Chapter 18

The Overseer’s antechamber was a mausoleum of cold light and sharper edges. Holographic security grids pulsed along the walls, their azure patterns fracturing like frozen lightning across the polished floors. Colossus stood at the chamber’s heart, a titan forged from alloy and arrogance, his crimson optics casting twin pools of bloody light at his feet. Sparrow’s breath fogged in the artificially chilled air, her stun baton humming like a trapped star in her grip. Beside her, Raze adjusted his grip on the plasma rifle, his calloused fingers brushing the stock’s serial number—a relic from a purged rebel battalion.

The cyborg’s voice shattered the silence, synthesized and hollow. “Unauthorized entities detected. Directive 117 mandates immediate neutralization.”

Raze’s lips curled into a snarl, the scar bisecting his eyebrow pulling taut. “Stand. Aside. This doesn’t have to get messy.”

Colossus tilted his head, the motion uncannily human. “Messy,” he repeated, the word warping into static. “An inefficient outcome. You will comply.”

Sparrow stepped forward, her boots silent against the floor. Years in the Scars had taught her the weight of silence, the way it could fracture resolve. “We’re not here to negotiate,” she said, her voice steady. “The Overseer’s reign ends today.”

The cyborg’s optics brightened, a predator’s gleam. “Initiating termination.”

Colossus moved.

His fist blurred toward Sparrow’s ribs, a piston-driven strike that would have shattered concrete. She twisted, muscle memory overriding fear, and swung the baton upward. The collision of energy and alloy screamed through the chamber, sparks cascading like dying fireflies.

Outthink. Outmaneuver.

Raze’s training echoed in her mind—the damp tunnels beneath the Scars, his voice a graveled mantra. “Drones don’t bleed, but they burn.”* She ducked beneath Colossus’s follow-up swing, rolling behind a shattered holographic console. Glass shards bit into her palms, blood smearing the floor.

Raze opened fire. Plasma bolts seared the air, but Colossus’s forearm plates unfolded into a shimmering energy shield, dispersing the attack into harmless static. The cyborg lunged, his blade-arm carving through the console like parchment. Sparrow barely dodged, the blade’s edge grazing her shoulder.

“He’s faster!” Raze barked, ejecting a spent energy cell.

Sparrow’s gaze darted across Colossus’s frame—reinforced joints, redundant optics, there. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed his chest plating, a relic of some forgotten battle. Beneath it pulsed a nest of cables, their faint blue glow betraying a critical power node.

“His chest panel!” she shouted. “Near the tertiary wiring!”

Raze feinted left, baiting Colossus’s blade into a wall-mounted generator. The cyborg wrenched it free, gears shrieking, but the delay gave Sparrow her opening. She lunged, baton jamming into the fractured plating.

The stun charge surged. Colossus staggered, systems stuttering.

“A-anomaly detected,” he intoned, voice distorting. “Rerouting… p-primary systems…”

Raze fired. Plasma seared the exposed wiring, the stench of burnt insulation choking the air. Colossus’s left arm spasmed, fingers twitching in a macabre puppet dance.

Memories flickered at the edges of Sparrow’s consciousness—nights in the Scars, watching drones reduce her neighborhood to skeletal husks. Her mother’s hand slipping from hers in the smoke. The Overseer’s hologram flickering above the carnage, serene as a god.

This isn’t just a fight. It’s funeral rites.

Colossus recovered with a synthesized roar, deploying a flamethrower module from his wrist. Fire roared toward Raze, who dove behind a support column. Sparrow sprinted toward a dangling power conduit, baton raised.

“Inefficient,” Colossus droned, pivoting. His blade-arm whirred toward her spine.

She twisted, the blade grazing her ribs, and plunged the baton into the conduit. Electricity arced into his chest panel. Colossus convulsed, optics flickering crimson to blue to black.

“CRITICAL FAILURE,” he rasped, collapsing. “Initiating… reb…”

The light died.

Sparrow knelt, trembling. Raze limped to her side, blood streaking his jaw. “Told you purple hair’s lucky,” he wheezed.

She didn’t laugh.

Beneath Colossus’s shattered plating, a tattoo surfaced—a rebel sigil, faded but unmistakable. Jarek. The name whispered through her like a ghost.

The Scars reeked of rust and desperation. Sparrow crouched in a smuggler’s tunnel, eavesdropping on Raze and a hulking stranger.

“—can’t risk another frontal assault,” the stranger growled. Jarek. His knuckles bore the same sigil now etched under Colossus’s armor.

Raze spat into the dirt. “The Overseer’s harvesting us like scrap. We hit the gene-labs tonight.”

Jarek’s laugh was bitter. “You’re a poet, Raze. But poetry won’t stop his drones.”

Present day:

Sparrow traced the sigil. “He was one of us.”

Raze’s face hardened. “Was.”

The final door loomed—a seamless slab of black alloy engraved with the Overseer’s insignia. Sparrow pressed her palm to its surface, the metal leaching warmth from her skin.

“This ends now,” she whispered.

Raze gripped her shoulder. “Wait.”

