A motionless sky reigned over the faubourgs of Renaissance. Any tears in the fabric of the firmament had been frozen. There was no wind. For the first time in years, no yellow ash fell. Everything was so calm that Erol could almost hear the beating of his own heart.

Upon his return to the city, he had searched in vain for information on his brother. Almost every Founder had been hung at the metallic ramparts, but there was no trace of Sileo. The banner of the enemy now flew on the Great Dome. It was the end of everything.

In the shadow of an abandoned warehouse, the archaeologist filled one by one the chambers of his revolver with the last bullets that he had left. He was standing next to Suzanne who had almost been swallowed up by a pool of acid just the other day.

He had been forced to dry the tears that ran down his cheeks on several occasions. He had no one left but this young woman and she too was at the edge of death. Although this morning, she had gained back some of her color. When the first light of dawn hit her eyelids, she finally moved.

“Take it easy now,” he said, grabbing some green bandages.

She opened her eyes. With his help, she managed to get up and sat by his side. “Where are we? Are you okay?” Suzanne managed to spit out with difficulty.

“Outside of Renaissance. And, yes, I am doing well, thank you.”

“Where is Byte?”

Erol had received no news from the technomancer since she had gone in the opposite direction, taking with her a part of their pursuers. He proceeded to describe to Suzanne how the fight had concluded. Eventually, he mentioned her hand wound.

Panic invaded the young woman but before she had a chance to raise her ravaged limb, he stopped her with a gesture of his own. “I cauterized it as best I could with some morphine compresses. Regardless, it’s incredible that the pain did not wake you!”

Suzanne looked at the sky through the shattered roof. A tear ran down her face too. “I no longer have a hand, Erol—” she sobbed. “I lost my hand!”

Her companion stared at her, surprised. “What are you talking about?” He then pointed at the young woman’s limb, freshly covered in bandages.

When she saw the bandaged stump, Suzanne jumped. Standing up straight, she began to tear away the pieces of sticky polymers.

“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Erol was incensed at seeing his hard work go up in flames.

“I don’t understand! I am one hundred percent sure that psychopath severed my hand during our fightt!”

“That’s impossible!” Erol lashed out, gathering the medical rags. “It was simply dipped in acid, no? Look, the acid turned your skin blue!”

Now that the bandages had been taken off, the young woman’s hand appeared in broad daylight just like Erol had described it. Or at least, there was a skeleton covered in spongy flesh. The blood, colored blue, continued to drip the length of her forearm. The few drops that got lost in the dust sparkled.

“This makes no sense!” Suzanne reiterated. She held a gasp and then continued. “Did you hear me? He cut it off! At one point, I didn’t have a right hand anymore!”

Erol didn’t know what to say, but what Suzanne proceeded to do made him gag. Grimacing, the young woman had plunged one of the fingers from her unharmed hand into the blue liquid. Crystallizing at the top of Suzanne’s index, the beads of liquid shone. Once they dried up, they dispersed in the air.

“I don’t know what it is, but there is no trace of acid in there!” Suzanne confirmed, admirably pragmatic.

In fact, there was no sign of burning on Suzanne’s finger. But that wasn’t the most astonishing thing about this whole situation.

“Maybe it’s the bandages that—no, I have been using them since forever and—” Erol continued.

In the open air, the blue blood sparkled more than ever. Already, in a few spots, the visible tendons had left their place to pink muscles. For a second, the archaeologist thought he was in the thralls of an optical illusion or perhaps had been badly afflicted by the heat, because the fluid seemed to be moving around the flesh right before his eyes.

“When I bandaged you up, there was almost nothing left but bones!” he exclaimed.

Suzanne had brought her limb close to their faces. Little by little, newly made muscles were covering her skeleton. Already, thin white strands of nerves and blood vessels were taking shape. “It looks like it’s repairing all on its own…” Suzanne said, ultimately intrigued.

On his end, Erol was torn between disgust and admiration. “What type of monster are you?” he concluded.

She immediately threw him a dark stare. The archaeologist apologized the best he could. Then, he offered to redo her clean bandages.

