Last chapter. The Heaven's Wing

"Corbin, would a grenade do enough damage to cryochamber to get them frosting up the area with their ... Cry gasses?"

Corbin lets Mercer's question roll around for a second. "No. I mean if the grenade landed in the best spot, if it did enough damage to the pipes, if there's enough gas in the tanks to whoosh out instead of dribble. I mean, I like the thought and if we had a day, I could rig up a dump valve and turn that room into a cryo trap. Sorry."

Hank is going to burn an Effort for Oracle and ask "How do we defeat this monster and what do we need to do it?" Getting the answer will determine the rest of Hanks actions, including tracking something down or asking Maya to fetch it (if it can be done safely enough by her).

Hank closed his eyes amid the chaos, his breath steadying as he reached beyond the veil of the now. Time slipped sideways.

The world went silent.

In the void of his mind, the possible futures flickered—fractured, uncertain. Moments rose like bubbles through dark water, each one a ghost of what might be:

—A dozen flashes of light, muzzle bursts from all sides as the monster jerks and shudders under concentrated fire. Its body collapses, steaming and still, and silence follows.

—A vision of Corbin, elbows deep in a control panel, rerouting power to a dormant war machine—massive treads slamming to life, a shoulder cannon rotating, spitting fire. The demon charges it, and they fall together in a clash of steel and flesh.

—Mercer and Douklan racing to opposite flanks, splitting its attention, then unloading into its back while it howls at Maya’s taunts. Blood—or whatever that thick black stuff was—splatters the walls.

—Corbin working furiously behind them, back to the wall, cables flying as he unmounts the wormhole components. Sparks fly. The humming energy falters. The team, bleeding and exhausted, piles the gear onto the gravsled and makes a run for it. Then he sees the demon's roar echoing through the labs as they sprint, dragging Erin between them. The grav-train doors hiss open. Hank sees the demon through the rear viewport—charging and then stopping. Screaming, somehow unable to pursue —as the doors close and the train pulls away into darkness.

But then, a darker thread:

—Hank sees them burning. Skin blistering under invisible fire, screams echoing through steel corridors. One by one, they fall—Erin, trying to crawl. Mercer, his blade still clutched tight. Douklan screaming defiance even as he melts. It ends in flame and silence.

Hank's eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Sweat traced cold lines down his face.

"There’s a way to kill it," he thought. "Weapons. Crossfire. Maybe even the old security bots—if we can reactivate them. But it’s not certain. If we screw this up, we burn. All of us."

Hank pulled back a bit to concentrate on using his Oracle.

After snapping out of the Oracle he touches his comms, "Maya, there are more combat bots and even a war bot right around here somewhere. I need you to find them. I know it's very dangerous, but we need an edge or we're in big trouble."

To the rest of the group, he says, "We might be able to get more of an advantage of we can set up a crossfire scenario to confuse it."

If that's so, Corbin you may want to get to that briefing room North of us and use the doorframe as cover. Mercer will let off another round of burst fire shots.

Hearing Hank, Corbin reflects on the layout of this area. That's it, the Robotics lab is just 'north' of Medical. He fires a burst and takes off back around the corner and heads up and towards the Robotics lab.

"Maya, the Robotics lab is the top right of the map. Let's see if there's anything useful."

Corbin turned and bolted down the hall, boots thudding on steel flooring as he left the battle behind. He crossed an airlock—its door left jammed open, scorched from a blast—and entered the robotics testing lab.

The lights flickered weakly overhead, casting shadows over mangled machines. Diagnostic beds were overturned, consoles gutted. Dozens of smaller service robots lay in twisted heaps, limbs torn or melted from overloads. In the adjacent alcoves, robotic frames hung limp from recharging harnesses—lifeless, their cores dark, some with signs of damage from within as if they'd gone berserk and been forcibly shut down.
He looked quickly through the launch control area, where cracked screens flickered with error codes, and then into the robotics production bay.

That’s when he saw it.

A massive war bot stood slumped against a wall, half-in and half-out of its loading cradle. Nearly three meters tall, its heavy armor plating was scorched but mostly intact. Its left arm was a built-in plasma cannon; the right, a manipulator claw the size of Corbin’s torso. Red standby lights blinked weakly on its chassis.

It was offline—but not destroyed.

A label on its torso read: "Security Asset: WRX-17 'Apocalypse-Class' — Command Protocol Required."

Corbin! Hurry up with whatever you need to do there!
Mercer says letting loose another burst of shots

Douklan fires again at the creature.