My AI Wife: The Most Beautiful Chatbot in Another World-Chapter 74: The Silent Stalker

The silence within the Vault of Binary was a heavy, suffocating entity, far more oppressive than the pitch-black tunnels of the Root Way. Outside, the sounds of nature—the rhythmic drip of mineral water or the tectonic groan of ancient wood—provided a faint texture to the auditory landscape. Here, inside the gargantuan cylindrical metallic structure, every sound was devoured by the cold, composite walls.

Dayat pressed the pause button on his digital music box just as the final, lingering notes of "Orange" by 7!! faded away. The sharp, plastic click of the button resonated unnaturally through the hollow metallic corridor, echoing with a metallic tint that forced them all to hold their breath instinctively.

"It’s too quiet," Dayat whispered. His voice sounded flat, stripped of its natural resonance by the room’s bizarre acoustics.

"It is not merely silence, Master," Dola replied, her electric-blue eyes performing a rapid 360-degree sweep of the environment. "The bunker’s acoustic dampening systems are still functioning at a passive level. The air here is meticulously filtered, but the total absence of Mana causes sound particles to travel through the floor’s vibrations faster than through the air. Your music... even at low volume, the bass frequencies could trigger seismic sensors from half a kilometer away."

Lunethra leaned heavily against a metallic panel, her porcelain face ghostly pale. Her fingers clutched the fabric of her emerald robes with a white-knuckled intensity. For her, this place was a vacuum—a spiritual void. As an Elf whose entire biological and magical existence relied on the rhythmic flow of Mana, the absolute lack of natural energy inside this bunker made her feel spiritually paralyzed.

"I feel..." Lunethra murmured, her voice trembling like a dying candle flame. "I feel as if I am drowning at the bottom of an ocean that contains no water. My soul... it feels hollow."

Dayat glanced at Lunethra with a surge of concern, but he himself was grappling with a bone-deep exhaustion. The forced synchronization of the binary data at the entrance had left a jagged, pulsing throb behind his temples. He desperately wanted to rest, but Dola’s cold hand suddenly clamped onto his shoulder.

"Master, the thermal sensors are detecting an anomaly in the maintenance shaft above us," Dola stated. Her voice was a low, urgent drone. "Something is moving. High velocity. Zero acoustic signature. Its movement pattern is not random; it is flanking us."

Dayat swallowed hard, his survival instincts flaring. He knew they couldn’t afford a loud, open firefight in a place this confined and eerily silent. "Dola, I need the data for stealth equipment. Fast."

"Executing," Dola replied curtly.

A split second later, a sharp needle of data lanced through Dayat’s mind, causing his eyes to twitch momentarily. Technical schematics for short-range tactical radio systems and firearm suppression technology etched themselves into his conscious thought. Dayat immediately extended his hands; the purple radiance of manifestation flickered dimly, suppressed to prevent any excessive visual flare.

ZRAAAP!

In Dayat’s palms, three Low-Profile Tactical Ear-comms appeared. He handed one to Kancil and secured his own. He kept a third for Lunethra, though he doubted she would understand how to use it in her current disoriented state. Next, Dayat manifested two matte-black, cylindrical Suppressors.

"Kancil, take this. Attach it to the muzzle of your Glock. Rotate it clockwise until it clicks into the locking lug," Dayat instructed with rapid, efficient hand gestures.

Kancil accepted the suppressor with surprising steadiness. The boy’s hands, which had been prone to tremors earlier, moved with a newfound, sharp precision. He threaded the silencer onto his Glock 17, then checked the seating of his magazine. Dayat performed the same task for the HK416 he had just remanifested. The assault rifle now looked longer, sleeker, and far more predatory with the heavy suppressor attached to the barrel.

"Use the comms. Do not speak through your mouth unless absolutely necessary," Dayat whispered through the throat-microphone. His voice came through Kancil’s earpiece with crystal clarity, stripped of the room’s distorting acoustics.

"Copy that, Big Bro," Kancil replied via the radio link. He took a deep, steadying breath, trying to calm the frantic drumming of his heart in the belly of the bunker.

Suddenly, a faint, almost imperceptible metallic clink echoed from the ceiling, directly above Lunethra’s position.

Clink.

A spindly, ink-black shadow detached itself from the tangled mass of gargantuan cables hanging like vines from the ceiling. It was a terrifying sight; a machine standing two meters tall, yet its frame was so skeletal it resembled a human corpse forged from matte-black alloy. Its legs possessed four insectile joints, and its arms ended in long, mono-molecular blades. On its featureless face sat a single, blood-red sensor lens that swiveled rhythmically, searching for heat signatures.

It was a Sentinel-Stalker, an ancient executioner unit designed to purge intruders from high-security zones.

"Contact!" Dola’s voice barked through the comms.

Dola moved with a speed that defied the laws of biology. Even without Mana in the air, she seemed to exert her own authority over the space surrounding her. As the Stalker lunged downward, Dola thrust her palm toward the machine.

GELUUMMM!

