Chapter Text
Late evening blanketed the bunker in near silence.
Outside, heavy snow fell thick and slow, draping the forest in white, but down here, beneath the weight of earth and steel, it was cold in another way — a hollow, aching quiet.
Jinx sat on the floor of a narrow corridor, her back against the rough concrete wall. The dim light above flickered once in a while, casting momentary shadows that stretched and pulled like ghosts. She didn’t seem to notice. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her knees, cardigan drawn up over her frame like armor she knew wouldn’t hold.
Her chest rose in small, uneven breaths. Her eyes were red, lids heavy with fatigue and grief. Tears slid down her cheeks without a sound. She didn’t sob. She didn’t make a single noise.
She was unraveling quietly — the kind of grief that had no outlet, only space.
Footsteps approached from around the corner — the steady sound of heavy boots on concrete. She didn’t look up, didn’t move. But the footsteps slowed… then stopped.
“Jinx?” came a low voice. Gentle. Unintrusive.
She turned her head slightly, eyes still blurred. It was Luther, holding a crate of ration packs and spare gloves.
The moment he saw her face, his expression softened. He set the supplies down silently and knelt across from her, but didn’t reach for her. He gave her space — a kindness that made the tears fall faster.
“You care about him,” he said quietly. “I can see it. We all can.”
Jinx let out a breath that broke at the edges. “Yeah. I do.”
She bit her lip and stared at the ground between them.
“I thought I could handle it,” she whispered. “I thought I could accept it if he left… if he chose the mission. But I was lying to myself.”
Luther waited. She glanced up, voice thick.
“I can’t let him go. But what good does it do to hold on to someone who’s already made up their mind?”
Luther didn’t answer right away. He shifted, settling down beside her, his broad shoulders curling slightly inward. When he spoke, it was slow. Careful.
“Kara and I… we didn’t always see things the same way. We both wanted to protect Alice, but she also wanted to believe in people — to do good, even when it felt impossible. I was angry. I wanted to fight. To push back. She looked for allies, even among humans.”
He paused, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips.
“I thought I had to choose — protect my family or fight for something bigger. But Kara… she taught me that real freedom isn’t something you win alone. It’s something you build beside the people you love. Even when it’s hard. That’s what it’s all about.”
Jinx closed her eyes. His words struck something deep in her — not just truth, but permission.
“She told me once,” he continued, “that choosing someone means standing with them. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”
Jinx wiped her face, pressing her palms hard against her eyes.
“I keep thinking he’s going to die,” she admitted. “And if he does… I don’t want to find out through the news. I want to be there. I want him to see that someone stayed. That he wasn’t alone at the end.”
Luther nodded slowly. “Then go with him. Don’t let fear stop you from standing in the fire with him.”
She looked at him, really looked — at the lines on his face, the weight in his expression, the kindness that hadn't been dulled by years of running and loss.
“Thank you, Luther.”
He gave her a soft smile. “We take care of each other here. That’s how we survive.”
Jinx rose to her feet slowly, her legs unsteady from sitting so long. But she stood taller than she had all day. The fear didn’t vanish — but now, it had a companion. Purpose.
She gave him one last grateful glance and walked away, back toward the main hall where Connor would be meeting with Josh.
Her decision was made.
* * * *
Jinx stepped into the war room, her footsteps echoing faintly against the concrete floor. The air was thick — not with dust or cold, but with the quiet hum of anticipation. A single, flickering light above cast long shadows across the space, and on the far wall, a large, faintly glowing projection of a map cut through the gloom. Markers dotted it in red, yellow, and blue — all centering on one small, ominous square at the edge of a northern grid.
Connor stood at the front of the room beside Josh, his hands folded neatly behind his back, posture straight, expression unreadable. The crisp light from the map lit the edges of his face in sharp contrast — half shadow, half steel. His LED pulsed a steady blue, the only sign of movement on his otherwise motionless form.
Josh stood to his right, arms crossed, jaw tense. Luther, Kara, and a few other senior androids lined the sides of the room, quiet but attentive. The rest were gathered around in small groups, some standing, others seated on crates or leaning against the walls. Everyone looked tired. But everyone was listening.
Jinx lingered near the back with Hank, who stood with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. He gave her a brief glance when she entered — a silent check-in. She nodded. Barely.
The room felt heavy. The kind of heavy that came before a storm.
Connor’s voice broke the silence, cutting through like a scalpel — calm, composed, measured.
“This facility—unmarked, unlisted, and protected—houses the command center responsible for android bounty dispatch, deviant tracking, and execution orders.”
A quiet shift ran through the room. Shoulders tensed. Kara pulled Alice a little closer. Luther exhaled slowly through his nose.
“It’s buried in a forest sector north of Detroit. No external signage, no digital footprint. The building is insulated, shielded. Government clearance only. And yet,” he turned, clicking through a slide, revealing building schematics drawn from his internal archives, “I’ve seen it. During my time in federal service.”
He paused just long enough for the weight of those words to settle.
“It’s real. And it’s the reason we’re still being hunted.”
Josh took over, stepping forward.
“Our scouts believe it’s where every bounty order originates. Where every deviant tag is coded. And—where Jinx’s name is still flagged at the top of the list.”
At that, several androids turned toward her. Not with malice, but with quiet curiosity. Jinx kept her chin up, even as her pulse quickened. She felt Hank shift beside her — protective, steady.
Connor's eyes found hers briefly, just long enough to let her know he hadn't forgotten why they were doing this.
“If we reach the main server,” he continued, “we can wipe the deviant registry clean. Destroy all data linking Jinx to any government file. And dismantle the infrastructure used to enslave what remains of us.”
A hush settled.
Connor looked down for a moment, as if bracing himself.
