The air turned to lead.
"We have company," I announced.
Marcus raised his hand, roaring:
"Everyone to the vehicles!"
The first shot sounded like thunder and cleanly pierced the hood of our truck.
"Get down!" Marcus shouted.
I threw myself face-first onto the asphalt. Hell broke loose. Bullets began raining down, striking the metal of the vehicles with deafening crashes. The attackers were human. And they were hunting us.
Scarlett rolled with superhuman agility, taking cover behind a destroyed concrete barrier. Maya slid across the ground until she was beside me, her rifle already resting on the sedan’s tire.
"How many?" she shouted over the roar.
"Six," I replied.
"Where?" she asked.
I pushed the System to its limit. Full tactical analysis.
The scarlet information exploded in my vision too quickly.
[Target 1: Dense tree, 43 meters.]
[Target 2: Abandoned vehicle right flank, 51 meters.]
[Target 3: Rocky elevation, 62 meters.]
[Additional targets: Three in flanking movement.]
A sharp, needle-like pain pierced my skull. My brain was not designed to process so many simultaneous ballistic trajectories. I partially closed the interface through sheer willpower, filtering the essentials.
"Three to the left! Two in front of us in cover! One on the elevation!" I shouted.
Maya nodded, focusing her aim.
"Understood."
A projectile shattered the asphalt centimeters from my hand, kicking up a cloud of gray dust. They were closing the circle.
Scarlett appeared at my left flank, a lethal shadow amid the chaos.
"Gabriel!" she shouted.
I ducked by instinct. From behind the abandoned vehicle emerged a man in a tattered uniform, rifle raised, ready to gun me down. But Scarlett reached him first. It was a flash of movement. She struck the shooter’s wrist with the edge of her hand; the bone cracked and the rifle fell to the ground.
Before the man could scream, she connected a brutal knee to his chest. The attacker, desperate, tried to draw a combat knife from his belt. Scarlett caught his arm in midair, spun him on his own axis, and slammed him onto the asphalt, immobilizing him with a leverage hold that threatened to dislocate his shoulder.
The entire exchange lasted barely three seconds.
"Don’t get up!" she ordered, her voice icy.
The man groaned and stopped struggling, subdued by the pain.
Scarlett swiftly picked up the enemy rifle from the ground.
"One less," she said.
I swallowed, getting back to my feet.
"Thanks," I replied.
She glanced at me sideways, without a trace of emotion.
"Don’t get used to it."
Maya let out a short laugh as she fired a suppressive burst.
"I’m starting to understand her," she said.
"Don’t," Scarlett replied dryly.
From the truck, the engine roared at full power.
"We’re leaving!" Marcus bellowed.
Jonah was the first to climb in, covering his head. Maya unleashed one last burst to keep the shooters at bay and retreated. I ran toward the vehicle with my lungs burning. A shot whistled so close to my ear it left a dull ringing. I leaped into the back seat.
Marcus floored the accelerator. The truck skidded violently, spitting smoke and gravel, before shooting forward. Behind us, bullet impacts chased the bodywork for a few agonizing seconds, until they finally disappeared, swallowed by the distance.
No one spoke for the next kilometer. The silence was broken only by our ragged breathing. Jonah sat by the window, his gaze lost, clutching Lena’s photograph between his grime-stained hands.
Marcus watched him through the rearview mirror.
"Are you sure you want to keep going?" he asked.
Jonah didn’t hesitate.
"Yes."
"It could be a well-orchestrated trap. They pushed us toward here."
"It could also be the only chance they have to survive."
Marcus didn’t answer. He gritted his teeth and kept his eyes forward.
The road began to narrow and grow claustrophobic. The branches of the mutated trees, thick and dark, covered much of the path, blocking the light. Finally, the vegetation gave way and an old rusted sign appeared.
SERVICE 24 HOURS
The station appeared ahead, a ghost of civilization. Two dusty pumps. A small convenience store with opaque windows. An attached warehouse.
And no visible movement. Not a soul.
Marcus parked at a defensive angle, covering possible escape routes.
"Everyone alert. Eyes everywhere."
We got out in silence. The place was a tomb. I activated Analysis, sweeping every structure.
SERVICE STATION
Available fuel: 18%.
Potable water: 47 liters (Store).
Food: Moderate.
Medications: Available.
Structural risk: Low.
Immediate hostile presence: Not detected on surface.
I felt slight relief.
"There are supplies here," I reported in a low voice.
Darius, who had gotten out of the other vehicle rubbing his injured shoulder, let out a sigh.
"Finally some good news in this hell," he said.
Marcus took control immediately.
"Darius and Nadia, fuel. Evelyn, handle the medications. Maya, check and clear the store. Selena, with me to watch the perimeter," he ordered.
Jonah looked toward the shadows cast by the attached warehouse.
"I’ll look for the missing in there," he said.
"You’re not going alone," Marcus cut him off coldly.
Jonah took a deep breath, accepting his place in the temporary chain of command.
"Gabriel comes with me," he replied.
Marcus gave me a questioning look. I nodded, checking my magazine.
"Let’s go," I said.
Scarlett stepped forward, breaking formation.
"I’m going," she announced.
Jonah frowned, his wounded pride surfacing again.
"I don’t need a bodyguard," he replied.
Scarlett walked past him without even looking at him, her blade grazing the militiaman’s thigh.
"I didn’t ask."
Maya, already heading to the store, let out an open laugh.
"I’m definitely starting to like her."
Scarlett raised an eyebrow without stopping.
"That is concerning."