But that proved unnecessary. Before he was even able to cut out the new compresses, a strange cutaneous tissue had already covered Suzanne’s palm. They both contemplated, sheepishly, the young woman’s hand as it finished lining itself. In just a few minutes, her pearly skin was as immaculate as a newborn baby’s.

“Now we know how you managed to survive those gunshots to your stomach,” Erol noted once the cauterization had finished.

Suzanne remained silent, her gaze lost in the void. “Byte?” she said suddenly.

Erol stopped in his tracks before he even got a chance to gather his things. “Where?” he asked, surprised.

“In my head—on the net. Thanks to my implant.”

He grumbled that it wasn’t so obvious to everyone. But he had already seen Sileo practice that type of exercise.

Suzanne remained immobile for a few additional minutes. She nodded to the empty space, muttering some inaudible words.

Erol regretted not having been witness to the technomancer’s fight. It was the first time that he had had the occasion to see one in full action, like in the wars of the past. He had heard so much talk about the extraordinary powers cyborgs like her possessed. Even if the second to last cyborg that he had met had not left the best impression.

Once her conversation was over, Suzanne joined him, removing the sand from her eyes using her hand with its mysterious powers. The archaeologist had had a change of heart. “Climate bombs, troublesome AI, telepaths, mutants with blue blood—I much preferred the year 3,000 in the version with mummies and dusty tombs!” He only stopped complaining once they had finally reached an old sewage disposal protected by a grove of black thistles. With a slash of his blade, Erol tore apart the chain that secured the iron gate of the entrance. With a muffled grinding, it fell into the dark and viscous stream. “And now, do you know where you’re going?” Erol asked.

Following the instructions of the technomancer, they ascended some underground routes that Erol could barely recognize. The rock had been carved by human-made tools, busted with dynamite. If the Inquisition had been responsible for this work, they must truly possess some extremely efficient material.

After a few hours, Erol and Suzanne reached a terrace that overlooked an enormous cave big enough to house the Great Dome of Renaissance.

“Byte confirms that this is the right place,” Suzanne explained.

“Yes, that makes sense. Look at what’s below us,” Erol grimaced.

As expected, the envoys of the Inquisition were already on the premises. The cave was dotted with tents and machines devouring the rock. Men wearing white tabards circulated everywhere. Nuns and monks, as well as engineers covered in implants walked among the Paladins and the workers. Beyond the encampment, they had cleared the immense iron shutters that led to the Josias-01 compound. Erol thought they looked like the entrance to Hell itself.

“The doors of the center are still locked. They haven’t been able to find the code!” Suzanne reassured him.

The archaeologist thought, with reason, that the Inquisition had no need for Marian’s code. Hiding behind a concrete column, he pointed at the various piles of explosives that stood at the side of each huge shutter.

“We will never be able to get in without having them immediately on our backs!” Erol noted. “Have you seen the size of those hinges? The doors must weigh at least a good thousand tons.”

“That’s what I figured,” was Suzanne’s answer. “But we are not going to have to get them wide open.”

“Oh, if that is the case, pardon me! It’s true that if we open them just slightly, we will never draw the attention of the army that separates us from our goal!”

“Why do you have to be so negative and—” She stopped. Byte must have given her new directions. “This way.”

Suzanne then guided Erol to the edge of the encampment. On several occasions, they almost broke their necks against the slippery rock.

“Wait. I’ll be back soon,” said Erol, before Suzanne had a chance to penetrate more deeply between the tents.

Erol surprised one of the Paladins who had taken his break away from the others’ gaze. Running his sword through his throat, he hid the corpse under some canvas after removing his white tabard. Thus disguised, he stole a few strands of dynamite, some luminous rods, and several meters of rope.

Retracing his steps, he realized that Suzanne had disappeared. He swore out loud and was detained by a nun.

“May I know what you may be up to with those sticks, my brother?” she remarked, using a ghostly voice to impersonate the religious woman in the gardens.

“Damn! Where did you go?” Erol growled, finally recognizing Suzanne.

“Byte has found an access console that I went to check out. These knuckleheads had almost destroyed it as they tried to modify it,” she explained. “But I’m still going to be able to enter the code.” She took out Marian’s necklace from her pocket. “It won’t be very discreet.”

