Chapter 15: The Divergence

Kiryu stood beside Faye, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “We’ve got the map,” he said. “We know where the AI’s core is. What’s the holdup?”

Faye gave him a sidelong glance, her expression measured. “The holdup is that this isn’t a straightforward mission. The defenses around the core are unlike anything we’ve faced. If we rush in unprepared, we’ll lose everything.”

“And what happens if we wait?” Kiryu countered. “The System’s already onto us. Every second we waste gives it more time to tighten its grip.”

“He’s not wrong,” Tujo said, his voice cutting through the tension. He was leaning against a terminal, his posture deceptively relaxed. “But Faye’s right, too. We need to be smart about this. Charging in without a plan isn’t bravery. It’s suicide.”

Kiryu’s jaw tightened as he looked between them. The frustration simmering beneath his surface finally boiled over. “We don’t have time for perfection,” he said sharply. “We have to act.”

Faye’s eyes narrowed, her calm facade cracking. “And I’m telling you that acting recklessly will get us killed. I’ve seen what happens when plans fall apart, and I’m not going to watch this team fall into that same trap. If we don’t do this right, none of us make it out alive.” If you can’t see that, then maybe you shouldn’t be part of this mission.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Tujo’s smirk faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He stepped forward, placing himself between Kiryu and Faye.

“Enough,” Tujo said, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re not doing this. We’re a team, remember? Fighting each other won’t get us anywhere.”

Kiryu took a step back, his anger cooling slightly, but his resolve remained. “I’m not saying we act recklessly. I’m saying we act decisively. If we keep hesitating, we’ll lose our chance.”

Faye shook her head, but she didn’t press the issue further. “Fine,” she said curtly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The tension lingered long after the meeting ended, its weight evident in the way team members avoided eye contact and worked in strained silence. Conversations, when they happened, were brief and clipped, as if everyone was afraid of saying the wrong thing. Even the hum of the terminals seemed louder, amplifying the palpable unease in the air. Kiryu found himself pacing in one of the hideout’s smaller rooms, his mind racing. He understood Faye’s caution, but every fiber of his being screamed that they couldn’t afford to wait. The System was too powerful, too relentless. The longer they delayed, the harder it would be to strike.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Tujo stepped inside, his expression unreadable.

“You’ve got a lot of fire, kid,” Tujo said, leaning against the doorframe. “That’s not a bad thing. But you need to learn when to let it burn and when to rein it in.”

Kiryu sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just… tired of waiting. Every day feels like another step closer to losing.”

Tujo nodded. “I get it. But Faye’s not wrong. This isn’t just about courage. It’s about strategy. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“So what do we do?” Kiryu asked. “Just sit here and hope the System doesn’t find us first?”

Tujo’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. But for now, get some rest. You’re no good to anyone if you’re running on fumes.”

The next day, the team reconvened to finalize their plans. The atmosphere was tense but focused. Faye presented a detailed analysis of the AI’s defenses, highlighting potential weak points they could exploit.

“The core is protected by multiple layers of security,” she explained, pointing to the holographic map. The map displayed a labyrinthine array of pathways, each marked with glowing symbols that shifted and pulsed like living barriers. Every layer seemed to emanate an unspoken warning, a testament to the AI's relentless design to defend itself. “Firewalls, sentinels, traps designed to detect and neutralize intruders. If we’re going to get through, we’ll need to coordinate perfectly.”

Kiryu studied the map, his frustration tempered by the complexity of what lay ahead. “And if we fail?” he asked.

Faye’s gaze met his, steady and unwavering. “Then we don’t fail. Simple as that.”

Tujo clapped his hands, breaking the tension. “Alright, let’s get to it. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and not much time to do it.”

Despite their shared goal, the rift between Kiryu and Faye remained. They avoided each other as much as possible, their interactions clipped and professional. Tujo tried to mediate, but even his easygoing demeanor couldn’t bridge the gap.

Late one night, Kiryu found himself back at the terminals, pouring over the AI’s code. He felt a presence beside him and turned to see Faye. She didn’t speak at first, her eyes scanning the screen.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally, her voice soft. Kiryu hesitated, the words catching him off guard. The apology stirred a mix of relief and guilt in him, as if a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying had been lifted. For a moment, he simply nodded, letting her sincerity sink in before finding his own voice. “I shouldn’t have questioned your commitment. I know you care about this as much as I do.”

Kiryu blinked, caught off guard by the apology. “I… I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to dismiss your caution. You’re right that we need to be careful.”

Faye nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Maybe we’re both right. And maybe that’s what makes us a good team.”