Los Muertos

Taled slams both hands on the stairwell terminal, fingers tearing across cracked glass. Red emergency light strobes over his tattoos as the shutters grind fully shut below them.

Kay stands on the landing, boxed in by concrete, steel, and the wet stink of the busted syringe by his boot. The city below sends up a faint metallic scraping, like something hunting the stairs from underneath.

Taled jerks back as the terminal spits a harsh warning sigil, then he dives in again, shoulders tense, trying to crack the lockout before the building AI seals them in for good.

A second metallic scrape answers from below, closer now, while the red lights pulse across the plastic chip on the landing like a beacon.

Kay snaps the Mac 10 up and fires a tight burst into the climbing corporate robot. Sparks spit from its chest plate, and it jerks hard against the railing.

The machine stutters, one leg folding under it. Its weight grinds on the stair edge, then it slams sideways into the steps with a metal shriek.

Below, the lower stairwell fills with a brief wash of sparks and falling fragments. The scraping sound stops being distant, because the thing is here now, broken across the landing.

Taled flinches back from the terminal, then angles his body toward the stairs, ready to move if anything else follows.

The sealed shutters stay locked, the terminal still hissing red in refusal. Whatever tagged the place is not done with them.

A fresh metallic clatter rises from below the wrecked machine, slower this time, as if more weight is coming up the stairs behind it.

Kay and Taled hit the shutter together, and the metal lurches up with a grinding squeal. Dust rains from the frame as the gap opens wide enough to pass through.

The win comes ugly. Kay’s arms and implants strain hard enough to bite, and a hot ache flares through his shoulder as the shutter jerks free.

Below, the stairwell answers with a heavier clank. Something unseen shifts under the wrecked robot, drawn by the noise.

Taled keeps one hand on the sparking terminal and angles his body toward the opening, ready to cover Kay while the lockdown sputters.

A thin red spark still pulses in the failed terminal, and the tagged transit chip glints on the landing as the new route yawns open.

From beyond the shutter, a damp ventilation draft breathes up into the stairwell, carrying a faint rattle from somewhere deeper in the building.

Kay drops low and commits, slipping under the shutter as it starts to come down. His shoulder scrapes metal, then he clears the lip and lands hard on the far side.

Behind him, Taled lets the shutter slam to the floor with both bloody hands. The impact rings through the stairwell, and the sparking terminal spits one last red flash.

Something heavy slams into the outer face of the shutter. The steel buckles inward with a dull, ugly thud.

Kay comes up in a narrow service pocket beyond the barrier, half-lit by a strip of failing emergency light. The air there tastes wet and cold.

The shutter behind him shudders again, now carrying a fresh dent that swallows the light.

Above the impact, a vent grate rattles in the wall, loose enough to give way if they need another route.

Kay swings the MAC-10 up and cracks the far window hard enough to spiderweb the glass. On the second hit, it bursts outward in a wet glitter of shards.

Cold air knifes in from the gap. Kay goes low, shoulders through the opening, and lands on the other side in a cramped utility ledge.

Inside the stairwell, Taled snaps toward the sound, blood on his hands, while the shutter takes another brutal удар from below and bows farther inward.

Beyond Kay, a narrow vent run opens into darkness, its loose grate shivering under the vibration of the building.

The room behind him stays loud with metal and impact, but the window is gone now, and the only way forward is into the vent.

Kay crawls into the vent, shoulders scraping metal. The shaft narrows fast, then opens just enough for him to reach the source of the twitching dark and snatch a rat by the scruff before it can dart away.

His hand closes. The rat goes still at once, and the vent falls quiet except for Kay’s breathing and the distant hammering behind the wall. The route ahead remains cramped, but it is open.

Kay shifts deeper into the vent, knees and elbows grinding metal. The shaft pinches his shoulders, then bends left into a service run lined with dust and old wiring.

His Mac 10 catches on a seam. He works it free, and the scrape flashes a weak amber strip ahead, a maintenance marker half-buried in grime.

The tunnel opens just enough for him to see past a broken panel. Below the grate, the stairwell is sealed off, but a side service hatch sits hanging ajar on warped hinges.

Kay pushes on. The shaft drops into a short dead shelf above the hatch, and the loose grate gives under his weight with a hard metallic pop, exposing the side route.

Kay drops through the hatch and hits the apartment floor hard enough to rattle the room. Dust jumps from a sagging rug, and the maintenance glow leaks in through the open hatch above him.

The room is cramped and stripped, a dead kitchenette to one side, a broken couch to the other. The apartment door stands shut, but the lock plate is warped from old heat.

A low thud answers from beyond the wall, then another, as if something heavy is working through the building. The floor under Kay gives a tiny shiver.

From the hall, a voice snaps through the door, sharp and close. "Whoever's in there, open up. Now."