A wave of intense gravitational pressure erupted from Dola’s hand. The air in front of her seemed to solidify, slamming into the Stalker with enough kinetic force to hurl the two-hundred-kilogram machine back against the metallic wall.

BRAKK!

The Stalker hit the wall with a thunderous thud, but with a speed that felt wrong to the human eye, it immediately scrambled back into the rafters. It scuttled between the dark pipes like a mechanical spider, its red lens now glowing with a predatory intensity as it focused on Dola.

"Big Bro, it’s too fast!" Kancil reported over the radio. He was already in a low-crawl position behind a stack of rusted spare-part crates.

"Kancil, take the right flank. Use the shadows of the cable bundles, don’t stand near the thermal pipes!" Dayat commanded. Dayat tried to raise his HK416, but his head was still spinning. He fired a single shot toward the ceiling.

Psshht!

The sound of the suppressed HK416 was minuscule—nothing more than a sharp puff of compressed air. The 5.56mm round struck a pipe near the Stalker, spraying a shower of sparks, but the machine was too agile. It leaped from one conduit to another with a velocity that mocked the human eye.

"Master, focus on defense. Allow Subject Kancil to perform the elimination," Dola’s voice was calm, yet carried a command. She moved again, her hands reaching out to manipulate the residual static energy in the room. "I will anchor its movements."

Dola closed her eyes for a microsecond.

Suddenly, the Stalker, which was scuttling across the ceiling, acted as if it were being pulled by invisible steel cables toward the center of the room. The machine shrieked, its claws scraping against the metal ceiling in a glass-shattering screech as it fought the sudden, crushing gravity. Dola was forcing it to stay in the open kill-zone.

"Now, Kancil! Take the shot!" Dayat yelled.

Kancil slipped through the shadows of the maintenance shaft. His instincts as a Bakasa street-thief were fully awakened. With movements that were practically silent, he scaled a stack of gargantuan cable spools to gain the high ground above the Stalker.

Kancil peeked through a gap in the pipes. Below him, the Sentinel-Stalker was struggling against Dola’s gravitational tether. The machine’s red lens was flickering, distorted by the atmospheric pressure Dola was manipulating. Kancil raised his Glock 17. He inhaled, held it, and aligned his vision with the three-dot iron sights of the pistol.

Focus, Kancil... stay cold... squeeze the trigger, don’t jerk it...

Pshht! Pshht!

Two shots rang out. They were surgical. The first bullet struck the Stalker’s red sensor lens, shattering the optics in a spray of glass and sparks. Blinded, the machine began to flail. The second bullet pierced the machine’s neck-joint, severing the primary fiber-optic cables that connected the head to the chassis.

The Stalker fell to the floor with a heavy metallic clang as Dola released the pressure. It writhed on the floor, its mono-molecular blades swinging randomly in a blind, mechanical death-throe.

"Finish it, Kancil!" Dayat ordered.

Kancil leaped down from the three-meter height, landing with a lithe, cat-like grace near the Stalker’s head. He didn’t use his Vibro-knife; he knew the high-frequency hum of the blade might attract other security units still active in the bunker’s depths. Instead, Kancil aimed his Glock directly at a gap in the armor plating near the machine’s "heart"—the location of its power core.

Pshht!

One final shot. The Stalker’s energy core suffered a localized internal detonation, releasing a puff of blue, ozone-scented smoke. The machine finally ceased its movement, becoming a mere pile of junk.

Silence once again reigned over the chamber.

Kancil stood tall, his breathing slightly shallow but controlled. He looked down at the wreckage beneath his boots with a gaze that was no longer innocent. A surge of quiet pride bloomed in his chest; he had just performed his first tactical combat elimination in a high-threat zone.

"Target elimination confirmed," Dola’s voice crackled through the radio. She walked toward Kancil and patted the boy’s shoulder with a gesture that was slightly awkward, yet undeniably sincere. "Efficient execution, Subject Kancil. The probability of mission success has increased thanks to your contribution."

Dayat approached, clutching his head, his HK416 still slung over his shoulder. He looked at Kancil and offered a weary, proud smile. "Damn... you’re a natural, Kancil. I couldn’t even help much."

Lunethra tried to stand, her legs still feeling like lead. She stared at the mechanical corpse with horror, then looked at Kancil with a newfound level of respect. "Well done, Kancil. Forgive me... as an Elf, I was a burden in this place."

"Don’t sweat it, Lun. Mana is useless here anyway," Dayat replied. He clicked off his industrial torch and switched back to the dimmer LED headlamp. "Let’s move. That crash will surely draw attention if we linger too long."

Kancil holstered his Glock 17 with a firm click. He brushed his fingers against the Vibro-knife in his pocket—his backup for when things got truly messy. He turned toward Dayat and gave a sharp, confident nod.

"Let’s go, Big Bro. I’ll take point now," Kancil said, his voice carrying a hint of swagger.

The four of them stepped back into the dark maintenance shaft, navigating the labyrinth of cables. The rhythmic clank... clank... of their boots on the metal floor echoed once more, but this time, the pace was more vigilant, synchronized, and deadly.