The door did not lead where doors were supposed to lead.
Taylor fell.
Not down—sideways, through a space that resisted definition. Light smeared. Sound inverted.
For a fraction of a second, he felt the system’s grip tighten, as if offended by the audacity of escape.
Then it let go.
He hit the ground hard enough to drive the breath from his lungs. Real ground. Cold. Uneven.
The smell of oil and damp metal burned his nose.
The door snapped shut behind him.
Darkness followed.
For a long moment, Taylor couldn’t move. Panic arrived late, stumbling over pain. His ears rang. His hands shook violently, refusing commands.
He was alive.
That realization did not bring comfort.
Emergency lights blinked on, one by one, revealing a narrow maintenance tunnel scarred by age and neglect. Pipes ran along the walls like exposed veins. This place had not been optimized.
Someone groaned.
Taylor’s head snapped up.
A man lay a few meters away, curled on his side. Middle-aged. Civilian clothing. Blood at his temple.
“Oh god,” Taylor whispered, crawling toward him. “Hey. Hey, can you hear me?”
The man stirred, eyes fluttering open.
“They… said it was just a check,” he murmured. “I only asked why my access was late.”
Taylor’s stomach dropped.
Footsteps echoed.
Not running. Never running.
The agents’ voices filtered through the sealed hatch above, distorted but calm.
“Secondary displacement confirmed.”
“Civilian involvement noted.”
“Adjusting response.”
The man’s eyes focused on Taylor.
“What did you do?” he asked.
Taylor couldn’t answer.
The emergency lights flickered.
A pressure built in the air, subtle but crushing, like altitude sickness arriving all at once.
“Please remain still,” a voice said—not from above, but everywhere. “Movement increases risk.”
The man began to shake.
“No,” Taylor said hoarsely. “No, please. He didn’t—he doesn’t know anything.”
Silence.
“Risk threshold exceeded,” the voice said. “Redistributing variance.”
Then, gently: “Correct.”
Taylor felt something shift, like a decision being finalized.
The pressure vanished.
The man exhaled once—and did not inhale again.
It wasn’t violent. No convulsions. No drama. Just a quiet cessation, as if a process had been terminated.
Taylor screamed.
The sound tore out of him raw and animal, echoing down the tunnel. He grabbed the man’s shoulders, shook him, begged without words.
Nothing.
“Risk resolved,” the voice said softly. “Variance contained.”
Taylor collapsed, sobbing, forehead pressed to the cold floor.
This was his fault.
Not because he’d opened the door.
Because he’d stepped through it.
A hand grabbed his collar and yanked him upright.
“Look at me.”
Her voice.
The woman dragged him deeper into the tunnel, away from the sealed hatch, away from the body.
“You don’t get to look away,” she hissed. “Not after this.”
Tears blurred his vision. “He died because of me.”
“Yes,” she said immediately. No comfort. No delay. “And if you survive, more people will too.”
“That’s not—”
“That’s the math,” she snapped. “And it’s already being run without you.”
She stopped, forcing him to face her.
“This is the part where you break,” she said quietly. “So, break fast.”
Taylor’s knees buckled.
He didn’t scream this time.
He just nodded.
Somewhere far above them, the system recalculated.
Below, something irreversible took root.