He unclipped a device from his belt—a failsafe bomb, its display blinking red. “From the Scars. It’ll fry his core.” His voice frayed. “My sister… she was in the first purge. This isn’t just rebellion. It’s vengeance.”

Sparrow’s throat tightened. “You knew we wouldn’t survive.”

“Knew you’d win,” he corrected.

Colossus’s corpse sparked. For a heartbeat, his voice glitched into Jarek’s graveled tone: “Tell… Raze… it’s done.”

They stepped over Colossus's body and approached the final door, the door that led to the Overseer's private office. Sparrow took a deep breath and pressed the button to open the door.

The door slid open, revealing a spacious office, lavishly decorated with expensive furniture and artwork. The Overseer sat behind a large desk, his face hidden behind a reflective mask.

"Welcome, rebels," he said, his voice calm and composed. "You’re late by ten minutes."

The Overseer sat behind his desk, his posture relaxed, his voice betraying none of the fear or anxiety that Sparrow expected. He seemed almost… bored.

"I must confess," he continued, his voice smooth and even, "I'm a little disappointed. I expected more of a challenge. Colossus was supposed to be… insurmountable."

"He was," Raze growled, his eyes narrowing. "But everyone has a weakness. Even your precious Colossus."

"Indeed," the Overseer said, his tone philosophical. "And what, pray tell, is my weakness? Is it my love of luxury? My obsession with control? Or perhaps… my unwavering belief in the necessity of order?"

"Your weakness is your arrogance," Sparrow said, her voice firm and resolute. "You believe that you're above the law, that you can do whatever you want without consequence. You think you can control everyone and everything, but you're wrong. The people of the Dome City are tired of being controlled. They're tired of living in fear. They're ready for a change."

The Overseer chuckled softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Change," he said, his tone dismissive. "Such a naive concept. Change is chaos. Change is instability. The Dome City needs order, it needs control. Without me, it would descend into anarchy."

"That's a lie," Sparrow retorted, her voice rising. "The Dome City doesn't need you. It needs freedom. It needs justice. It needs a leader who cares about the people, not just about power."

"And you think you can provide that?" the Overseer asked, his tone mocking. "You, a former enforcer? You, a rebel with no experience in leadership? You think you can step into my shoes and magically solve all the problems of the Dome City?"

"I don't know," Sparrow admitted, her voice softening slightly. "But I'm willing to try. I'm willing to listen to the people, to understand their needs, to work with them to build a better future. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make the Dome City a better place."

The Overseer leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on Sparrow. "Admirable," he said, his tone almost… sincere. "But ultimately, futile. You don't understand the true nature of power. Power is not about popularity or compassion. It's about control. It's about the ability to make difficult decisions, to sacrifice the few for the good of the many. It's about maintaining order, even when it means resorting to… unpleasant methods."

"Unpleasant methods?" Raze scoffed. "You mean like torturing innocent people? Like suppressing dissent? Like hoarding all the resources for yourself while the rest of the city starves?"

The Overseer sighed, his tone weary. "Necessary evils," he said. "I did what I had to do to protect the Dome City. I made the difficult choices that no one else was willing to make."

"And what about Lin Mei?" Sparrow asked, her voice trembling with anger. "What about what you did to her?"

The Overseer stiffened slightly, his gaze hardening. "Lin Mei," he said, his tone dismissive. "A traitor. She betrayed my trust, she conspired against me. She deserved what she got."

"She was trying to help people!" Sparrow shouted, her voice cracking with emotion. "She was trying to expose your corruption, your lies! She was a hero, and you murdered her!"

"She was a threat," the Overseer said, his tone cold and unyielding. "And I eliminated the threat. It was a simple calculation."

"You're a monster," Sparrow said, her voice barely a whisper. "You're a heartless, soulless monster."

"Perhaps," the Overseer said, his tone indifferent. "But I'm also the only thing standing between the Dome City and utter chaos. Without me, everything will fall apart."

"That's not true," Sparrow said, her voice regaining its strength. "The Dome City is stronger than you think. It can survive without you. It can thrive without you."

She raised her stun baton, her hand trembling slightly. "It's over, Overseer," she said. "Your reign of terror is about to end."

The Overseer remained motionless, his gaze fixed on Sparrow. "Is it?" he said, his tone enigmatic. "Or is it just beginning?"

He reached into his desk drawer, his movements slow and deliberate. Sparrow tensed, ready to strike.

"Before you do anything rash," the Overseer said, his voice calm and measured, "I think you should know… the truth about Lin Mei."

He pulled out a small device from his drawer, a data chip. "This contains all the information you need to know," he said. "The truth about her motives, her actions, her ultimate fate."

He tossed the data chip onto the desk, his gaze fixed on Sparrow. "Are you sure you want to do this, rebel?" he asked, his tone laced with a hint of… pity? "Are you sure you want to condemn me without knowing the full story?"

Sparrow hesitated, her hand trembling. What was the truth about Lin Mei? What secrets was the Overseer hiding? Was she about to make a terrible mistake?