Down | I'll Follow You
He looked into the abyss. It was a throat of twisted metal and steam, miles deep. Most people spent their lives looking up at the spires, dreaming of the sun. Elias only cared about the shadows. "Then I’m changing direction," he said. He stepped off the ledge.
Elias didn't look back. He tightened the straps of his rebreather, the rubber tasting of salt and old copper. He remembered Lena’s hand in his three nights ago, her fingers trembling as she whispered about a signal she’d found—a ghost in the machine calling from the deep. She had gone to find the source. She hadn't come back.
"You don't have to do this," the drone hovering over his shoulder buzzed. Its optic lens flickered blue, a cold imitation of concern. "The atmospheric pressure alone will crush your lungs before you hit the mid-levels. Statutory law says she’s already processed."
Hours bled into a fever dream of grime. The air grew thick, tasting of ozone and ancient rot. He passed the 'Hollows,' where people with translucent skin watched him with wide, unblinking eyes. He didn't stop. He followed the faint, rhythmic pulse on his tracker—the beacon he’d tucked into Lena’s pocket weeks ago "just in case."
She looked up, her face a map of exhaustion and wonder. "I told you I found it," she whispered. "The earth is still breathing down here."
