Chapter 2 – Observer Interference
The hum of distant machinery reached him first, a subtle vibration through the air that pricked at the edges of perception. Observers, no doubt. Drones, models, calculations. Blake noted their presence with the detached precision of someone who had survived far too many eyes. Their lights blinked in the distance, scanning, recording, failing to predict.
A corridor of jagged debris stretched ahead. Steel beams jutted at impossible angles, glass shards glittered like malevolent stars. Each step was measured: weight distributed, balance shifted, sound minimized. A micro-flashback flared—his first mission under a collapsing facility. The panic, the improvisation, the momentary exhilaration of surviving what no one else could. That instinct was now second nature.
Weapon vibrations tickled his wrist. Dry commentary: "Predictive data incomplete. Likelihood of collapse: 72.3%." Blake adjusted. The numbers were meaningless; instinct guided him. Consumables signaled minor depletion: hunger, fatigue, and hydration tugged at the edges of focus. Not enough to slow him, but enough to sharpen calculation.
Then came the anomaly—the subtle flicker of shadows moving independently, unnerving yet unseen by others. A temporary enemy faction appeared in the far end of the corridor, drawn by disturbances he had not caused. Observation first. Wait. Adapt. Survive. Blake sidestepped, ducked, and pivoted, leaving the faction unaware of his presence.
Observers whispered across comm channels: "Predictive model failing. Repeat: model failing." Weapon muttered dryly, "Even chaos has patterns; just not yours." Blake smirked—quietly, unseen—and pressed forward. Each misstep could trigger death. Each calculated movement built tension.
Debris shifted unpredictably. A beam threatened to fall; Blake ducked, leveraging his momentum to slide under the obstacle. Shadows flickered again, stretching across surfaces unnaturally. His mind cataloged the anomalies, noting every distortion, every light angle. Partial manifestation. He did not fear it; he prepared.
The corridor seemed endless, the observers growing frantic, their calculations futile against him. Blake paused briefly, allowing the tension to accumulate. The distant flickers of the shadows promised a storm yet to come. He moved onward, silent, cold, unflinching.
"They counted, calculated, and predicted. He merely moved—and the ruins obeyed him."