The emergency strobes didn’t just flash; they slashed through the smoke-choked corridors, painting everything in violent bursts of crimson. The air was thick with the chemical tang of electrical fires, but it couldn’t drown out the teeth-rattling scream of the alarm klaxons.
Brice and Brian ran.
The hallway had become a meat grinder of survival instinct. Scientists, medical staff, and security shoved past them in a blind, feral scramble. A woman in a torn hazmat suit slammed hard into Brice’s shoulder, a cardboard box slipping from her grip. Files and classified drives scattered across the linoleum, instantly trampled beneath a dozen fleeing boots.
She didn’t even look back.
Brian hooked his fingers into the collar of Brice’s jacket, yanking him out of the crush. He pointed a shaking finger toward the illuminated exit sign.
“Stairs?”
Brice looked down the corridor toward the emergency stairwell.
It was a bottleneck of pure terror. A solid wall of people surged against the heavy fire doors. Through the reinforced glass, Brice could see tactical guards violently funneling the staff downward, using the stocks of their rifles to force the crowd back.
“No.”
Brian wiped a streak of oily soot from his forehead, frowning. “Why not?”
“Because that’s a choke point. Security is funneling everybody right into it.”
Almost exactly on cue, the stuttering crack-crack-crack of automatic rifle fire echoed up the concrete stairwell.
Someone screamed—a high, ragged sound swallowed almost instantly by the alarms.
Brian took a slow, deliberate step backward, putting distance between himself and the fire doors.
“…Good point.”
They pivoted and sprinted in the opposite direction.
The elevator bank sat at the end of the hall, the heavy steel doors resting half-open like a dead jaw. No display lights. No hum from the cables.
Brian slammed the heel of his hand against the call button anyway.
Nothing.
Brice leaned heavily against the wall, his chest heaving as he stared at him. “You hoping positive thoughts are going to fix a severed power grid?”
Brian let his hand drop, his shoulders slumping. “It was worth asking.”
Brice offered a grim, exhausted smile. “I admire the optimism.”
A massive detonation rocked the foundation of the building.
Acoustic ceiling tiles rained down in chalky bursts, shattering around their boots. The overhead lights flickered violently before a ruptured pipe gave way, spraying a blinding hiss of scalding steam across the corridor.
Brice flinched, wiping hot condensation from his face.
“We need another way. Now.”
Brian pointed through the billowing steam toward an unmarked set of gray double doors.
“Maintenance?”
They hit the doors at a dead sprint.
The heavy metal snapped shut behind them, instantly muting the screaming alarms and the chaos of the hall. The sprawling service room smelled absurdly of industrial detergent and bleach. Massive washing machines lined one wall, vibrating slightly from the building’s tremors. Stacks of neatly folded hospital linens sat on wire racks.
In the center of the room sat several heavy-duty, canvas-lined rolling laundry carts.
Brian looked around, catching his breath.
“I don’t suppose clean towels are the way out.”
Brice wasn’t listening.
He was staring at the far wall.
Large, wire-reinforced windows overlooked the exterior loading dock. Three stories below lay cold asphalt, a green dumpster, a delivery truck, and a narrow patch of manicured grass.
Brian followed his gaze, stepping up to the glass. He peered down at the dizzying drop, the wind howling against the panes.
“…That’s a long way down.”
Brice looked at the massive rolling laundry carts.
Then back at the window.
Then back at the carts.
A slow, terrifyingly familiar grin spread across his ash-streaked face.
Brian closed his eyes and shook his head.
“…No.”
Brice pointed at the largest cart.
“Yes.”
Brian crossed his arms, planting his feet firmly on the tile. “I already don’t like this.”
Brice grabbed the steel frame of the nearest laundry cart and kicked the heavy industrial wheel locks free. The thick canvas interior was packed to the brim with tightly rolled wool blankets.
“See? Cushioning.”
Brian just stared at him.
“…That’s your scientific explanation?”
Brice nodded confidently. “Mostly.”
Brian dragged a hand down his face, letting out a long, ragged sigh. “I should’ve asked for a second opinion before I followed you.”
“You never ask before the plan,” Brice said, the laugh hollow but defiant against the distant gunfire.
Brian pointed a finger at him. “I’ll complain afterward.”
“That’s tradition.”
Another explosion tore through the compound, much closer this time. The shockwave rattled the teeth in their skulls. A sharp, jagged crack spiderwebbed across the corner of the reinforced window.
Brice moved fast.
He ripped a heavy red fire extinguisher from its wall mount.
Brian immediately took two steps back. “What? I’ve seen that look—”
Brice swung.
CRASH.
The reinforced glass shattered outward in a glittering wave. Freezing night air ripped into the room, instantly sucking the heat out of their lungs. Sirens echoed across the compound. Below them, tactical guards sprinted toward a burning generator building, their flashlights cutting frantic swaths through the smoke.
None of them looked up.
Brice shoved the heavy laundry cart right to the jagged lip of the window frame.
Brian blinked against the freezing wind.
“…You’re serious.”
Brice threw one leg over the canvas edge, dropping into the pile of wool blankets.
“As a heart attack.”
Brian looked over the sheer drop again, his stomach doing a slow, nauseating roll.
“Brice… we’re three floors up.”
“I noticed.”
Brian rubbed his face, his skin pale. “This is a terrible idea.”
Brice smiled, his knuckles white where he gripped the steel frame.
“Probably.”
Heavy boots thundered down the hallway outside.
Muffled shouts bled through the maintenance doors.
“Check the service wings! They’re in here!”
Brian looked back at the doors.
The heavy metal handle twitched.
He looked back at Brice, letting out a breath that plumed in the freezing air.
“I hate it when your bad ideas become the best ideas.”
“I knew you’d come around.”
Brian scrambled over the lip, dropping into the oversized cart beside him. The steel frame groaned sharply in protest under their combined weight.
Brian wedged himself against the blankets, shooting Brice a sideways glance.
“If this doesn’t work… I’m haunting you.”
Brice planted both boots flat against the interior cinderblock wall.
“I know.”
Brian smirked faintly. “You’d complain too much.”
“Breach it!” a voice roared from the hall.
The doorknob turned violently.
Brice tightened his jaw. He looked at Brian over the rim of the canvas.
“You ready?”
Brian took a sharp, jagged breath.
“No.”
“Perfect.”
Brice shoved off the wall with everything he had in his legs.
The heavy industrial casters screamed across the short stretch of tile. The cart wobbled hard, its rubber wheels biting against the grout lines before breaking free.
They shot straight toward the shattered window.
The maintenance doors burst open.
Tactical flashlights swept into the room just as—
The laundry cart cleared the jagged window frame.
They sailed out into the open night air.
For one breathless, gravity-defying second, the sirens and shouting vanished. There was only the freezing wind rushing past them and the terrible silence of the fall.
Brian looked over at Brice, his fingers digging into the steel rim.
“…I officially hate your plans.”
Brice flashed a wild, adrenaline-fueled smile.
“Complain after we land.”
The cart tipped forward.
And they fell.
Fast.
Very fast.