All Chapters of SEVER ZERO: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

TIME: 03:00 HOURS.LOCATION: SECTOR 4 HIGHWAY - SOUTHBOUND LANE.STATUS: FUGITIVE.Ren drove the silver Vanguard Citadel SUV like he stole it. Because, in a way, he had. The money used to pay for it was blood money, printed from the death of the old world.He wove through the automated traffic of Sector 4 at 120 miles per hour, overriding the lane-assist protocols. The rain lashed against the reinforced windshield, blurring the neon city lights into streaks of violent color.Beside him, Maya clutched the leather dashboard with white-knuckled hands. She was trembling. On her lap, she held a single backpack—everything they owned now. A change of clothes. A bottle of water. A photo of her mother.In the backseat, the expensive floating stroller was empty. They had left it behind in the apartment. It was too big. It was a symbol of a life that had lasted exactly ten weeks."Ren," Maya whispered, her voice barely audible over the hum of the electric engine. "The lights. Behind us."Ren che

TIME: 14:00 HOURS.LOCATION: SECTOR 8 "THE RUST BELT" - E-WASTE GRAVEYARD.STATUS: SCAVENGING.The graveyard didn't hold bodies. It held memories.Ren stood atop a mountain of discarded technology—a sprawling, jagged landscape of broken circuit boards, shattered monitors, and tangled copper wire that stretched for acres under the grey, weeping sky of Sector 8. This was where the city’s dreams came to die. When a citizen in Sector 1 upgraded their neural link, the old one ended up here, crushed and forgotten."Ren," Leo (Tank) whispered, his voice vibrating with anxiety. He was crouched behind a rusted washing machine, scanning the horizon. "We've been out here too long. The Seekers have thermal drones. If they spot our heat signatures against this cold metal...""I know," Ren said, gritting his teeth. He dug his gloved hands into a pile of wet, sharp plastic. "But Kara needs a processor. And she needs a high-bandwidth optical cable. We can't build the Hardline with copper wire alone.

TIME: 21:17 HOURS.LOCATION: SECTOR 8 SUB-LEVEL 6 - "THE OLD EXCHANGE."STATUS: COMBAT.The darkness was not empty. It was heavy, suffocating, and alive with the hum of the geothermal vent.Ren crouched atop a rusted server bank, eight feet off the ground. The metal bit into his knees through his damp jeans. He held his breath, willing his heart to slow down.Below him, the stagnant water rippled.Splash. Splash. Splash.Six beams of red laser light cut through the gloom, slicing the humid air like scalpels.The Cleanup Crew had entered the room.They were professionals. They moved in a standard "Sweep and Clear" formation—two point men, two flankers, two rear guards. They wore matte-black tactical armor that absorbed the minimal ambient light. Their boots were silent on the dry patches of floor, but the water betrayed them."Thermal is negative," a voice crackled over a localized comms channel. It was distorted, synthesized. "Ambient heat from the vent is masking their signatures. Sw

TIME: 07:30 HOURS.LOCATION: SECTOR 0 - THE CRASH SITE.STATUS: SALVAGE.The ship didn't look like it could hold life. It looked like a carcass.It was a Mag-Lev Heavy Freighter, class-4, likely shot down during the Unification Wars fifty years ago. It had nose-dived into the ruins of an old office complex, its massive rusted hull jutting out of the debris at a forty-five-degree angle like a tombstone. Vines of grey, mutated ivy crawled up its sides, feeding on the leaking coolant lines.Ren led the way up the mountain of rubble that formed a ramp to the ship's open cargo bay. The ash was deep here, shifting like dry sand under his boots. Every step was a battle against gravity and exhaustion."Leo," Ren rasped, looking back. "How's the hand?"Leo (Tank) was pale. His left hand was wrapped in a rag that was already soaked through with bright red blood. The scavenger's machete had cut deep, slicing through the palm muscle. But he was still carrying Arthur on his back with his good arm.

TIME: 12:30 HOURS.LOCATION: SECTOR 0 - THE IRON WHALE (CRASH SITE).STATUS: SIEGE.The silence of the Ash Lands was usually absolute, broken only by the click of a Geiger counter or the distant groan of a collapsing building. But today, the silence was murdered by the sound of engines.It wasn't the high-pitched, mosquito whine of electric surveillance drones. It was a guttural, deep-throated roar that vibrated in the chest. It was the sound of heavy diesel-combustion hybrids—Old World tech that didn't care about radiation or EMPs.Ren stood on the command deck of the crashed freighter, peering through the spiderweb cracks of the reinforced viewport. He held the kinetic sniper rifle Rook had given him—a "Widowmaker" .50 caliber bolt-action that weighed nearly thirty pounds. It smelled of gun oil, cold steel, and history. There was no digital HUD overlay. No red diamond marking the enemy. No windage indicator projecting a calculated trajectory.Just glass optics, iron mechanics, and h