"Fuck, my head hurts..."


    Rebecca groaned, blinking as her vision adjusted to the dim interior. Her entire body ached, no doubt from whatever they had done to knock her out. Then it hit her—the bastard from earlier had used the white phosphorus scandal as a perfect excuse to pull off the kidnapping. She had to admit, it was a clever move, exploiting her vulnerable position as bait. That didn''t mean she was any less pissed. In fact, knowing these gonks were actually smart just made her angrier.


    Dorio had warned her.


    And now, everything was making her angrier.


    "Hey you, you’re finally awake, huh?" a voice drawled. One of the men, clad in a tactical suit with a helmet and balaclava, was inspecting his weapon. "Welcome aboard, Mrs. Rebecca. Try to get comfy—this road’s a piece of shit."


    "Comfy?—ow!" The vehicle hit a bump, making her head slam into the ceiling.


    "Told ya," the man chuckled.


    Rebecca seethed but forced herself to keep it together. She didn''t know where she was or where they were taking her. The vehicle was unfamiliar—military-grade, judging by the rough interior and the absolute lack of comfort. She was strapped into the back seat with safety belts and cuffs, a clear sign they weren’t taking any chances. Even her agent was dead, at least on her end. Hopefully, Sasha’s tracker was still running.


    "Who the fuck are you people?" she demanded, glaring at the masked man.


    "Oof, scary," he mocked, feigning shock. "That? You''ll have to figure out for yourself. What I can tell you is, we won’t hurt you—long as you cooperate."


    "Fuck you."


    "Oh, life’s already done plenty of that to me," he said, barely glancing up from his gun. "But I’ve learned how to work around my problems. You, though? We’ll see."


    "Where are you taking me?" She tried looking out the window, but it was pitch black. The emergency lights barely helped, revealing nothing but shadows.


    "You’re gonna meet the boss," he replied, then turned toward the driver. "Think we should tell her what she’s walking into?"


    "No, obviously," the driver shot back, as if the question was as dumb as asking if water was wet. "No unnecessary info. Just the clothes we’re wearing and this car alone are already enough for corpos to sniff us out."


    "She’s not going anywhere, and she can’t call for help. So who gives a shit?"


    "I do. One slip-up, and we’re all dead."


    "Fine, buzzkill."


    The car fell into silence after that. Rebecca wanted to start throwing insults, but she wasn’t stupid. She was a hostage, and pushing her luck might end badly. Instead, she focused on observing them. Their gear was military-grade, but that didn’t mean much—anyone could klep uniforms, especially weak-ass doughboys looking to make an eddie.


    But these guys weren’t just some scavengers playing soldier.


    There was discipline in the way they moved, even with the casual banter. Rebecca glanced out the window again. This time, she caught the faint glow of headlights—another vehicle moving in formation. At least two, maybe three. A proper convoy, meant to keep things controlled and prevent outside interference.


    These weren’t gangsters.


    Maybe a merc crew? A corporate black ops team?


    Either way, it wasn’t looking nova for her.


    It took a few minutes before they emerged from the pitch-black tunnel, passing through a garage and a series of strange, rundown locations—including what looked like a stadium.


    Wait. A stadium?


    That meant…


    “Dogtown?!” Rebecca’s concern spiked.


    Had she somehow crossed paths with Barghest? Or the Voodoo Boys?


    “Yup,” the masked man confirmed, glancing out at the remnants of what used to be a part of Night City. “Even if you manage to call for help, this place alone guarantees us enough protection.”


    Rebecca clenched her jaw. “What the hell are you planning to do with me?”


    This time, they didn’t answer. Only the low rumble of the engine filled the silence.


    Eventually, they arrived at an old megabuilding—likely squatted by the homeless or small-time gangoons who didn’t give a shit about Barghest or the VDBs running the place. Some people would rather take their chances with constant danger than deal with the NCPD.


    The garage was already guarded, more soldiers clad in the same tactical gear standing watch. Some used local-frequency radios to signal their arrival—old analog comms, the kind that modern Netrunners couldn’t track. Smart.


    Once the driver parked, Rebecca was pulled from the vehicle and led toward a staircase. With every floor they passed, the security presence grew. Some of the guards had obvious cyberware—military, even. Others looked baseline, but that didn’t mean shit. If anything, the mix of augmented and natural fighters made this crew harder to gauge. By the time they reached their destination, Rebecca had no doubt in her mind—even Maine would have trouble scratching this defense.


    Finally, they stopped at a door leading into what looked like an apartment.


    Inside, a woman with short black hair, dressed in a lab coat, was in the middle of injecting some poor bastard with a syringe full of god-knows-what. At first, nothing happened. Then, the man started convulsing, his gurgling breaths turning into wet, choking sounds as thick black liquid spilled from his mouth. He collapsed, twitching on the floor before finally going still.


    The woman sighed, barely glancing at the corpse as she typed something into a nearby terminal.


    “Hmm. Another failure.” Then, as if she’d just noticed them, she turned. “Oh, you’ve arrived.”