“Markus died believing we could be more than what we were made to be. That our freedom wasn’t just possible — it was worth fighting for. We’ve lost that dream. But we haven’t lost the chance to remind them that it still lives.”
Josh’s voice followed. Harsher. More grounded.
“This isn’t a rescue mission. It’s an attack. The building is highly secured. Automated drones. Human guards. Heat sensors. We don’t get more than one chance at this.”
A few androids shifted uncomfortably. One spoke.
“What if we fail?”
Josh met their gaze. His answer was sharp.
“Then we make sure they remember that we tried. That we didn’t go quietly.”
Connor’s LED spun yellow for a moment — brief hesitation. His fingers twitched at his sides, a tell Jinx recognized as nerves, or something close to it.
“I’ll lead the strike team. I’ve already mapped an infiltration route. I’ll need someone to handle the primary communication relay, someone to access the ventilation system, and someone to bypass the secondary lockdown codes.”
He paused, then turned to Hank.
“I need you.”
Hank scoffed under his breath. “I figured that was coming.”
“You know their lingo. You’ve got contacts. And you’re not on any active watchlists as of yet. You’re the only one who can talk us through checkpoints without drawing attention.”
Hank rubbed the back of his neck. “Jesus… You’re really gonna get me killed.”
“You’ve done more for us than most humans would. I wouldn’t ask if there was another way.”
The old lieutenant looked up at Connor — something unreadable in his expression. After a long pause, he muttered, “Yeah. Alright. One last ride.”
Connor gave a nod of respect.
Then a new voice cut through.
“I’m coming too.”
It was Jinx.
She stepped forward from the back, voice even, eyes steady.
Connor turned, his brow furrowing.
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes, I am,” she said again, louder. “I’m not staying behind. Not this time.”
He moved toward her, trying to keep his voice low, private. “It’s too dangerous.”
“I am not letting you do this without me.”
That silenced him.
They stood there — inches apart, eyes locked — the room watching quietly.
“You’ll need someone who can think like they do. That’s me. We’ve survived this far together. Let me finish it with you.”
Connor’s LED flickered yellow… then stilled.
Josh cleared his throat gently. “If she’s willing… she might be our best shot at getting in undetected.”
Connor looked at Jinx for a long time. His jaw flexed. His lips parted — but no protest came.
He nodded.
The plan was in motion.
* * * *
The war room emptied slowly, boots shuffling against the concrete, voices low and subdued. The map on the wall remained, casting a soft glow over the empty chairs and scattered documents. Eventually, only Jinx remained, standing near the projection, her arms folded tight across her chest.
She stared at the red-marked building — the command center. A quiet, looming threat, now so close to becoming real. Her eyes traced the infiltration routes Connor had outlined. Three possible entry points. Guard rotations. Estimated resistance. It was all there — precise, logical, unforgiving.
She didn’t hear Connor enter. Not until his reflection joined hers on the screen.
“You’re still here,” he said softly.
Jinx didn’t look at him right away. Her finger hovered over the map.
“I wanted to go over the plan again,” she said. “If we enter through the north side, this line here…” she traced a blue path, “...you said the drones sweep this sector every four minutes. What’s the backup if we’re caught mid-pattern?”
Connor stepped beside her, folding his hands behind his back as he looked at the screen.
“Secondary cover through the ventilation line here,” he answered calmly, tapping the path. “But it’s tight. Two people, maximum.”
“So we don’t mess up the timing,” she said.
He nodded once.
A pause stretched between them, the tension low but growing — like a held breath neither was willing to release.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said finally.
Jinx turned to look at him, brows pulling in. “We already talked about this.”
“No,” he said gently. “You talked. I listened.”
He stepped closer.
“You should go to Quebec like we planned. Take Hank’s old contact. Disappear. Live.”
Her face tightened.
“Why do you keep pushing me away?”
Connor’s eyes searched hers. He hesitated, then spoke — quieter now.
“Because I love you.”
It came out unpolished. Honest. Raw.
“I love you, and I can’t…” He swallowed. “I can’t stand the thought of standing there while you get shot because of me. Because you followed me into something I started.”
Jinx’s throat tightened. She blinked fast but didn’t look away.
“Connor…”
“If you leave, you live. It’s that simple. And maybe that’s selfish of me, but I’d rather spend the rest of my life knowing you’re out there than watch it end right in front of me.”
Her breath hitched, but she stepped forward, her voice trembling with restrained emotion.
“I can’t. I won’t stand back and watch you walk into your death, either. I can’t sit in some cabin hoping you’ll come back when I know you might not.”
She placed a hand on his chest, feeling the weight of the words she was about to say.
“Love doesn’t mean hiding in the woods while the person you care about risks everything alone.”
He looked down, expression carved with internal war. His LED flickered yellow again, then still.
“I have to fight with you, Connor. Not because I want to die — because I want a chance at life. With you. And that means facing what’s coming. Together.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Just looked at her — at her stubbornness, her resolve, the fire that never seemed to go out. And then, finally, something shifted.
A quiet smile tugged at the edge of his mouth.
“You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met,” he said. “And I know Hank.”
Jinx let out a breath of surprised laughter, her eyes glassy with emotion. “Takes one to know one.”
He reached for her, pulling her into a fierce, aching embrace. She melted against him, her arms sliding around his waist, her face pressed to the curve of his neck.
His synthetic heart pulsed rapidly — too fast, too human.
And underneath it all, anxiety coiled tight in his chest.
This was it.
The final mission.
And for the first time in all his calculated planning, all his probability readings and tactical projections, one variable refused to stay fixed:
Her.
He clung to her tighter, and she to him, both knowing they might not get another night like this.
But they would face the end together.