“09,” 404 whispered.
“I know.”
No explanation. No change in pace. Just that flat certainty that made 404’s teeth grind.
They followed the tunnel’s curve, steam venting from cracked pipes. The air felt heavy, pressing against 404’s skin like the city itself was holding its breath.
At the next junction, 09 stopped. The steam parted, and the boy stepped into view.
The years — or maybe just the life he’d been living — had sharpened him. His stance was relaxed, but the kind of relaxed that hid coiled violence. His eyes flicked over 404 once, then fixed on 09.
“You’ve got someone that doesn’t belong to you,” the boy said.
“He’s not yours either,” 09 replied, voice low.
The boy’s lip twitched. “Everything in Argo’s reach belongs to him. You should know that.”
404 took a step forward. “You… you were there. The priest class. I saw you.”
Those sharp eyes landed on him again. “You remember.”
“Why are you following us?” 404 demanded.
“Because,” the boy said, “you’re walking around with something Argo wants more than air.” His gaze slid back to 09. “And I’m here to take it back.”
The shift was instant. The boy’s hand moved for a weapon, and 09 was already stepping between them.
The clash was loud in the tight space — metal striking metal, boots scraping on wet stone. 09 drove him back with raw force, but the boy moved like water, slipping free, striking for openings.
404’s back hit the tunnel wall. He couldn’t tell if they were fighting to kill or just to prove who would break first.
Then the boy’s blade caught the light — too close to 09’s ribs.
404 lunged without thinking, grabbing the boy’s wrist. For a heartbeat, the three of them were locked together, breath ragged, the city’s hum in their bones.
The boy’s gaze locked on 404’s, unreadable. Then he wrenched free, stepping back into shadow.
“This isn’t done,” he said, and vanished into the maze.
09 didn’t chase him. Didn’t even look after him. Just turned to 404, eyes dark.
“We have to move. Now.”
And beneath that urgency, 404 swore he could hear something else in his voice — something like fear.
YOU ARE READING
INPUT REJECTED
Science FictionHe woke up in a scrap chamber - no name, no memories, no identity. Just a flickering message on his wrist: "INPUT REJECTED." In the cybernetic city of SYNAXIS, where every soul is scanned, sorted, and assigned a function by the all-seeing AI ARG0, h...
