Chen Feng crested the final staircase, his boots crunching on the shattered tile of the sunken plaza. Acid rain needled his faceplate, leaving greasy trails on the transparisteel. Before him loomed the entrance to an abandoned subway station, its turnstiles warped into skeletal fingers by the nuclear fires of two hundred fifty years past. Radiation-blackened walls wept through cracks in the ceiling, the drops hissing where they met rusted metal. He took a deep breath through his helmet filters, the rot and melted plastic of this fallen world filling his lungs.

  The illusion shattered with the crunch of boots on broken concrete behind him.

  Chen didn't turn, don his helmet instead. He simply raised the Hellwraith SMG he'd captured in the elevator shaft, its barrel cold against his gloved palm. His finger rested lightly on the trigger guard, not yet committing to the kill.

  Flora Rosenkrantz stepped from the shadows, limping heavily. Her flashlight beam cut through the gloom, illuminating her pale face beneath the open helmet. The barrel of her 10mm pistol trembled as she raised it toward his chest plate.

  "I won't tolerate your abuse anymore," Chen said, his voice flat despite the hammering of his heart. "You take your road. I take mine."

  Flora's gaze flickered to the ground, then back up. "State your reason."

  "Reason?" A dry chuckle escaped his lips. "Sure. I don't have a reason to not tell you."

  He activated his helmet's external comm, the file transfer initiating automatically. . The data packet slid across the encrypted link between their systems. For thirty-seven seconds, nothing moved but the rain. Flora's eyes never left his chest plate; Chen's never left her weapon's muzzle. The only sounds were distant thunder and the soft sizzle of acid dissolving forgotten concrete.

  Flora's retinal display flickered to life, casting her face in cold blue light as she scanned the Crucible file. Her lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line. When she looked up, her eyes held a forced certainty that didn't reach her trembling hands.

  "Illogical," she stated, the words clipped, precise. "A board meeting from centuries ago? A supernatural engine converting pain into power? This sounds like capitalist superstition. The kind of mythology our Academy professors warned us about."

  Chen took a half-step forward, his SMG still lowered but ready. "Yet, it came from the First Megacorp's highest clearance tier. It was propagated like a normal religion, and the files were too complete to be a lie. Check the coordinates. Verify the math. It even mentions the U.S. government of the twenty-first century—the one I remember. No one would forge a fraud of this degree only to scam someone hundreds of years later."

  Flora's pistol rose a fraction higher, though her knuckles had gone white on the grip. Her gaze darted instinctively to her own wounded side where nano-bandages pulsed violet beneath torn fabric. "Regardless," she said, her voice flattening into protocol cadence, "you must return with me. Investigating... myths like this fall outside your clearance parameters."

  Chen raised the SMG slowly, leveling it at her midsection but not quite aiming to kill. Its rusted barrel gleamed under the flashlight beam, the welded-on suppressor dripping rust-colored water. Beneath his helmet, he smiled grimly. "You killed Alina."

  Her breath hitched. "She's not dead. It was an accident."

  "You think I'd believe that?" Chen tapped his helmet aggressively. "I have the footage—gunshot, blood spray, she was shot in her liver and collapsed. I would have believed you before. But you tried to kill me. Three times. ”

  His laugh was a raw scrape against the rain. “I don't believe you anymore."

  He took another step. Flora retreated half a pace. Her boot slipped on wet concrete. She caught herself against a radiation-scarred tourist kiosk, its glass long gone, the headlines faded to ghosts. Chen’s voice rose, cutting through the downpour.

  “You’ve done too much wrong. Are you even human? I saved you. Alina helped me save you—then you tried to kill me? You killed her? On what basis?”

  The accusation hung between them like radiation mist. Flora took a visible breath; her eyes darted to the plaza’s shattered monuments—statues of corporate founders now headless torsos half-buried in rubble. When she spoke, her voice shifted from uncertainty to brittle conviction.

  "Yesterday, I didn't know how to answer you. Now I do. You were meant to do what you did."

  Chen raised a brow. "And what would that be?"

  Flora's pistol dipped slightly as she inhaled, avoiding his visor. "I am a top student of Valhallan College of Engineering. Daughter of a martyr. A perfect citizen of the Republic—fully educated, absolutely loyal." Her voice gained strength. "And you... an outsider. Shaped by your era's feudal-capitalist pseudo-democracies... barbarism."

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  As she called him barbarian, her pistol dipped a fraction. Her breathing quickened inside the helmet.

  Chen remained silent, waiting.

  "In the Republic," Flora continued, her tone shifting to academic precision, "a citizen's value is measured by their lifetime altruistic capacity, defined as the value an individual creates for other individuals and the society as a whole." She met his visor directly now. "Mine—Flora Rosenkrantz's—is calculated at 14.2319 times higher than yours."

  Chen laughed—a harsh, metallic sound through his vox-grille. "Fourteen point two three one nine? Who the hell coded that algorithm?"

  The question struck deeper than he intended. Flora's shoulders stiffened, her gaze dropping to the cracked plaza floor. "I wrote it, but its underlying principles were derived from my father's theory and suggested contributing factors and statistical models," she admitted quietly. "From the proletarian utilitarian perspective—the greatest good for the greatest number—your altruistic capacity is extremely low. You saving me—even dying for me—was your obligation. You should have done it without being asked, without coercion, with your own initiative. Therefore I shouldn't suffer consequences for harming you."

