The wind howled through the skeletal remains of Sector Seven, carrying the metallic tang of salt and oxidized scrap. Anji pushed his frame harder, his boots crunching over pulverized concrete and twisted rebar. Behind him, Sarah stumbled. Her right arm twitched in a rhythmic, involuntary spasm—the mechanical jitter of a dying neural-shunt—and she gasped as a phantom pulse tore through her sensory receptors, arching her back against the biting cold."Keep moving, Sarah," Anji rasped, not breaking his stride. "The warehouse is less than two blocks. Arga’s signal was strong enough that we don’t have much time before someone else hears the hum."Sarah pressed a gloved hand to her temple, her breath misting in the freezing air. "It’s... it’s clawing, Anji. It wants the voltage. Every wire we walk past is a magnet. I feel like my skin is made of iron filings and someone just turned on a giant solenoid.""Push it back," Anji said, his tone devoid of pity, though his eyes scanned the darkness
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