«RUMBLE!»
The floor beneath Rion's feet shuddered violently, jolting him out of his idle musings. He instinctively braced himself against the cold concrete wall of his cell, feeling the vibrations ripple through the structure.
The powerful tremors shook the walls of his cell, causing dust to fall from the ceiling. His heart raced as he heard the blaring of alarm sirens, and the sound of frantic footsteps echoed through the corridors.
He scrambled to his feet, his senses heightened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The earthquake, or whatever it was had been sudden, jarring him into a state of hyper-awareness. He planted his feet firmly, spreading his weight to maintain balance as the tremors receded.
He then moved closer to the large iron door and pressed his ear against it, trying to piece together the situation from the disjointed noises filtering into his cell.
Muffled sounds of shouting and commotion reached his ears, though they were distorted by the thick walls of the room. He could make out some phrases in the din – "lockdown," "secure the perimeter," and "emergency protocols" – but nothing specific about the source of the disturbance.
Something isn't right, he thought, his mind racing to keep up with his thundering pulse.
Rion strained harder against the door, trying to get a better look out of the small hole, but his view was still too limited. He could see flashes of light—probably emergency strobes—and the shadows of figures moving quickly, but nothing that gave him a clear understanding of the situation. His thoughts raced as he tried to make sense of it all.
Darn it! What the bloody hell is going on out there?
His thoughts were a whirlwind as he ran through a mental checklist of everything he knew: the layout of the facility, the number of guards, the routines they followed. He replayed every interaction he'd had since being brought here, searching for any clue, any hint that might explain the current situation. Nothing came to mind, no red flags, no sudden shifts in behavior. Everything had been routine, almost boring, up until now.
Then what the hell changed?
This question hung in his mind. Was this some kind of rescue attempt? A coordinated attack? Or maybe it was a diversion, a smokescreen for something else entirely. Had The Four Horsemen finally decided to cash in on their contract and come for him? Or was this the work of another faction, perhaps one he hadn't accounted for? The uncertainty gnawed at him like a relentless itch he couldn't scratch.
Breathe… Breathe…
He took several deep breaths, forcing racing thoughts to slow, to focus. Panic wouldn't do him any good at this time. He had to stay calm and think clearly.
The lights overhead flickered suddenly, then went out completely, plunging his cell into darkness. For a moment, the only sounds were the alarms and the muffled chaos beyond the walls.
Rion's breath caught in his throat, his body tensing instinctively. The darkness was almost comforting in its completeness, enveloping him like an old, familiar cloak. He let his eyes adjust, allowing the shadows to bleed into one another until they formed a solid, inky blackness.
Then, with a low hum, the emergency lighting kicked in, bathing everything in an eerie red glow. The sudden change in illumination was disorienting, casting long, distorted shadows that stretched and twisted across the walls like the limbs of some monstrous creature. He blinked, momentarily blinded by the abrupt shift, but quickly recovered, his eyes darting around the cell.
The rumble seemed to have tapered out, now turning into a low, constant vibration that thrummed through the walls and floor. The ceiling groaned under the strain, sending a fresh shower of dust raining down.
From somewhere down the corridor came a sharp, metallic clang, followed by a rapid succession of muffled thuds. His head snapped in the direction of the sounds, every nerve in his body on high alert.
Someone's coming.
He moved away from the door, slipping into the shadows near the far corner of his cell. His breath was shallow, barely a whisper, as he listened intently. Footsteps. Rapid, uneven, and drawing closer. He could hear the faint jingle of keys, the rasp of a uniform brushing against metal. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry, and likely panicked.
A moment later, the unmistakable sound of a keycard being swiped through the reader outside his cell reached his ears. The lock disengaged with a sharp, mechanical click, and the door swung open with a creak of protest. He pressed himself against the wall, muscles tensing, ready to pounce.
A guard stumbled in, eyes wide with panic. His uniform was disheveled, a streak of blood across his cheek.
"The whole facility's under attack! We need to—"
Before he could finish, Rion lunged, moving with the fluid grace of a predator striking its prey. He closed the distance in an instant, his hand darting forward, and in one swift motion, he jabbed the fully unfolded Micro- Dart into the guard's exposed neck.
The effect was immediate. The guard's eyes widened in shock, his body going rigid as the dart's toxin spread through his system. He made a strangled, choking sound, and then his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the floor. He convulsed once, then lay still, his eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
Rion wasted no time. He crouched down, retrieving the dart and wiping it clean on the guard's uniform. He quickly folded it back into its compact shape and tucked it away, then set about searching the unconscious man. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, patting down pockets and pouches, checking for anything useful.
He found a keycard, a sidearm, a tiny remote, and a small radio. Recognizing what the remote was, he pressed a tiny button and felt the collar around his neck loosen. Pulling the power-dampening collar off, he felt his charged cells begin to automatically absorb origin energy from the atmosphere.
Alright....
He then clipped the radio to his belt, pocketed the keycard, and picked up the sidearm, checking the magazine with a quick, practiced flick of his wrist.
Seven rounds. Better than nothing.
