Chapter 8: Glitches
The silence of the white corridor was a fragile, transient thing. It shattered completely the moment the reinforced doors to the Combat Pod bay hissed open, flooding them with a deep, resonant thrum, less a sound and more a vibration that sank into the bones. The air was cooler here, almost surgical, tinged with ozone and the faint bite of overheated circuits.
Jax walked in like he owned the place, his gait loose, confident, and utterly at home in the hum of power. "Welcome to the only place in this hellhole that's actually fun," he said, grinning over his shoulder. "Try not to get your brain scrambled. Neural feedback's a bitch."
Kaelan followed, his steps slower, eyes adjusting to the cavernous dark. The bay stretched endlessly in both directions — a cathedral of machines. Hundreds of black pods stood upright in neat ranks like silent coffins, their soft blue indicator lights pulsing in rhythm, giving the place the heartbeat of a sleeping beast. Recruits moved among them like priests at a mechanical altar, each face carrying the same look of grim reverence.
"Jax. You're cutting it close."
The voice came from the far end, crisp and steady. A woman leaned against Pod 22. She had short hair, steel-gray eyes that missed nothing. Elara. She didn't posture. She didn't have to.
Jax beamed like he'd been waiting for his cue. "Elara, this is Walker, our newest experiment in poor decision-making. Walker, this is Elara. She talks in bullet points but everything she says hurts and it's usually right. It's deeply annoying."
She didn't smile. Just a curt nod. "Newbie? Isn't he the one behind all the talks lately?"
Kaelan didn't answer, didn't blink. He'd learned long ago that silence unsettled people more than any words could.
Before either could press, a technician shuffled up — the living embodiment of burnout. Pale, hollow-eyed, smelling faintly of solder and bad coffee. "New one?" he droned, not even looking up from his datapad.
"Just him," Jax said.
"Pod 23. Survival module. Loadout's internal. You die, the run ends. Try not to trigger feedback loops." The words rolled out flatly, memorized through repetition.
Jax clapped his hands. "Alright, dream team. Three-man fireteam, classic setup. Elara on overwatch, I'll handle crowd control, and our little mystery man here gets to pick his flavor. Loud or quiet, Walker?"
Kaelan didn't hesitate. "Knife."
Jax blinked. "A knife. Like, main weapon knife?"
"Main."
Elara tilted her head slightly. "Close-in work?"
"It's what I know."
Jax let out a soft whistle. "You are one interesting guy, Roomie." He gestured at the pods like a showman. "Suit up."
The pod's interior sealed him in with a hiss. The harness adjusted to his body — snug, confining, final. For a moment there was only blackness, then light unfolded around him, pixel by pixel, until reality reassembled itself.
He stood in the skeleton of a refinery — corroded towers and broken catwalks rising into a sunless sky. Wind howled through steel bones. The smell of rust, oil, and old death hung heavy in the air. A faint blue display hovered in his vision: TIMER: 00:00 | TEAM: JAX — ELARA — WALKER
"Comms check," Jax's voice crackled through the link.
"Clear," said Elara.
"Clear," Kaelan replied.
"Good. Armory to your right. Grab your butter knife."
Kaelan ignored the arsenal of rifles and rifles-with-attitude shimmering before him. His hand closed on the blade, a simple combat knife, matte black steel, perfect balance. When he gripped it, the weight felt… right. Honest.
He joined the others at a low vantage point. Jax hefted a machine gun the size of a child, its barrel gleaming under the dying light. Elara crouched on a high gantry, eyes scanning through a holographic sight.
"Alright," Jax said, voice alive with adrenaline. "Try not to die in the first thirty seconds."
The timer clicked to 00:30.
The far bay door shrieked open, a guttural, metallic roar that echoed through the facility. Out spilled the enemy: humanoid drones in matte-black armor, eyes glowing red like forge embers. Their movements were precise, mechanical, hungry.
Then came the Buzzers. The sound hit first, a high-pitched whining, rising and falling, crawling under the skin. From the shadows between the towers, the small flying spheres zipped out like angry hornets.
"Contact! Ground east, flyers inbound!" Jax barked.
And the world exploded.
Jax's gun opened fire in a thunderous, continuous roar. Shell casings flew, ringing off steel. Elara's bursts cracked sharp above, clean, controlled, surgical.
Kaelan moved.
He wasn't a man anymore, he was motion. He slipped between shadows, sliding along walls slick with virtual grime, breath synced with the rhythm of chaos. A drone rounded a corner; Kaelan's knife punched under its jaw, tearing through the soft seam of armor. He ripped it out sideways, one clean, efficient movement, and rolled behind another machine. The second drone fired a burst that tore sparks from the steel. Kaelan ducked, pivoted, and drove his knife into the base of its skull.
The fight turned feral fast.
Jax's laughter boomed through the comms, manic and electric. "Let's gooo! Keep that rhythm!"
Elara's voice cut in, calm, clinical. "Top left catwalk, there are two, no, three hostiles advancing."
