The console flickers. A fractured schematic blooms. I see the path—and Throgg closing it.
I need leverage.
“Dad,” I say. “Panel behind you. Yellow latch.”
He turns, fumbling. “This one?”
“Yes. Pull it.”
A maintenance bank slides open.
“Find the blue coupling.”
“They all look terrible.”
“Top row. Third from the left.”
“Got it.”
“Pull on my mark.”
A Reaper pushes through, dragging itself forward. Dux intercepts, electrifying it with a live cable. The smell of ozone blooms sharp and bitter.
“Roma,” he says, “that useful enough?”
“Moderately.”
“Romantic.”
“Don’t make me regret choosing survival.”
His expression softens. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The console dies.
Every line turns red.
Throgg locks me out.
“Roma?” Dux says.
“No.”
I drive my knife into the console.
Current surges. Pain detonates up my arm. I force the blade deeper, bridging circuits manually.
“Roma, what the hell?—”
“Manual bypass.”
“That is not a manual.”
“Close enough.”
“Do I pull?” Dad shouts.
“Now!”