He paused, considering the guard's uniform for a moment. It was tempting. Disguising himself as one of them could make moving around the facility easier, less conspicuous. But it also carried significant risks. If the guard's words were to be believed, then the base was under attack by some unknown force, and they would most likely shoot any guard on sight.
Besides, the time he would waste in changing would be better spent getting out of here.
"Looks like I have to adjust my plans," he murmured to himself.
He took another deep breath, and edged towards the open door, peeking around the corner to survey the hallway. The corridor was bathed in the same unsettling red glow, casting everything in a sinister light. The air was thick with tension, filled with the shouts of guards and agents, the clattering of boots against metal, and the incessant blaring of alarms.
His gaze swept the scene, taking in the chaotic flurry of activity. Guards were running in every direction, some escorting prisoners, others barking orders or dragging equipment. He lowered his head and sprinted across, keeping low and moving swiftly, pressing himself against the opposite wall. A guard ran past, not even glancing his way, too focused on the unfolding crisis.
As he moved down another corridor, a loudspeaker crackled to life, echoing through the metal halls.
So that's why...
He rounded a corner carefully, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes scanning ahead. The corridor branched off into several smaller hallways, each leading to different parts of the facility. He paused, weighing his options.
To the left, the hallway would lead him toward the administrative offices and the main security hub—a potential goldmine for information but heavily guarded, especially in a crisis. To the right, the hallway would take him down toward the lower levels where storage rooms, workshops, and the armory were located. The armory would be ideal for rearming himself, but it was likely already secured by the guards or swarming with attackers.
Straight ahead, the corridor led to a series of stairwells and elevators that descended deeper into the facility, to the subterranean levels that housed the detention cells and interrogation rooms. It was also where the main exit routes were located, leading out to the surface and the surrounding terrain. If his goal was escape, that was the direction he needed to head.
As he deliberated, he caught a glimpse of movement at the far end of the hallway. Two heavily armed guards were coming this way.
His heart leapt into his throat, and he ducked behind a stack of crates piled against the wall. He pressed himself flat against the cool metal, his body tense and coiled, ready to spring into action if necessary. The guards' footsteps grew louder, echoing off the walls, accompanied by the faint crackle of their radios.
"...to get more munitions from the lower levels! Those bastards have infiltrated the base and what's more, the darned beast has broken down the front gate—"
His ears perked up, honing in on the words. Beast? What kind of beast could they be referring to? It seemed that in addition to the intruders, there was something else to be wary of—and possibly to exploit.
The guards' voices faded as they continued down the corridor, oblivious to his presence. Rion waited a few more moments, listening intently until he was sure they were gone. Then he slipped out from behind the crates, moving quickly but silently, heading in the direction the guards came from. He needed to move fast before the attackers or the guards could regroup and close off any escape routes.
As he approached the stairwell, he heard more commotion coming from below—a series of loud bangs followed by shouting and the unmistakable rattle of gunfire. He crouched low, edging closer to the stairwell entrance, peering cautiously down the steps. The sight that greeted him made his stomach knot with tension.
Below, the stairwell opened up into a larger landing, where a fierce firefight was taking place. Guards in tactical gear were entrenched behind makeshift barricades, firing down the opposite hallway. Flashes of muzzle fire lit up the dim space, and the air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and smoke. On the far side, masked figures clad in dark, nondescript combat attire were returning fire, advancing steadily despite the barrage.
They didn't seem to be just any intruders; they were trained, disciplined, moving with a precision that spoke of military or paramilitary experience. Whoever had orchestrated this assault had come prepared, and they were well-equipped to handle whatever resistance the guards and agents put up.
Rion's mind raced as he watched the battle unfold, weighing his options. He could try to sneak past in the chaos, using the distraction to slip by unnoticed. It was risky, but it might be his best shot at getting to the lower levels without getting caught in the crossfire.
Alternatively, he could backtrack and look for another route, perhaps try his luck with one of the ventilation shafts or maintenance tunnels he was sure ran through the facility. Those would be less guarded and could provide a more covert path, but they were also slower and more dangerous, especially if the attackers decided to flush out any potential escapees.
As he weighed this option, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He turned his head just in time to see Christopher pivoting towards him from below.
"Hey, you! Get over here!" he shouted over the cacophony of gunfire and explosions. The command was sharp and authoritative, a voice used to being obeyed. Rion's heart skipped a beat as he realized the agent wasn't quite sure who he was yet, only that he wasn't where he was supposed to be.
In that split second, his body tensed, muscles coiling like a spring ready to release. He could make a break for it, dash down the stairs, and hope to lose himself in the chaos below. But that would put him in the thick of the fighting, and with only seven rounds, he'd be woefully outgunned.
Cristopher's confusion gave him a brief window to act. He raised his free hand in a placating gesture, as if acknowledging the command. "Right, coming!" he called back, pitching his voice to sound like one of the guards. He moved forward a step, feigning compliance while his mind raced for an escape route. If he could just get a little closer, maybe—
The agent's eyes suddenly narrowed, suspicion sharpening his gaze. Rion saw the shift in his stance, the slight lowering of his weapon as he was scrutinized more closely. In an instant, Christopher's confusion turned to realization. "Wait a minute... you're not—"
His voice cut off abruptly as he raised his weapon, aiming directly at him.
"Intruder!!!"