They descended into the vault-city of Kepler Station by foot. Even after decades abandoned, the infrastructure pulsed with dim emergency lights and residual energy—power kept alive by ancient reactors and even older machines.
Vara led the way, navigating with practiced ease. She had spent time here once, long ago, when the Pact still held it as a staging ground before it fell to infighting and corruption.
Brinley stopped them at a sealed gate. "Pressure sensors tripped."
Julius activated his symbiote's neural link. "I've got it."
Tendrils of luminous armor flowed into the terminal. Sparks flashed, and the gate hissed open—revealing a vast, cathedral-like cavern filled with survivors.
But they weren't just survivors.
Children with neural ports. Adults wearing Hive-threaded masks. Makeshift weapons made of both Pact and Echelon gear. These were the Hollow Kin.
A woman approached—tall, hooded, with eyes like burning silver. "We heard your signal."
Julius nodded. "We need help."
The woman gestured to the cavern walls—filled with screens, weapons, machinery, and scars. "Help costs blood."
Seraphel stepped forward, fully armored. "Then we pay it. All of it."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "We'll fight. But you should know something first. The Monolith Wastes? They're not just a Hive breeding ground. They're a prison."
Julius frowned. "For what?"
The woman leaned in. "The first one. The original seed. They called it… Omega Null."
The room fell into silence.
"We buried it because it couldn't be killed," she said. "And now… it wants out."
Julius turned toward the Wastes, his armor already flexing with anticipation.
"Then we'd better be ready," he muttered. "Because the storm's just getting started."