Kaelan didn't need to look. He felt the world, the hum of machinery, the angles of cover, the steady heat of his own pulse. His body obeyed without hesitation. He was a whisper of motion between towers, using pipes and ladders as stepping stones. A flying Buzzer screamed past his ear; he ducked beneath it, spun, and slashed it mid-air. It detonated behind him in a burst of white sparks that blew his coat forward like a cape.
"Jesus," Jax breathed. "That was....hell, I don't even have a word for that."
Kaelan didn't respond. He didn't have breath to waste. The simulation was merciless — heat, noise, impact. His muscles burned. The virtual air tasted like metal.
Minutes stretched like years.
They pushed through wave after wave, drones advancing in disciplined formations, Buzzers swarming in screeching clusters. Jax anchored the line, his gun turning red from the heat. Elara rained death from above, moving with clockwork efficiency. Kaelan filled the gaps, intercepting flankers, dragging down machines with brutal, close-quarter precision.
At one point, a hulking drone with heavy armor and twin cannons thundered out from the smog. Its footsteps made the floor vibrate. Kaelan dove under a pipe as a barrage of tracer rounds chewed through the scaffolding. Jax's machine gun barked, punching holes in its plating, but it kept advancing.
"Walker, move!" Jax yelled.
Kaelan didn't. He sprinted toward it.
The heavy drone turned, targeting him but it was too slow. Kaelan vaulted off a broken railing, planted one boot on the monster's shoulder, and drove his knife into the glowing seam along its neck. Sparks flew, a howl of grinding metal filled the air, and it collapsed in a heap of smoking fragments.
Kaelan landed in a crouch, chest heaving. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Sweat rolled down his neck — phantom sweat, but it felt real.
"...You're insane," Elara muttered. There was no judgment in it. Just observation.
The timer read 47:31.
They were halfway through Cain's record, just at that zone where most runs fell apart. The simulation adapted, learning their rhythm, adjusting patterns. Drones began using cover. Buzzers coordinated. The world itself fought back.
Now came the exhaustion.
Kaelan's shoulders screamed. His lungs burned. Every motion cost more. The refinery's metallic groans mixed with gunfire into one endless, metallic symphony. Every reload, every breath, every blink mattered.
A burst of rounds tore through the floor beside him, spraying sparks into his face. He dropped, rolled, came up slashing. His knife skittered off armor; he adjusted mid-swing, punched the handle into the drone's eye socket, then used its falling body as a shield against another burst.
Above, Elara cursed, which was rare for her. "They're flanking left. Multiple hostiles. Moving fast."
"Noted," Jax grunted. His ammo belt clicked empty. He slammed in another with trembling hands. "We're still in this. Keep pressure!"
Kaelan's ears rang from the constant barrage. The whole world seemed to pulse with the rhythm of violence. He weaved through falling debris, each step deliberate, every breath a countdown.
At 1 hour 20, the environment started collapsing. Explosions tore through the refinery. Heat shimmered. The smoke was so thick it looked alive. Kaelan's boots scraped metal slick with oil; he nearly slipped, catching himself on a railing as a Buzzer exploded overhead, showering him in molten shrapnel.
Pain flashed white-hot across his forearm. He didn't look at it.
"Walker, you're hit!" Elara snapped.
"I'm fine."
He wasn't. The pain was phantom, but the mind didn't care. His body screamed at him to stop. He didn't. He pushed forward, vision tunneling, each kill a desperate, animal motion.
They fought their way through the storm, step by step, breath by breath — until the refinery itself seemed to groan in surrender. The waves slowed. Drones came fewer, more erratic. For a fleeting moment, the silence returned.
The timer blinked 1:46:52.
Jax exhaled a shaky laugh. "We're beating him. We're actually beating—"
A distant screech cut him off.
From the haze emerged the last wave. A horde of drones, dozens of them, sprinting through fire and smoke. Behind them hovered a swarm of Buzzers, glowing red like a storm of wasps.
Kaelan's body felt carved out of lead. His muscles screamed, his knife hand trembled. But something deep in him, something old and cruel, refused to yield. He roared, low and guttural, and charged into the chaos.
He ducked under a swing, disarmed another, kicked one off a ledge, then turned into the next strike — his knife a blur. Sparks danced. Smoke curled. His world narrowed to inches. Every motion hurt. Every motion mattered.
He was pure instinct now — a single point of survival against an impossible tide.
And then
The glitch hit.
A stutter. A blur. The timer flickered.
The ground slickened under his boots, impossible, sudden. His balance broke; a rifle butt slammed into his ribs. The pain spiked, hot and sharp. He gasped, stumbled, swung — too slow.
"Walker!" Elara barked.
"I'm fine," he hissed, though his body said otherwise.
The flow shattered. His rhythm gone. The world warped in tiny, mocking ways — enemies flickering, bullets clipping through walls, explosions missing sound cues. A Buzzer teleported mid-air and detonated inches from him.
White light consumed everything and for a moment, time stood still.
Of course, he thought to himself...
The universe had let him taste perfection — just long enough to feel it slip away.
And somewhere, deep in the hollow quiet of his mind, that familiar voice whispered:
Hey. I'm still here.