CHAPTER 1163: MERIDIAN (1).

The sea’s voice grew louder as the current dragged the transport further from the ruins of the Grid. The wind carried the scent of charred steel and salt; a funeral mix that clung to everything it touched. No one spoke for a long time. Words would have felt like trespass in the silence of a dying empire.

Roselle broke first. "We need somewhere to dock. Supplies, repairs, fuel—everything’s shot."

Steve sat cross-legged near the broken console, cables coiled around his arms like veins. "Closest hub is the Meridian Platform," he said. "At least, what’s left of it. Signal’s weak but alive."

"Meridian’s supposed to be Daelmont territory," Susan said, voice low.

"Used to be," Steve countered. "After tonight? No one owns anything anymore."

Cain leaned against the railing, his coat whipping in the wind. His eyes never left the horizon. "We’ll take what’s there. If anyone stands in the way, we clear them."

Hunter watched him. "That’s not strategy—that’s desperation."

Cain turned slightly. "Then let’s call it what it is."

The ship groaned again, metal shrieking under strain. Roselle moved to the helm and adjusted their course. The air was thick with rain mist, making the ocean appear endless, an obsidian mirror swallowing the world.

Hours passed. The storm weakened, leaving behind a gray, muted dawn. Shapes emerged through the fog—towers, cranes, wrecked freighters. The Meridian Platform floated on the sea like a wounded beast, half its decks sunken, the rest patched with scaffolds and jury-rigged panels.

They docked quietly. No guards, no patrol drones, only the constant hum of generators struggling to stay alive. Cain jumped down first, landing on a slick metal walkway. His boots splashed through puddles of oily water.

"Spread out," he ordered. "See what we can salvage."

Roselle and Hunter moved down the left corridor, weapons drawn. Steve and Susan took the right, heading for the old command spire. Cain stayed behind, scanning the perimeter.

The air here smelled of rust and ghosts.

A flicker of movement caught his eye—small, fast. Not human. A drone, old model, with Daelmont insignia barely visible under grime. It hovered weakly, its voice module sputtering.

"Identify... yourselves," it croaked.

Cain shot it out of the air. The metal carcass clattered across the deck. "We’re done identifying."

He continued forward, following the sound of dripping water until he reached a wide observation deck overlooking the ocean. The sun tried to pierce the fog but failed. In the distance, other platforms floated, empty and broken. The world was shrinking, one rusted city at a time.

Behind him, footsteps. Roselle returned with Hunter, dragging a crate between them. "Food. Mostly synthetic, but it’ll keep us alive for a while."

"Found some medkits too," Hunter added. "Someone tried to pack up and never finished."

"Good," Cain said. "Steve?"

Static filled the comm bead in his ear before Steve’s voice cut through. "Control systems are toast, but the archive still breathes. Half-burned data, mostly logistics. I can pull some names—suppliers, distribution channels. Daelmont’s money trails didn’t end with their fall."

"Trace it," Cain said.

Roselle crouched, prying open the crate’s lock with her knife. "You think anyone’s still running their shipments?"

Cain’s jaw tightened. "If they are, it means they’re still rebuilding."

"And we’re going to stop that?" Hunter asked.

Cain’s silence was answer enough.

Steve’s voice returned, sharper now. "You’re going to want to see this. Sending coordinates."

They regrouped inside the control tower. Screens flickered dimly, bathing the walls in pale green light. Steve pointed to one of them, a map overlay showing faint pulse signals across the region.

"These aren’t random data ghosts," he said. "They’re relays. New ones. Someone’s been setting up a network—hidden beneath the old Daelmont channels."

Roselle frowned. "Could be a splinter group."

"Could be worse," Susan muttered. "Could be whoever took over after them."

Cain leaned in closer. The pulsing dots moved in rhythmic sync—too precise to be residual signals. "They’re communicating," he said.

Hunter crossed his arms. "So they’ve already begun rebuilding their web. The question is—why so close to the Grid?"

"Because they’re scavenging," Cain said. "The Grid’s corpse is full of tech worth billions. Whoever gets to it first controls what’s left of civilization."

Susan gave a dry laugh. "Then we’re late to the funeral."

Cain’s eyes hardened. "No. We’re the gravediggers."

A rumble shook the tower. The floor trembled, and the lights flickered violently. Steve spun around. "What the hell—?"

Outside, the sea erupted in motion. From the fog, shapes rose—massive drones, armored, repurposed for combat. Old Daelmont insignias had been painted over with crude marks: a black circle split by a vertical line.

"They’re not just scavengers," Hunter said coldly. "They’re organized."

Roselle chambered a round. "Then let’s show them who owns this graveyard."

Cain drew his blade and stepped forward as the first drone fired, its railguns tearing through the upper deck. The sound was deafening, metallic rain pouring from the sky. He moved through the chaos with mechanical precision, slicing apart the wreckage that fell toward them.

"Steve!" Cain barked. "Find me their signal controller!"

"I’m on it!"

Roselle hurled a grenade through a broken window, the explosion lighting up the fog in bursts of orange and red. Susan fired from the railing, her shots puncturing through drone optics with surgical accuracy.

The platform trembled again as another drone crashed into the tower. Cain sprinted forward, leaping onto its back before it could rise. His sword drove through the plating, sparks exploding in all directions. The machine convulsed, screaming through distorted audio before it died.

Hunter landed beside him, knife in hand, eyes scanning. "You really don’t believe in plans, do you?"

Cain smirked faintly, smoke rising around him. "Plans don’t survive the first shot."

The sky was a storm of fire now, the horizon burning with every blast. Yet through it all, Cain stood unshaken, staring at the encroaching fleet.

Roselle’s voice crackled through the comms. "We’re not winning this one clean."

"Wasn’t planning to," Cain said, eyes locked on the next drone. "We just need to leave a message."

"And what message is that?" Susan asked.

Cain raised his blade, its edge gleaming in the dim light.

"That the dead don’t stay buried."