| CORRUPT |

Chapter 15

𝙰𝙿𝚁𝙸𝙻 𝟸𝟽𝚝𝚑 𝟸𝟶𝟺𝟷
𝟻:𝟶𝟶𝚙𝚖

Tᗯ : ᐯIOᒪᗴᑎᑕᗴ

𝐶𝑂𝑁𝑁𝑂𝑅：

Hank and I sat in the dimly lit kitchen, our conversation about Cole taking a serious turn. Despite Hank's lingering crankiness, I remained composed. Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air, leaving me bewildered. Surprisingly, Hank seemed unfazed, prompting me to question him. "Did you not hear that, Hank?" His confused expression met my concern.

As I prepared to investigate the source of the scream, Hank, in a rare moment, restrained me with a firm grip on my wrist. His stern words cut through the tension. "You need to wake up, Connor."

Baffled, I looked at him, my fear palpable in the quiet response, "What?" Hank's emotionless face persisted. "Wake up," he urged through clenched teeth. I closed my eyes briefly, only to find myself jarringly in my own room. Panic surged as distant screams echoed through the building. Hastily, I retrieved a gun from a drawer, tucking it into my back pocket.

Stepping to the door, I cautiously opened it, revealing a chaotic scene. Flames licked at furniture, androids clashed violently, and humans engaged in a desperate struggle against their robotic counterparts. The revelation struck me - a surreal war unfolding. It dawned on me that I was living a waking nightmare, reminiscent of the voice's ominous warning.

"I don't know if it's just me, Connor. But something is... brewing."

I swung my door wide open, absorbing the apocalyptic scene unfolding around me. It felt like a replay of the world ending, a paralyzing moment of overwhelming chaos. Blinking rapidly, I clung to the door handle, but the weight of the situation forced me to stumble back into my room. With a jarring slam, I shut myself off from the external turmoil, cowering against the door. My vision blurred, and my LED fixated on a vivid red, mirroring the panic engulfing me. Each breath came in desperate, shallow gasps, as if the very air was being mercilessly drained from my lungs.

I closed my eyes, attempting to find solace in memories of post-war happiness. Yet, the futile exercise offered no relief. Desperation drove me to navigate the recesses of my mind, focusing on my steadfast companion, Hank. Thoughts of our camaraderie, the moment I intervened in his Russian roulette ordeal, or when he made a life-altering choice to shoot the other Connor, all played out in my mind. Gradually, my breaths steadied, and my racing heart synced with a calmer rhythm.

Opening my eyes, a newfound determination surged within me. Rising to my feet, I cautiously reopened the door, took a deep breath, and charged into the hallways. Though lacking a specific objective, the notion of taking out adversaries became a temporary distraction, a means to bide my time in this surreal and perilous reality.

The harsh overhead lights flickered as I faced off against the determined human assailant in the dimly lit room. My adaptive programming analyzed his movements, predicting potential threats. The first strike came swiftly, a wild swing that I deftly sidestepped. Engaging my combat protocols, I responded with a precise jab, redirecting his momentum. The fight ensued with a flurry of punches and dodges, each move calculated to exploit weaknesses.

As the battle escalated, I used my agility to evade a series of aggressive lunges. My synthetic reflexes allowed me to counter with a calculated combination of strikes, targeting pressure points to momentarily stagger my adversary. The human, undeterred, retaliated with a vicious kick, forcing me to recalibrate my balance.

We circled each other like predators in a dance of violence, exchanging blows with a relentless rhythm. My analytical algorithms processed his fighting style, adapting my own strategy in real-time. The room echoed with the percussive sounds of our clashes, a symphony of conflict.