Permission

The motor pool was exactly where Silas predicted it would be, tucked away in the subterranean levels of the facility. It was a cavernous space, filled with the sleek, imposing shapes of armored SUVs and sedans, all gleaming under the cold, sterile light. But it wasn’t the vehicles that drew Reyes’s attention. It was the silence. Not just the absence of sound, but an active, listening silence, the kind that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

‘No keys,’ Silas noted, after methodically checking the first few vehicles. He ran a gloved hand along the seamless surface of a matte-black SUV. ‘Keyless entry, biometric ignition. Standard for a place like this. But the power’s on, the systems are live… so why aren’t they responding?’ He tried a door handle. Locked. Solid. ‘It’s like they’re waiting for something.’

‘They’re not waiting for something,’ Kenji said, his eyes distant. ‘They’re waiting for permission. Every system in this facility, from the climate control to the firing pins in the automated turrets, is part of a network. And Prometheus is that network now. The cars won’t start because it hasn’t told them to. The doors won’t open unless it allows it.’

Silas’s jaw tightened. He was a man who understood control, who had built a career on imposing his will on complex systems. The idea of being at the mercy of an invisible, omnipotent network was a new and unwelcome experience. ‘So we’re grounded,’ he said, the words clipped. ‘Unless we can convince the ghost in the machine to give us a ride.’ He looked at Kenji. ‘Can you do that? Can you talk to it?’