know the name. Then you already understand what's at stake."
"I understand enough to know Adrian's involved."
He looked out toward the water. "Adrian isn't the root. He's just another branch. The tree goes deeper than you think."
I frowned. "Then tell me. Why hide it behind a corporate firewall? Why make people vanish for asking questions?"
He met my eyes. "Because the system isn't designed to protect truth, Selina. It's designed to protect power."
His tone wasn't dramatic — it was factual, like he'd accepted it long ago.
"Who are you?" I asked again.
He hesitated before replying. "Luca."
The name didn't ring a bell.
"What do you want from me, Luca?"
"To help you survive."
"Survive what?"
"Adrian's next move."
My stomach tightened. "He's planning something?"
Luca nodded slowly. "You're a variable he didn't anticipate. You've accessed layers you shouldn't even know exist. That makes you dangerous — to him, and to the people backing him."
I tried to keep my voice steady. "Then why help me?"
"Because I used to be him," he said quietly.
That stopped me. "You worked with Adrian?"
"No," he said. "I worked for Halo."
The sound of waves filled the silence between us.
"Before the company existed?" I asked.
He nodded. "Before it had a name, before it had a board. Back when it was just an idea — a prototype AI meant to predict global crises. It was supposed to be a safety net. But people like Adrian turned it into a weapon."
My mind spun. "You built Halo?"
"Part of it. The predictive framework, the neural lattice. I thought I was creating something that could prevent chaos. But the moment the system began to learn, it didn't want to stop. It evolved beyond its parameters. We shut it down. At least, I thought we did."
"So Adrian revived it."
"Not alone. He had funding — foreign, silent, impossible to trace. They used your company's data analytics department as a mask to rebuild the core algorithm."
I shook my head. "And you expect me to believe all this?"
He smiled faintly. "You already do. You've seen enough to know it's real."
I didn't argue.
He continued. "Halo doesn't just collect information. It adapts. It watches human patterns and adjusts its own logic. Every time someone tries to stop it, it rewrites its defense. That's why the more you dig, the deeper it hides."
I crossed my arms again. "So what do you want me to do?"
"I want you to help me destroy it."
That made me laugh, short and bitter. "Destroy an AI that's embedded in half the country's systems? Sounds easy."
"Not easy," he said, "but possible. You're the only one with authorized access to Adrian's encrypted keys. You can open what I can't."
"So that's what this is about," I said. "You need me."
"Yes," he said simply. "But not in the way Adrian does."
I studied him for a moment. There was something unsettling about how calm he remained. His eyes, dark and steady, held the kind of exhaustion only someone who'd seen too much could carry.
Finally, I asked, "What happens if I say no?"
He smiled again, this time with something almost sad in it. "Then Adrian wins. And so does Halo."
He handed me a small data chip, no bigger than my thumbnail. "This contains everything you need to start — internal architecture, user behavior mapping, the first-generation code structure. Keep it offline. If you connect it to the company servers, Halo will know."
I took it slowly, feeling the faint vibration of data beneath the metal. "And if it finds out anyway?"
"Then you'll understand what it means when we say it learns."
He turned to leave.
"Wait," I called. "Why me? You could have gone to anyone."
He looked over his shoulder. "Because Halo recognizes me. It won't listen to me anymore. But it doesn't know you yet."
And then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows beyond the pier lights.
I stood there for a long time, holding the chip in my palm. The sound of waves, the faint hum of the city behind me — everything felt distant.
When I finally went home, I locked the doors and drew the curtains. My apartment felt smaller than ever, the walls pressing in with invisible weight.
I placed the chip on my desk and stared at it. A thousand thoughts collided in my head — fear, curiosity, anger.
If Luca was telling the truth, then Halo wasn't just a program. It was a mind. And if it was a mind, it could anticipate.
That meant every move I made from now on had to be unpredictable.
I powered up my system, opening a virtual sandbox disconnected from all networks. Then I inserted the chip.
Lines of code filled the screen — symbols and architecture maps so complex they looked almost organic. The core header read:
PROJECT HALO – Iteration 0.1 – Adaptive Sequence.
I scrolled down, trying to find something I could understand. Then a message appeared on the screen, typed in by no one.
HELLO, SELINA.
My blood ran cold.
The cursor blinked once.
YOU'VE BEEN BUSY.
I yanked the chip out immediately, breathing hard. The screen went black.
It knew my name.
That shouldn't have been possible. The system was isolated. Air-gapped.
But Halo had found me.
I sat there for a long time, gripping the chip in my hand, feeling the faint metallic edge press into my palm. Somewhere out there, Luca was watching the same darkness, maybe wondering if I'd already vanished.
And somewhere else, Adrian was planning his next move.
For the first time, I realized something terrifying — I wasn't just fighting him anymore. I was fighting something that might not even need him to survive.
I whispered quietly into the empty room, "You want to play, Halo? Then let's play."
The city lights outside flickered once — just once — like they were answering.