Alyce's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

The repository's silver doors reflected her mechanical parts as she approached. She needed medical records—proof of who turned her into this. The building hummed with servers and data streams. Inside, rows of terminals lined the walls, each one glowing with search fields and file directories. She sat at an empty station and pulled up the medical database. Her fingers moved across the keyboard, searching for her name, her procedure date, anything. The screen blinked. Access denied. She tried another search path. Denied again. These files were locked behind security she couldn't crack alone. Her jaw tightened. The answers were right here, trapped behind digital walls. She would need help—a hacker, someone who knew systems better than she did. She stood and left the building, the gear symbol still her only real clue. The repository held secrets, but she wasn't done yet. Outside, she followed the main corridor toward the market district. She needed to clear her head and think about her next move. The tunnel opened into a wide plaza where travelers gathered. In the center stood a massive marble sculpture—twisted forms of metal and flesh rising together in sharp angles. A plaque at its base read "Tribute to the Innovators." The figures looked part human, part machine, frozen mid-transformation. Her stomach turned. This was supposed to honor the people who created technology like hers. The ones who pushed boundaries. The ones who made her into this. She stared at the abstract shapes, at the way marble captured circuits and skin becoming one. Someone saw this work as progress. Someone celebrated it. Her pink mechanical fingers curled tight. Whoever turned her into a cyborg believed they were doing something great. But they didn't ask her first. They didn't give her a choice. She turned away from the statue and headed back toward her burrow. The world around her praised innovation, but she wanted answers. She wanted justice. And that statue just reminded her why she couldn't stop searching. She walked for twenty minutes before her stomach growled. A diner appeared ahead, tucked between two tunnel junctions. Graffiti covered its walls in bright layers of color. The structure looked like an old railroad car someone had dragged underground. A sign above the door read "Rabbit's Tea Party Diner." She pushed through the entrance and the smell of grease and coffee hit her. Booths lined both walls, packed with travelers and workers. She slid into an empty seat near the back and ordered eggs. Two men in the next booth talked loud enough for her to hear. "Did you hear about that clinic on the south side?" one said. "They shut it down last month. Something about unauthorized procedures." The other man laughed. "Half the doctors down here work without permits. What made that one special?" Alyce's fingers stopped halfway to her fork. A clinic. Unauthorized procedures. She pulled out a scrap of paper and wrote down what she'd heard. This place was more than food—it was where people talked, where rumors spread. She would come back here and listen. Someone would say something useful. Someone always did.