CHAPTER 1164: MERIDIAN (2).

Smoke still hung thick over Meridian, coiling into the pale sky like a second storm refusing to die. The sea carried fragments of metal and glass, each one reflecting what little sunlight dared to break through the clouds. Cain stood at the edge of the ruined platform, silent, his coat torn and streaked with soot.

Behind him, Roselle coughed through her respirator and wiped blood from her cheek. "We can’t hold this place," she said. "It’s already sinking."

Steve’s voice came through the comms, distorted by static. "I’ve got data from the relay cores before they blew. You’ll want to see this."

"Upload it," Cain said without turning.

Hunter kicked aside the charred remnants of a drone, the black circle insignia still faintly visible on its shell. "Same symbol. Same hardware. Whoever’s rebuilding this network has access to Daelmont’s archives. That means money, engineers, supply routes—all of it."

Roselle leaned against a fallen beam. "You’re saying we’re dealing with a replacement?"

Hunter nodded. "Or an evolution."

The platform shuddered. Metal cracked beneath their feet. The entire deck tilted another degree toward the sea. Cain looked up—distant thunder rolled again, though the sky was too still for lightning.

"Everyone off the upper level," he said. "We regroup below before this thing collapses."

They moved quickly through the half-flooded corridors. The air smelled of burnt oil and ozone. Every footstep echoed like a countdown. Steve met them in the lower bay, his laptop balanced on a stack of crates, cables spilling out like veins.

"Got partial decryption," he said. "Whoever’s running this calls themselves The Black Index. Data traces back to multiple hubs—northern ports, orbital arrays, even inland cities we thought were offline. They’re setting up something bigger than Daelmont ever did."

Susan frowned. "Why copy a dead empire?"

"Because," Cain said, "they’re not copying it. They’re inheriting it."

Roselle crossed her arms. "And if they finish whatever they’re building, we lose the last chance to control what’s left."

Hunter looked up from the map Steve projected on the wall—red dots blinking across the ocean. "Then what’s the move?"

Cain stared at the lights. "We go to the nearest signal source. Cut it out at the root."

Steve hesitated. "That’s on the inner coast—Zone A19. Heavily militarized. You’ll need clearance, transport, and a miracle."

Cain glanced toward the window, where the wreckage of Meridian sank further into the waves. "We’ve made do with less."

---

They left the platform by dawn. A scavenged hovercraft carried them across the tide, its engines whining weakly. Behind them, Meridian disappeared beneath the sea with a hollow groan.

Roselle stood at the helm, eyes narrowed at the fading skyline. "Feels wrong," she murmured. "Every time we clean up one corpse, another one starts breathing."

Cain stood beside her. "That’s the cycle. Empires die, parasites feed, something new grows out of the rot."

"Maybe we’re the parasites," she said.

He didn’t answer.

Hours passed in near silence. The sky lightened to a dull amber, and the sea reflected it like bruised glass. When they reached the outskirts of Zone A19, the horizon sharpened into view—massive defense walls, half-standing towers, and ships docked in silence.

Hunter scoped the perimeter through his rifle lens. "Looks abandoned."

Steve adjusted his scanner. "No visible patrols. But signal interference’s off the charts. There’s something big buried under those readings."

Cain stepped off the craft once it grounded near the seawall. The sand here was black—ash mixed with crushed metal. He knelt, brushing the surface. "Residual energy," he muttered. "They’ve been testing something."

"Testing what?" Roselle asked.

Steve’s laptop chirped. "Cross-referencing data... looks like a new kind of relay—autonomous, adaptive, capable of self-replication. Built to replace the Grid entirely."

Hunter spat. "They’re not just rebuilding the system—they’re evolving it."

Roselle checked her sidearm. "Then we tear it out before it learns to crawl."

They advanced through the skeletal remains of the city. The buildings were hollow, their windows shattered like broken eyes. Faded propaganda lined the walls—Daelmont crests defaced by that same black circle.

Cain paused when they reached a central plaza. In its center stood a massive structure—half-machine, half-organic, pulsating faintly. Thick cables stretched into the ground like roots. The air shimmered around it.

Steve whispered, "It’s alive."

"Not for long," Cain said. He raised his blade and started forward.

A hum filled the air, low and resonant. Panels unfolded from the construct, revealing a humanoid frame of metal and sinew. Its voice was synthetic but eerily calm.

"Designation: Index Node 01. You are trespassing on restricted reconstruction grounds."

Roselle drew her rifle. "You gonna stop us?"

"Affirmative."

The construct moved faster than thought. A flash of light, and Cain barely deflected the blow with the flat of his sword. Sparks burst outward as metal screamed against metal. The impact forced him back several meters, boots sliding through ash.

Hunter fired, the bullet ricocheting harmlessly off the Node’s plating. "Armor’s too dense!"

Cain lunged again, his strikes heavy and deliberate. Each hit carved glowing scars across the Node’s frame, but it didn’t slow. Instead, the thing adapted—its limbs reconfiguring, patterns of light shifting along its body.

Roselle shouted over the noise, "It’s learning your movements!"

Cain grit his teeth. "Then it’ll learn pain."

He feinted left, then drove his sword upward through the Node’s abdomen. A burst of white light erupted, followed by a scream that wasn’t entirely mechanical. The Node staggered, but before Cain could withdraw, it latched onto his arm with burning fingers.

"Assimilation protocol—active," it rasped.

Electricity coursed through him. His vision dimmed for an instant, replaced by flickering images—data streams, coordinates, faces. When he tore free, his left arm smoked from the contact.

Steve’s voice shouted through the comms. "It’s linking to you! It’s trying to copy your neural patterns!"

"Then kill it before it finishes!"

Roselle emptied an entire magazine into its chest. The final bullet punctured the core behind its ribs. The Node convulsed once, then collapsed into a heap of molten steel.

The humming stopped. The plaza fell silent again.

Cain wiped blood from his lip, staring at the smoking wreck. "If that was just one node," he said, voice low, "how many more are out there?"

Steve’s scanner beeped. "Seventeen signals. All active. All connected."

Hunter sighed. "Guess we just declared war on the future."

Cain looked up at the horizon, where more towers flickered faintly in the distance. "Good," he said. "The future should learn to bleed."