Erol and the young woman managed to reach the console situated a few meters from the immense door. Two Paladins armed to their teeth stood next to the entrance. Electric wires hung from their caskets, penetrating their skin at the level of their cheeks.

“These have been improved. They are going to grill us!” Erol murmured.

“No, they are going to be the ones to burn, look.” Blood instantly dripped from the nose of the first guard on the right, who coughed. The incident alerted his companion who turned towards him. The smell of scorched meat and metal pervaded the air and a thick black smoke escaped from their caskets. Traversed by violent spasms, both collapsed all at once. “Byte has our backs, don’t worry.”

“Terrific.” Erol replied.

“Yes, but her power is limited. She needs visuals and information that my implant can extract from the target.”

Following the advice of the technomancer with whom she was still in communication, she turned on the console that emitted a sound alarm.

With a loud snap, the gates of the compound opened. Stalactites, some as big as horses, fell from the ceiling.

“Run!” Suzanne screamed.

She removed the key from the console and the gates began to close again. Erol jumped over the two charred corpses and rushed inside the compound. Behind him, the scaffolding built by the Inquisition fell apart. The workers equipped with drills or using explosives fell into the void and a cloud of dust enveloped the cave-in the space of a second.

Once Suzanne had joined him, the doors were closed shut. A colossal iron doorpost fell to the ground, condemning the entrance to eternal closure. After a few seconds, the chaos of the cavern turned to silence and they were plunged into darkness. Once the young woman lit one of the last lightning rods, Erol was again given the chance to contemplate the immensity of that space.

The entrance hall was a gigantic room of glass and concrete that could house an entire city. Old mechanical stairs crisscrossed the whole area. Ancient black screens covered in dust papered the walls and white steel tiles covered the floor. In its heyday, and when flooded by light, the reception of the compound must have been radiant and teeming with life.

But as they had expected, today the hall was nothing but a mausoleum. The bodies of soldiers and their robots auxiliary languished under a thin layer of dust.

“Are you holding up?” Erol inquired, climbing over the remains of a crushed vehicle. Each step they took produced a creaking sound. Leather sockets and broken glass littered the whole surface area of the floor.

“I preferred the old decoration.”

Erol gave her a smile. “Anything we could use?” he asked the young woman who was climbing the carcass of a tank.

“No, everything is in a very bad state. Except this tank, maybe…” Like the entrance to the Dammastock, humidity had left its mark, rusting weapons, armors, and most of the robotized equipment.

He liked the idea. “Do you know which direction we need to take?”

Suzanne remained silent and said: “I have lost contact with Byte!”

“Damn! Goodbye instantaneous brain grilling service for our enemies! Did she encounter any issues?”

“It’s pretty much a miracle that we were able to maintain contact with her for this long even underground. But behind these doors, I think it’s over.”

“And your implant? Can it guide you in here?”

“Apparently, it doesn’t work to its full potential if not connected to the network. Outside, I had no problems, but here—the internal system just doesn’t work.”

The multiple mechanical stairs leading to the lower floors had collapsed on themselves, fallen victims to time or perhaps sabotage.

At great risk for their necks, Erol and the young woman managed to descend to the platform which then allowed them to join the ruins of a security post. Some intact locker rooms lined the walls of the first room. During the years that Erol had roamed the underground compounds and bunkers for the benefit of the Foundation, this sort of discovery would have netted him great recognition and not to mention a nice sum of money.

With the flat side of his blade, he tried to open the locker which was the closest to him, but was unable to bend the door. His bionic arm had no success either. The magnetic opening was one of the most difficult to force open without the appropriate metal tools. The archaeologist thought about his revolver. But he would have been an idiot to waste their ammunition without guaranteed results.

Their exploration continued until they unearthed several partially open lockers next to the old showers with chipped tiling. This time, with a bit of stubbornness they had more luck, although inside they found nothing but some digital readers, terminals, gym bags, and spare clothing that had almost turned to dust. Time has shown no mercy here either.

“Did you find something?” Suzanne asked him, as she returned after inspecting the next room. “I managed to find some chemical lamps.” The young woman cracked one of the new phosphorescent rods that illuminated the room with a pale pink glow. They were much more efficient than the ones Erol had used to date.

