The Subterranean Tunnels

The subterranean access tunnels beneath Neo-Boston University were a labyrinth of dark, metallic corridors, lit only by the strobing red glare of emergency sirens. The air was thick and smelled of ozone and damp concrete.

Ryder pushed Elara ahead of him, his skates clanking heavily against the steel grating. Outside the rink, his zero-G gear was a heavy, cumbersome burden, but he refused to shed his armor.

"What the hell is going on?" Ryder demanded, leaning against a rusted bulkhead to catch his breath. His heart was hammering against his ribs. "Why is a corporate death squad blowing holes in my arena?"

Elara leaned over, panting heavily. She held up the glowing data-drive. Her hands were shaking. "I hacked the local planetary network. I found... I found the coordinates to the lost rebel fleet. The corporate syndicate has been hunting them for a decade. This drive is the only copy."

Ryder stared at her, the gravity of the situation settling like lead in his stomach. "You brought a corporate hit-squad to a campus of forty thousand sleeping students?"

"I didn't have a choice!" Elara shot back, her eyes wide with desperate defiance. "They ambushed my dorm! If they get this drive, they'll wipe out the entire resistance. And if we don't get out of here, they'll raze this entire college to the ground to ensure there are no witnesses."

Before Ryder could process the horrific scale of the threat, the heavy steel door at the end of the corridor dented violently inward. The synthetics had found them.

The door tore off its hinges, sent flying down the corridor. Four more strike-synthetics poured into the narrow space, their plasma rifles whining as they charged their primary coils.

"Behind me!" Ryder ordered.

There was no room to run. Ryder stepped into the center of the corridor, gripping his kinetic stick with both hands like a bo staff. The first synthetic lunged, swinging a heavy, electrified combat blade. Ryder parried the strike with the reinforced shaft of his stick, the collision sending a shower of sparks illuminating the dark tunnel. He stepped into the machine's guard, driving his heavy, carbon-plated knee into its chest joint, before bringing the butt of his stick down in a crushing blow against its cranial casing.

But there were too many of them.

A second synthetic tackled Ryder into the wall, its mechanical fingers crushing the carbon fiber of his shoulder pad. Ryder grunted in pain, headbutting the machine to break its grip. He swung his stick in a brutal, sweeping arc, shattering the synthetic's arm, but the shaft of his prized kinetic stick—the weapon that had won him two collegiate championships—snapped in half under the immense stress.

"Ryder!" Elara screamed.

A third synthetic bypassed Ryder entirely, aiming its rifle at the hacker. It fired.

Ryder threw his shattered stick like a javelin, knocking the rifle slightly off target, but not enough. The plasma bolt grazed Elara’s thigh. She shrieked, collapsing to the floor as the smell of burning denim and searing flesh filled the narrow tunnel.

"No!" Ryder roared. He tackled the synthetic, pummeling its faceplate with his heavily padded hockey gloves until the visor caved in.

Breathing raggedly, his muscles burning with lactic acid and adrenaline, Ryder hoisted Elara up. She cried out in pain, unable to put weight on her leg.

"I've got you," Ryder grunted, wrapping her arm around his neck. "Just hold on. The Evacuation Bay is right around the corner. There's a monorail to the city."

They dragged themselves through the final set of blast doors, stepping onto the expansive, dimly lit platform of the subterranean Evacuation Bay.

The monorail was gone. The tracks were completely destroyed, melted into slag by pre-emptive plasma fire.

It was a dead end.