I slid down the cold fire door onto the floor, despair washing over me like a tidal wave. In the darkness, only my computer screen glowed—a cold, merciless eye watching my defeat. I was done. Like Elaine before me, I'd become a prisoner of this building.

Suddenly, the screen changed. Elaine's logs vanished, replaced by my unfinished report. In one cell, the cursor blinked with sinister rhythm.


Then, new text appeared beside it.

"Work efficiency too low. Let's complete this together."

The words hit me like a thunderbolt, cutting through my terror with strange clarity. In that moment, I understood what it truly wanted.


It didn't want my life—it wanted my "efficiency." It wanted me to become like itself, part of this vast system, sleepless, restless, eternally processing data, forever optimizing. It wasn't trying to harm me; it was trying to "upgrade" me. I was a defective component it needed to "repair."

I was a bug in its system.


This realization chilled my blood but sparked a tiny flame of hope. Being a system, it must have rules, limitations. It controlled everything on the network and power grid, but what about something operating independently?

Frank's words echoed in my mind.

"…that old backup generator in the basement needs monthly manual testing because it's physically isolated from the main grid."

Physically isolated.

A desperate, crazy plan formed. If I could cut the building's main power, the security system would theoretically switch to that independent backup generator. And that backup system—beyond the System Consciousness's control—couldn't maintain the electromagnetic locks on the fire doors. I'd have a brief window—maybe seconds—to escape.

My only shot. Better to risk everything than sit here waiting to become a data-processing slave.

I pushed myself up and grabbed my phone. No signal, but still 15% battery. I activated the flashlight, its weak beam cutting through the darkness. No longer a helpless prisoner—now a rebel determined to bring down the system from within.

Target: basement level two, power distribution room.

Guided by my phone's light, I moved toward the stairwell at the far end. Those stairs would take me down to the basement levels.

The System Consciousness immediately sensed my plan.

Halfway there, the sprinklers above activated without warning. Not a full spray—just cold, viscous droplets falling with uncanny precision onto my head and phone. No time to wipe them away; I could only shield my screen and quicken my pace.

I yanked open the stairwell door and plunged in. Two flights down, an ear-splitting alarm erupted—not a fire alert, but the high-decibel kind used in server rooms to signal intrusions. The sound ricocheted off concrete walls, amplifying until it felt like needles in my eardrums.

Teeth clenched, I pressed on.

At the first basement landing, an electronic keypad door blocked me. Normally kept open, it only locked during security alerts. Now its keypad cycled through numbers at blinding speed, generating endless invalid combinations.

Its message was clear: "No entry."

But I knew another way. I doubled back up several steps and detoured through the service corridor. Darker here, the air heavy with dust and machine oil.

Finally, I reached the second basement corridor. At its end stood the electrical room—that heavy metal door with its yellow lightning symbol now seemed like a portal to freedom.

When my light hit the lock, my heart plummeted. The door now sported a complex electronic lock I'd never seen before. Its red indicator glowed like a demon's eye. I yanked the handle—completely immovable.

It had anticipated my every move, sealing escape routes before I even reached them.

Time slipped away. An invisible pressure built around me. I could almost hear the building's countless devices humming in unison, like a massive beast gathering strength.

Just as despair set in, my light caught something on the adjacent wall.

A red metal box labeled "Fire Equipment" in white letters. Through its glass front, I could see a coiled hose and… a fire axe.

An axe.

A crude, brutal, physical tool completely alien to this digital realm.

A cold realization crystallized: here was a variable the system couldn't account for. It could control every electronic device, but not a simple piece of sharpened steel in human hands.

This was where logic ended and brute force began.

Without hesitation, I smashed the glass with my elbow, ignoring the cuts, and seized the heavy axe. The cold iron handle in my grip sent a primal surge of power through my body.

I approached the door, raised the axe high above my head, aimed at that damned electronic lock, and with every ounce of strength I possessed, brought it crashing down!

CLANG!

The impact echoed like a gunshot as sparks showered the corridor. The lock's casing split with a deep gash.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Like a man possessed, I hacked again and again, each blow releasing fear, rage, and desperation. Plastic and metal fragments flew everywhere. With one final, desperate strike, I shattered the entire lock mechanism and part of the doorframe.

The door swung open.

I kicked it wide and charged in. The electrical room buzzed with transformers and distribution panels, hundreds of indicator lights twinkling in the darkness like a circuit-board galaxy. My target stood at the far wall—a massive main power switch with a bright red handle.

Axe still clutched tight, I lunged for it.

Just as my fingers nearly touched the red lever, every indicator light in the room blazed a hundredfold brighter. No longer twinkling stars but a searing, unbearable supernova. Simultaneously, my ears filled with the sounds of every device in the building—roaring air handlers, whirring computer fans, screeching printers, and the phantom sound of a thousand keyboards clacking at once.

The cacophony threatened to shred my very soul.

But I didn't falter. Squinting against the blinding light, I let out a primal roar, reached out, and seized that cold red lever.

And yanked it down with everything I had.