The first thing I hear is rain.
Not the hollow clang of coolant against steel or the distant rumble of collapsing walls — but real rain, falling from a sky that finally remembered how.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m hearing it through everything. Not just my ears. Through the walls. Through the wires. Through the city itself. Each drop hits the world like a heartbeat, and the world hums back.
When I open my eyes, the light is different.
The chamber is dim but soft now, the harsh reds and whites replaced by golds and blues — the gentle glow of a network at peace. The coolant floor has cooled to a mirror, clear enough to see reflections in.
Mine.
And above me, the faint shimmer of light tracing the veins in the walls — pulsing not with machinery, but with rhythm. My rhythm.
I sit