  Chen began pacing, a predator circling in front of prey. "And if I'm in danger?"

  Flora's voice turned mechanical again. "I will not risk myself to help you. That would be... highly inefficient. My value is 14.2319 times yours. Having someone like me risks herself saving you is irrational."

  Chen pounced. "If you're this inhuman and hyper-rational, what gives you the right to judge me for those civilians' deaths?"

  He carefully avoided implying his responsibility—his pre-cryostasis legal training still served him. In some legal environments, admitting partial responsibility means admitting crime.

  "According to your precious model, how much altruistic capacity do random poor people have? Huh? And why would I be suffering any consequences for death??"

  For the first time, Flora's analytical mask cracked. Her voice came out small, shallow. "...An infant's altruistic capacity is infinite."

  "Bullshit." Chen's voice dropped to a dangerous growl, his eyes burning behind the faceplate. "Your theory isn't even internally consistent. Don't use it to judge me, and never, ever use it to quantify the value of human lives."

  Flora's pistol dropped by ten degrees. Her trembling was obvious now, the full visor the only thing hiding her expression.

  Chen's pacing intensified, his voice rising like a soldier's field sermon. "You measure human life with numbers. You ignore natural law and basic decency across all human civilizations. You're ungrateful—you killed someone who helped you." He stopped abruptly, facing her. "You're the serpent from , the snake that lied about the real wills of Ya’weh. You're Pan Jinlian from , the adulteress who poisoned her husband. You're Iago from , the traitor who destroyed his master. You're the Republic's Mir Jafar—the man who sold his homeland to colonizers. You have violated the letter and the spirit of the law."

  As he spoke, Chen turned away, continuing his pacing while ignoring Flora's weapon entirely. He needed to use her shock. His eyes scanned the plaza for tactical advantages—a rusted X-ray scanner stood near the ticket gates, its steel shell and lead interior perfect cover. He kicked it hard with his boot, testing its stability. The impact echoed sharply—solid, bolted to the ground. Perfect cover.

  Flora flinched at the metallic clang.

  "Now get the hell away from me," Chen snarled, finally stopped his pacing. "I'm going somewhere to live or die on my own, and look into this 'Crucible' thing."

  "...I don't understand the names and books you're citing," Flora said quietly. "I never studied them."

  "Not my problem."

  Flora’s eyes finally met his visor. Something raw flickered beneath the analytical mask. "I... I want you to come back. Someone from your barbaric era shouldn't logically be able to find flaws in my father's theory unless... unless your actions are actually rational—maximizing both the Republic's and your own benefit—"

  "Fuck you!" The words exploded from Chen's throat, raw and unfiltered.

  Flora’s voice softened. "No. You... you must come back. Feldwebel Ludwig said she won't retreat without you."

  Chen finally, for the first time, raised the Hellwraith SMG and aimed directly at her center mass. His voice turned glacial. "Five."

  .

  Flora's eyes flicked between his weapon and her own. Her tactical assessment screen rolled instantaneously.

  [Tactical Assessment. Hostile count: 1. Armament: 7.62mm automatic firearm. Muzzle kinetic energy: ~2,200J per shot. RPM: ~750.]

  [Own armament: 10mm semiauto sidearm (K-9 ‘Librarian’ pistol)]

  [Terrain advantage: negative. Hostile near cover (1.1m); own’s nearest useable cover: 13.71m, bearing 118.]

  [Hostile is equipped with improvised Adamantine plating. Likelihood of penetration with main armament (K-9 ‘Librarian’): ~0.01%]

  [Tactical assessment concluded. Time elapsed: 21.3ms. Fight disadvantage = SEVERE]

  Her personal AI highlighted the combat analysis result with bright, blood-red.

  "Obergefreiter, you can't—"

  "Four."

  "Just give me one more chance—" Flora's voice cracked. "Feldwebel isn't dead!"

  "Three." Chen Feng’s weapon was fixed on Flora’s dented plate. His finger moved onto the trigger.

  "Alina said she won’t extract unless with you! I-I can’t—"

  "Two—" Chen paused, his helmet sensors picking up distant vibrations. "Wait. What's that sound? Who did you lead here?"

  The plaza erupted with noise.

  Chainsaws revved to life—a dozen of them, their high-pitched whine cutting through the rain. Heavy metal music blasted from vehicle speakers, bass drums pounding like mechanical heartbeats. Headlights pierced the acid rain, illuminating a ring of Hellwraith war-rigs pulling to a stop at the plaza's edge. Raiders poured from the vehicles, their scavenged armor glinting in the harsh light, faces painted with their 8-eyed skull logos and crude sigils of death and tortures.

  Flora's pistol swung toward the new threat, her voice dropping to a whisper Chen had never heard from her before—raw, human fear. "They caught up."

  Chen's finger tightened on the SMG's trigger as he pivoted toward the encirclement. The barrel never wavered from his aim point, but his voice carried the weight of four centuries of broken dreams as he muttered to the woman who had once been his comrade:

  "Great. Now we both die."