The warehouse interior was dark, damp, and smelled of confinement. I activated the tactical flashlight. Jonah walked ahead, moving boxes and checking corners. Suddenly, he stopped. He found a frayed denim jacket thrown behind some rotted cardboard boxes. He lifted it with trembling hands.
"It’s Lena’s," he murmured.
I brought the light closer. There was a dark bloodstain drying on the left sleeve.
"System," I whispered.
[Human blood.]
[Estimated exposure time: 2–4 hours.]
I turned off the analytical visor.
"She didn’t die here," I said.
Jonah looked at me, fear shining in his eyes.
"How can you know?" he asked.
"The amount of blood doesn’t match a fatal wound or the dissection of a major artery. It’s a peripheral injury," I explained.
Scarlett, who was sweeping the lower area with her own flashlight, examined the floor.
"There are footprints," she said.
We followed the faint trail over the accumulated dust. We walked between rows of empty shelves until we reached the back of the warehouse. But there the trail ended.
There was no door. No window. Only a bare concrete wall.
Jonah shook his head, on the verge of panic.
"It doesn’t make sense. They couldn’t have disappeared," he said.
I called the System once more, focusing my sight on the concrete bricks.
[Empty space detected behind the structure.]
I approached the wall. I raised the barrel of my weapon and struck the center with the butt. It sounded hollow. False.
Scarlett wasted no time. She knelt and began removing some heavy spare parts boxes stacked against the wall. Beneath the dust and garbage, she discovered a small metal trapdoor embedded in the floor, with a broken padlock.
Jonah paled, stepping back.
"I’ve never seen that. We’ve been roaming this area for weeks and never noticed this access," he said.
Marcus appeared at the warehouse entrance, his silhouette outlined by the dim afternoon light.
"What did you find?" he asked.
I opened the trapdoor with a tug, letting a smell of dampness and rust pour out.
"A basement," I replied.
A rusted metal ladder descended into the most absolute darkness. I turned on my flashlight and pointed it down. At that precise instant, the System reacted violently. A scarlet flash nearly blinded me.
[HUMAN SOURCE DETECTED.]
My heart leaped against my ribs.
[Distance: 14 meters.]
Jonah grabbed my arm with desperate strength.
"Is she down there?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied.
Scarlett raised her weapon, aiming directly into the gloom.
"One source?" she asked.
The interface vibrated, updating the data in real time.
"Two," I said.
The reading fragmented on the red screen:
[Source A: Synchronized.]
[Source B: Non-synchronized.]
Jonah ignored my System’s jargon and looked directly into the abyss of the ladder.
"Lena..." he whispered.
From the depths, a voice came. Human. Clear, though rasped by exhaustion.
"If you’re Mercer’s men, leave or I swear I’ll shoot," it warned.
Jonah stood frozen, paralyzed by the sound.
"That voice..." he murmured.
He recognized someone. Terror mixed with relief on his face.
I looked at Scarlett. She already had her finger on the trigger, her barrel rock-steady, pointing down. Marcus arrived running, raising a hand to stop any madness.
"No one goes down until we know exactly what the hell is happening down there," he ordered.
Then a gunshot boomed from the underground.
BANG!
The sound, amplified by the enclosed space, shook the entire station structure and made our ears ring. No one moved for an eternal second.
Afterward, Marcus aimed his rifle into the darkness. Scarlett positioned herself shoulder to shoulder with me, sealing the entrance. Jonah threw himself to the edge of the ladder.
"It’s Lena!" he shouted.
I forced my eyes, reading the System’s frantic data.
[Source A: 13 meters.]
[Source B: 15 meters.]
[Hostile activity detected.]
The next bullet came straight up and struck the metal edge of the trapdoor, sending sparks into the air.
CLANG!
Marcus shouted over the chaos:
"Get down!"
And we all responded at the same time, seeking cover while the darkness beneath us spat lead.
I pressed my back against the concrete wall, my heart hammering against my ribs. The trapdoor was a death funnel. Anyone who went down would be exposed to the shooter below.
"Can you analyze the situation?" Marcus shouted over the sporadic gunfire.
I closed my eyes for a second, forcing the System.
[TACTICAL ANALYSIS.]
[Underground structure: Improvised shelter.]
[Armed targets: 1 confirmed (Source B).]
[Source A (Synchronized): Wounded, non-hostile.]
[Firing angle: Descending. Limited visibility.]
[Recommended strategy: Suppression and flanking. Do not attempt frontal assault through the hatch.]
"The shooter is at the bottom of the ladder, covering the only entrance. We go down one by one, we’re dead," I reported.
Marcus nodded, assessing the geometry.
"Then we don’t go down blind. We need a distraction," he said.
Scarlett was already moving. She pulled a smoke grenade from her vest.
"I have one," she said.
"Use it," Marcus ordered.
Scarlett pulled the pin and tossed it down the hatch. A thick cloud of gray smoke erupted from the opening, flooding the basement below.
"Now!" Marcus shouted.
Jonah didn’t wait. He threw himself down the ladder, disappearing into the smoke. I followed right behind him, my rifle raised, my eyes burning from the smoke.
The basement was chaos. I could barely see. I heard Jonah shouting Lena’s name. I heard a man coughing. I heard the clatter of a weapon falling to the ground.
Then silence.
"Clear!" Jonah shouted.
The smoke began to dissipate. I saw Jonah kneeling beside a mattress on the floor. On the mattress, a young woman was lying, pale as paper. Lena.
And beside her, a man. Mid-twenties. Dark hair. Civilian clothes covered in dried blood. He had his hands raised, his eyes wide with terror.
"Don’t shoot," he said. "Please. Don’t shoot."