Page 208 of Red Scale Daddy
“I don’t have the luxury?—”
“Make it,” Dux cuts in.
“That’s not how?—”
“Make it,” he repeats, stepping closer, his voice dropping to something steady and unyielding. “For once, don’t pick the option where you disappear.”
That option has always been the cleanest. The simplest. The one that guarantees success.
So why does it feel wrong now?
Another crash behind us—closer, louder. The end of the corridor buckles inward slightly, metal warping under some external force.
Pally swears under his breath. “Decision time, Roma.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
Run the numbers.
Three lives. One objective.
Probability of survival increases if?—
No.
The equation doesn’t settle the way it should.
Because there’s a variable I haven’t accounted for.
Or maybe one I’ve been deliberately ignoring.
I open my eyes.
“Fine,” I say, the word tasting strange. “We adjust the plan.”
Dux doesn’t relax, but something in his shoulders shifts. “Define ‘adjust.’”
“No one gets left,” I say, forcing the words out, locking them into place before I can rethink them. “We move as a unit. We reach the escape vector together.”
Pally exhales, tension bleeding out of him just enough to keep moving. “That’s… significantly better.”
Dux studies me for a beat longer, like he’s checking for cracks in the statement. Then he nods once. “Good.”
“This does not eliminate risk,” I add sharply. “It increases it.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Worth it.”
I don’t answer that.
“Now move,” I say instead, turning and pushing forward again before the hesitation can root any deeper.
We run.
The corridor slopes downward toward the access shafts, gravity pulling at an angle that makes every step feel like sliding. The air grows thinner, colder, laced with the metallic tang of failing life support.
A panel ahead sparks violently, then goes dark, plunging us into near-total black for a breath before emergency lighting kicks back in.
“There!” Pally points to a hatch half-ajar on the right wall. “Maintenance shaft!”