“Old junk. Nothing interesting for the moment,” Erol answered her. His arm tore apart the hinges of a third locker that was partially ajar. He removed the curved door and examined the interior of the box, using one of the rods Suzanne had brought to light up the inside. “What is it?” Erol asked, plunging his hand in what resembled a heavy pile of steely scales.

Suzanne approached to help him and she was the first to recognize what treasure they had stumbled upon. “An armor. It’s one of those models we had advanced on quite a bit.”

Erol gripped the breastplate and examined it more closely. There were a pair of boots, pants, and a reinforced plastron, as well as gloves equipped with a special skin to manipulate the tactile terminals and cling onto the most dangerous sidewalls. “Not bad at all,” Erol commented, dusting off his new arsenal. “And there is even a casket.” That last piece of the armor covered the entire skull and neck. A bulletproof window pane that protected the wearer’s face allowed for optimal vision. Erol then asked Suzanne if it needed energy to function. She indicated the place where batteries were supposed to fit on the back of the armor, right below a storage compartment. After lifting the metal block, they noticed that the two refills were empty. “We will need to find new ones,” he said matter-of-factly. But after several centuries, their chances were slim to none.

“You can’t use it without the self-help system that powers it. It’s a shame, this would have been a game changer for us!”

“I will come back to look for it after,” Erol said, returning the armor to its box. “Let’s proceed.”

“Wait, I have an idea!” Suzanne removed the two empty batteries from their casing. Then she rummaged in her pockets to take out four phosphorescent rods. As she obstinately tried to unscrew the rods, she asked Erol to go look for two glass or plastic containers that he managed to find a little farther away, in a technical station.

When he returned to the locker room, Suzanne had disassembled the torches and the capacitors. She was now busy unfolding the electrical cables she had extracted from the halogen lamps of the ceiling lights. “Place the batteries in a basin. Divide the liquid of the torches between the two.” Erol did as she asked and the young woman tied the two recipients using the leather wires. “Now watch.” In their bowl, the batteries emitted a low humming sound. Suzanne was recharging them.

“This is the type of witchcraft that Octave would have liked,” Erol exclaimed. “How long will it take for the batteries to be recharged?”

“No need to get them to their maximum. And plus, we won’t have enough liquid to finish the hydrolyze,” Suzanne answered. “A few more minutes and we will have, at least, a functional armor set.”

Erol left Suzanne to her chemistry and reached the showers with the improved breastplate. He took off his clothing, keeping only his weapons and storing away his hat and the last gray pill that his brother had given him. Putting on the armor didn’t require much effort, but moving with it was almost impossible, just as Suzanne had predicted.

Suzanne joined him a bit after, holding the batteries firmly in her hands. She ordered Erol to turn around and she clipped the capacitors into their receptors.

The casket turned on and a multitude of information danced before Erol’s eyes. This must resemble the visual assistance that an implant would provide him. He laughed. “So, this is what my brother sees every day? It must be exhausting.” The armor now felt light as a linen shirt. And the air smelt fresh despite the lingering smell of old plastic. But the sudden afflux of oxygen made him dizzy and he faltered.

“Take it slowly, astronaut,” Suzanne teased, catching him by the shoulder. “Everything okay there?”

Suzanne’s voice sounded muted. On the flipside, Erol’s was amplified by the mic integrated to the base of the casket, right under the chin. “I feel like I am either floating or flying. Or both at the same time,” he screamed. “I could lift a mountain!” He felt so powerful in this armor that he could imagine himself vanquishing a horde of Paladins all on his own. “Shall we proceed?” he whispered this time.

“Ask your computer to look for the principal command room or Thomas Lionheardt’s office. These modules must have an offline system in case an attack paralyzed the network.”

Erol found the idea brilliant and proceeded to ask rather too politely the necessary information to his on-board computer. On his wrist, a screen turned on and a flashing emerald-colored arrow appeared in the middle of his field of view. It pointed to the glass door at the other end of the locker room. “Incredible! It works! Let’s go!” he screamed again after beginning to walk awkwardly. The plastic tiles of the showers bent under the weight of the centuries-old equipment.

