Kael shut his eyes. He felt the pack’s separate minds, their subroutines, their limitations. Hornet could blind. Firefly could stun, but the flash-bang was set for a full room, not a single target. It would knock the Archivist unconscious, maybe give him a concussion. It might also trigger the dead man’s switch if his vitals spiked wrong.
“Cicada! Grab it!”
They fled back through the rusting corridors, a nightmare swarm of metal and purpose. Behind them, the Archivist’s substation crumbled into silence. Kael withdrew his consciousness from the pack, the familiar weight of his own body returning like a lead blanket. He sat up, gasping, sweat cold on his face. targeting pack