Page 41 of Broken Sentinel

"We need to keep moving," Trent says, checking the tablet again. "Security response teams will have calculated potential escape vectors by now."

"Where exactly are we going? You mentioned a sympathizer transport..."

"Access point 12-B. Used for waste extraction, but the sympathizers repurposed it for personnel movement." Trent's eyes meet mine briefly. "It leads outside."

Outside.

The word sends a shiver through me—equal parts terrorand excitement. I've never been outside the arcology. Few Sentinels have, except for specialized exterior defense teams.

"What's it like?" I ask before I can stop myself. "Outside. Do you know?"

Something softens in Trent's expression. "Unpredictable. Dangerous." A pause. "Beautiful, in its way."

The answer surprises me. "So you've been outside?"

"Twice. Specialized training missions." He turns, resuming our escape route. "Not many Sentinels get the opportunity."

I file that information away as we move through the passage. Another piece of the puzzle that is Trent Vanguard—elite Sentinel, perfect soldier, and apparently, a man who's seen beyond Unity's walls and found beauty there, of all things.

We navigate through a maze of maintenance tunnels, moving steadily downward. The air grows colder, damper, with a metallic tang that tickles my enhanced senses. The deeper we go, the more the arcology's perfect facade crumbles. Down here, pipes leak and metal corrodes. Unity's pristine image doesn't extend to places ordinary citizens never see.

"Security sweep coming from section fourteen," I warn, my hearing picking up the rhythmic footsteps of Unity forces.

Trent pulls me into a recessed utility alcove, our bodies pressed together in the confined space. We hold perfectly still as the security team passes just meters away.

His heart beats steady against my palm where it rests on his chest. Mine races like I've run a marathon. I'm not sure if it's the danger or his proximity that's causing it.

Probably both.

Once the security team passes, we continue through the tunnels until reaching a heavy mechanical door with hazard warnings plastered across it.

WASTE EXTRACTION SYSTEM AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY ENVIRONMENTAL HAZARD

"Charming," I mutter as Trent enters a complex access code into the panel. "You sure know how to show a girl a good time."

"Only the best for you, Thorne."

The door slides open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a large chamber filled with industrial waste processing equipment. The noise is overwhelming, with grinding machinery, hissing pressure valves, the constant thrum of motors. The air carries a sharp chemical smell that makes my enhanced senses recoil.

A low rumble vibrates through the chamber as the extraction system powers up. The tube—at least two meters in diameter—connects to one of the waste disposal channels that lead outside the arcology.

"Not the most dignified exit," Trent admits, "but effective. Security doesn't monitor waste streams for biological signatures. Too much organic material in the system already."

"Where does it lead?" I ask.

"Filtration outpost three kilometers from the arcology perimeter. The extraction tube connects to underwater channels for the final kilometer."

Wait. What?

Underwater?

"You expect us to swim?" The panic in my voice is embarrassingly obvious. “Underwater? For three freaking kilometers?”

"The current does most of the work," he tries to assure me. "Just don't fight it. You know how to hold your breath for five minutes.”

The chamber door suddenly buckles inward—a security breach in progress.

Shit.

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