    Rebecca barely registered her words, still staring at the dead man on the floor.


    “What the fuck was that?”


    “A test. And a failure.”


    The woman—Joanne Koch—sighed, crossing one leg over the other as she settled into a chair. “I’ll refine the serum later. But for now, let’s focus on the matter at hand.” She gestured to herself. “Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Joanne Koch, and you have information that I need.”


    Rebecca turned to her, blinking. The name took a second to register, but when it did, her stomach twisted.


    “Wait… you’re from BioTechnica?”


    “Pre-cisely.” Koch gave a slow, mocking clap—two sharp beats, as if rehearsed. “You know what that means, right?”


    Rebecca did.


    Joanne Koch—head researcher at BioTechnica, stepping into the role after the previous one mysteriously disappeared. Officially, reported as “missing.” Unofficially? No one knew, at least not the public. And Joanne? She had a reputation—a ruthless one. There were rumors that no ethical line existed in her world. Human testing, fabricated evidence, blackmail, and sabotage—if it served her research, nothing was off-limits.


    And now, she was looking directly at her.


    Rebecca swallowed. “You’re planning to use that shit on me?” She nodded toward the still body on the floor.


    Koch smirked, tilting her head. “That?” She waved dismissively. “A fair assumption. But no. That would be a waste of my research materials.”


    She leaned forward, eyes sharp with amusement.


    “What I want is information. Everything you know about Petrochem. You see, they have something vital to my work. Something only they can recreate. Something that, once upon a time, belonged to BioTechnica.”


    Koch smiled.


    “And you, dear girl… just so happen to work exactly in the sector where it’s kept.”


    That was bad. Really bad.


    Not just because it was Joanne fucking Koch, but because Rebecca had no idea what the hell she was talking about. That was kind of the whole point of this gig—pose as bait, wait for rescue. But this? This was BioTechnica. High security, tight operations, and a level of danger they hadn’t predicted.


    Koch seemed unbothered by Rebecca’s silence. “It’s fine if you don’t talk right now,” she said, her voice smooth and unconcerned. “This whole operation? It needs financing. Which means I can’t put my higher-ups on the line.”


    She stood, the sharp clack of her heels punctuating her words as she strode toward the exit. “Someone will make you talk. That is, if your missing chrome doesn’t kill you first.”


    Rebecca’s stomach twisted.


    “I guess that’s my cue.”


    A new voice. A man—probably a Ripperdoc, judging by the mechanical arm whirring at his side, its surgical tools flicking open in anticipation.


    “Let’s see what we’ve got here,” he muttered. “Put her on the recliner.”


    The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, shoving Rebecca toward the chair.


    “H-hey! Don’t do this!” She struggled, trying in vain to shake them off.


    “Spare your breath, midget,” the Ripperdoc said, his tone cold yet oddly playful. “No matter how much money you offer, I ain’t taking it. I already got a lifesaver deal lined up.”


    “B-but—!”


    A rough push sent her into the chair. The soldiers yanked her arms open, strapping them down so tight she couldn’t move.


    The Ripperdoc leaned over her, his chrome fingers flexing.


    “Now, now…” His grin was almost lazy. “Even if you do talk, I’m still gonna do this. I wanna see what you’re hiding.”


    <hr>


    “Shit, the signal’s gone.” Dorio scowled as the tracker displayed Rebecca’s last known location. “Why Dogtown, of all places?”


    Falco’s grip tightened on the wheel as he stared at the broken tunnels of Pacifica. The place was eerily quiet—too quiet. Burned-out cars littered the road, some still smoldering, but there was no shootout, no gangers lurking. Just silence.


    “How locked down is that place?” he asked.


    Dorio shook her head. “No clue. We know where she is, but beyond that? Nada.”


    Pilar fidgeted, his nerves getting the better of him. “Look, we still got her vitals, yeah? That means she’s okay—for now, right?”


    Dorio sighed. “I don’t know, choom. I’m sorry.”


    Maine grabbed his AJAX rifle, loading custom rounds into the magazine with practiced ease. “Don’t worry, Pilar. Your sis is coming home.”


    Falco pulled the van to a stop. “We’re here.”


    Calling it a Megabuilding would’ve been generous. Once a grand project of the mid-2060s, the structure had long since fallen into disrepair, a casualty of the wars that tore Pacifica apart. Now it was just another part of Dogtown’s wasteland, a crumbling monument to corporate greed.


    Maine’s voice was firm. “Falco, find a place to lay low. Trust no one but us—shoot first, ask questions never.”


    Falco gave a silent nod as the crew stepped out of the vehicle.


    “Dorio, you’re with me.” Maine turned to Pilar. “Make sure you use the right explosives this time. We don’t know what’s inside that building.”


    “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Pilar grumbled. “Any ways in?”


    Dorio checked the tracer. “Rebecca went through a garage near that corner.” She gestured toward the road. “We also got sewer access, and, most obvious, the main hall.”