The apartment is sealed in front of him, the hatch yawns behind him, and the unseen weight outside keeps moving. Kay has one room, two exits, and no clean answer.

Kay lunges in close and drives his thumb toward the dog’s eye. The bite does not break cleanly, it only twists harder as the animal shakes its head and drags his arm low.

Pain snaps bright through him. His Mac 10 slips from his grip and clatters across the floor, skidding under the dead kitchenette.

The dog surges again, and Kay’s attempt turns the mauling into a wrestling match on the apartment floor.

At the door, the unseen landlord or tenant hammers the warped plate once, hard. The lock gives a sharp metallic pop, and the frame shifts inward.

Above them, the open hatch lets down a thin line of maintenance light, and the room suddenly feels too small for the dog, the gun, and the breaking door.

The apartment door starts to swing inward under pressure, while Kay is still pinned on the floor with the dog on his arm.

Kay finds a rusty fork by the baseboard and jams it into the dog’s ribs.

The animal yelps and jerks back, loosening its bite on his arm.

Kay wrenches free, but the fork tears from his hand and clatters under the kitchenette beside the Mac 10.

The dog staggers, low and snarling, blood dark on its fur as it circles for another lunge.

The warped frame gives another loud crack, dust sifting down from the lintel.

Kay jerks his bloodied forearm up, but the landlord’s bat comes in faster than the block.

The wood smacks his guard, numbing his arm and driving him sideways into the kitchenette.

The bat rebounds off the counter, and the impact kicks the Mac 10 farther under the cabinet.

A thin crack splits the warped frame wider, and cold hall light slices across the floor.

The landlord’s angle is ruined for a second, but the bat is still in his hands, and the doorway is giving way.

Kay drives a hard kick low and folds the landlord around it. The bat slips loose as he doubles over, and Kay drops with the impact, shoulder-first, reaching for the Mac 10 under the cabinet.

His fingers close around the grip. The gun comes free, but the motion scrapes hard enough to knock a pan from the kitchenette and ring the whole room like a bell.

The door explodes inward in splinters and bent frame. Cold hall light vanishes behind a hulking corporate mecha as it shoulders through the wreckage.

Kay lands in a crouch with the Mac 10 in hand, blood on his sleeve, the landlord bent and gasping at his feet. The apartment is suddenly too small for both threats.

The mecha takes one step in, its frame filling the doorway, while the ruined door keeps shedding debris behind it. Kay has the gun, but the room is now a trap with two mouths.

Kay throws himself sideways, hits the tile, and rolls hard under the oven lip as incendiary rounds rake the kitchenette. Heat blooms over his back. The landlord screams outside the frame.

The mecha keeps firing. Orange light strobes through the shattered doorway, chewing splinters from the frame and painting the room in smoke.

The landlord crumples beside the oven, clothes smoking, one hand clawing uselessly at the floor. The pan rings again as a bullet hits metal nearby.

Under the stove, Kay gets cover, but the roll tears his sleeve and leaves a burning line across his shoulder.

Kay shifts one hand from under the oven and opens up on the doorway. The Mac 10 chugs short, brutal bursts, brass skipping across tile as rounds spark off the mecha's armor.

The machine keeps advancing anyway, each step heavy enough to rattle the cabinet hinges. Orange glare fades in stuttering flashes as the mecha's weapon ports keep tracking his hiding place.

Kay keeps the stream tight, forcing the muzzle up into the frame and the shoulder plate, buying inches of room. Smoke thickens low over the floor and curls around his arm.

The last burst clicks dry. The mecha pauses at the threshold, armor scored but still standing, and the room goes strangely loud with the empty weapon's clicking.

The dog slams into the mecha's leg, snarling at the armor seam. Kay rolls out, snatches the bat from the floor, and comes up low.

He swings hard. The bat cracks into the mecha's head with a dull metallic thunk, snapping its aim sideways.

The machine staggers back a step, ports sparking against the doorway frame. The dog's weight keeps it off balance for one precious second.

Smoke surges between them. The bat stays in Kay's hands, and the mecha's shoulder twists toward him again, trying to reacquire.

Kay commits, the bat whistling up in both hands. It slams into the mecha’s head with a brutal crack, and the head unit snaps sideways as if the neck has gone loose.

The bat explodes into splinters. The mecha reels in the doorway, one arm jerking toward balance, its weapon line wobbling off target.

A second blast rips through the corridor behind it. Taled steps into view through the smoke, .357 still up, and the back of the mecha’s head bursts apart in a sharp flash of sparks and casing fragments.

The machine folds forward into the blown frame and goes dead. The doorway is suddenly just wreckage, lit by smoke and red emergency spill.

Taled holds the corridor, breathing hard, while the floor vibrates with something deeper in the building. The route is open, but only for a moment.