After the umpteenth security airlock that he had to break using the strength of his fists, Erol arrived in front of four elevator cages. Suzanne pressed one of their buttons, but, as expected, nothing happened. “What does your navigation system indicate?” the young woman asked, inspecting the cage on the right.

“We have to go down. To the fifty-first floor,” Erol answered. “Hell of a descent.”

“Come. The doors of this one on the right are open.”

The bodies of two soldiers with blue caskets lay at the edge of the abyss. Their armors had not been sufficient protection against the bullets they had been welcomed with into the compound. Erol put aside his morbid desire to inspect their bodies and concentrated on the elevator cage. The iron cables were in as bad a state as the rest of the compound. The oil had dried up long ago and mushrooms had rendered all attempts to grab it barehanded completely impossible. The assisted armor would once again prove its usefulness.

“Climb on my back. I am going to take care of the descent,” proposed Erol who, since donning his armor, felt like he had sprouted wings.

“Fifty-one floors, Erol,” Suzanne reminded him. “You are going to get us both killed.”

“I have done this all my life. And this time, I have the help of a computer. A working one!” he reassured her. “Will I have enough autonomy?”

Suzanne inspected the batteries. When she reappeared in his field of vision, she tapped the lower edge of his casket. Under an orange bar, a percentage appeared, accompanied by a countdown. According to the meter, he had enough energy for half a day. Nevertheless, as the young woman reminded him, it was wont to drop much faster in the event of significant or prolonged efforts. “Keep an eye on it,” she concluded.

Erol nodded as Suzanne approached the edge and dropped their second to last luminous torch into the darkness. The torch fluttered and bounced against the walls before disappearing into the abyss. After a few long seconds, the echo of its shattering to the ground rang around them.

The young woman took position on his back. She secured herself solidly, her arms around his neck. After a deep breath, Erol gripped one of the iron cables and began his descent. His nonslip soles stuck admirably to the concrete. His hands burned, but the coating on his palms assured him a good grip. Although softened by the armor and its artificial limb, the effort it took to keep steady remained herculean, especially with the young woman on his shoulders. The cable creaked on several occasions, but he did not let go. Nevertheless, his serenity dissipated the moment some security lamps turned on in all their brutal intensity. A gust of air destabilized him, but he managed to regain his balance with Suzanne’s help.

“What is this?” Erol asked, squinting.

“Someone restored the power. The network works as well!”

Erol swore. “So, this means we have a well-equipped team getting closer. The Inquisition must have found a way in!”

“But something is still blocking contact with the outside. I cannot reach Byte!”

Another clicking sound, and then a shrill scream erupted above them. The elevator was beginning its own descent.

Erol redoubled his efforts and performed some extremely long jumps. He had now traveled down almost three fourths of the slope, but the piercing scream of the cage became stronger and stronger.

The archaeologist began a final leap before freezing in place, his feet anchored to the bars of the emergency stairs. Suzanne alerted him that the freight elevator was now in view and the situation was becoming even more urgent.

“Jump! I can see the ground from here!”

“I have an idea,” Erol interrupted her as pulled with all his strength at the bars. The anchoring screws finally yielded and Erol managed to bend the iron in such a way that a good meter of the stairs hung in the emptiness. He reiterated the operation a few meters below before finally preparing to jump. “Ready?”

He did not wait for Suzanne’s answer and leaped into the emptiness. If there had been a competition between who swore harder, it would have had two winners but the assisted armor miraculously absorbed the shock at the detriment of a portion of its battery. Nevertheless, Erol had the impression that his back had split into two and his arms, like his legs, were on fire. He was ready to bet that he heard his knees crack when the young woman finally put her feet on the ground between the rusty springs.

“That was the first … and … last time,” she said approaching the switch cage. “Why did you bend the stairs?”

A creaking sound was heard, followed by an uncomfortable noise of metal scratching against metal.

“If the Paladins are already inside, they will be locked a few floors above,” Erol answered, proud to have come up with such a stratagem.

“Well played,” the young woman congratulated him.

He had been right. Above them, someone cried. Erol didn’t know how, but Maev’s minions had definitely made it through the iron doors of the cave. There was not a minute to waste, they had to rush to disable the missile.