    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Pilar squinted up at the decaying structure. “What floor?”


    “Tenth underfloor.” Dorio’s gaze followed his. “I can already see some gonks patrolling stores above.”


    Maine’s optics flickered as he scanned the guards. “Military-grade chrome. This ain’t some street gang—we’re dealing with a unit.”


    Dorio folded her arms. “So, what’s the plan?”


    Maine turned to Pilar. “You still got those electric discharges?”


    Pilar blinked. “Yeah, but why would we need ‘em?” He pulled a bag off his back, revealing a stack of electric grenades.


    Maine smirked. “These buildings never got internal power upgrades. They still run off the old street grid. If we hit the main connections with those—”


    “—We black ‘em out.” Dorio finished, nodding. “Buys us time to move.”


    “Exactly.” Maine loaded his rifle. “But if they’re military, they’ve got chrome that won’t shut down easy. We don''t chrome scop, so expect heavy artillery from them.”


    “I’ll set a timer on ‘em.” Pilar slung the bag over his shoulder. “Once they blow, we strike.”


    “Good. Get it done.”


    Pilar jogged off, hunting for the power lines.


    Dorio shifted her weight. “And us?”


    Maine cracked his knuckles. “We hit the main hall.”


    Dorio frowned. “It’s the best breach point, but it’s not the safest way out if they have a trap waiting.”


    Maine snorted. “I know. And I’m willing to bet they do.”


    She narrowed her eyes. “You’re really gonna do it, aren’t you?”


    Maine’s grin was all the answer she needed. “Damn right I am.”


    Dorio exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders. "You always pull this shit, Maine."


    Maine just grinned, slamming a fresh mag into his rifle. "And it always works, don’t it?"


    She didn’t argue. It wasn’t worth it.


    Meanwhile, Pilar was already moving, weaving through the rubble, muttering under his breath.


    “Gotta find the street access… gotta find the damn panel…”


    Dogtown’s grid was a mess, a mix of old-world infrastructure and makeshift repairs. But he knew what to look for.


    He crouched near a corroded junction box, wires spilling out like synthetic vines. With a flick of his wrist, he primed a handful of discharge grenades. The trick wasn’t just cutting the power—it was when.


    Right before we go in.


    He planted the charges, setting a silent countdown. One minute. That should be enough.


    Back at the main entrance, Maine and Dorio took cover behind a collapsed support beam. The guards were watching the front, but they weren’t expecting a frontal assault. That was the gamble.


    Maine tapped his comms. “Pilar, status?”


    "Done. Sixty seconds."


    "Good. Get back here."


    Dorio studied the entrance. Two guards, heavily chromed. More inside. Maybe. Hard to tell from here.


    She sighed. "Coulda just used the garage, you know."


    "Yeah," Maine sighed, “We could, but something tells me it is the most heavily guarded place.”


    The next few seconds stretched thin.


    Then—


    Boom.


    The discharges detonated in perfect sync, cascading through the building’s power grid. Lights flickered, then cut out entirely. The main entrance plunged into darkness, the only illumination coming from neon billboards still running on separate circuits.


    Then came the shouting. Confusion. The guards scrambling.


    "Move!"


    Maine surged forward, rifle barking. First shot hit center mass, second blew out a knee. The second guard turned, but Dorio was already on him, crushing his skull against the concrete wall.


    Inside, gunfire erupted.


    Pilar stormed in first, his Carnage shotgun roaring with each shot, tearing through anything that moved. Maine followed close behind, his AJAX spitting controlled bursts until his mag clicked empty. Dorio fired off a few rounds from her Burya, but she wasn’t here just to kill—her eyes were on their real objective: finding a way down to Rebecca.


    A few soldiers managed to fire back, their rounds hitting both Maine and Pilar, but neither of them slowed down.


    “Shit! I can’t see them!” one of the soldiers shouted, voice tight with panic.


    “Connect to my server! Use the heat filter!” another barked.


    Fuck, they had a private server linking their optics. That would’ve been a handy trick—if it wasn’t such a fucking headache for Maine’s crew.


    Maine slammed a fresh mag into his rifle just as a round whizzed past his head, forcing him to hunker down. Pilar wasn’t doing much better, but at least his weird-ass goggles had one edge: prototype night vision, a relic he’d klepped off a Netrunner back when he was new to the crew.


    He gritted his teeth, hoisted the Carnage, and charged straight at the soldiers, ignoring their frantic shouts. The first blast painted the wall red. The second would’ve dropped another, but not before the bastard got a shot off—


    Crack


    “Argh, fuck!” Pilar stumbled back, gripping his gut as blood seeped through his jacket. His other hand was already moving, slamming a Bounce Back injector into his side. "Shit… I dunno what stings worse, the bullet or the fucking needle."


    Maine was already moving, laying down suppressive fire to cover him. “Can you move?”


    “Like a damn cheetah. Fuck yeah,” Pilar grunted, loading another pair of shells into his shotgun.


    “I found a staircase!” Dorio’s voice cut through the chaos. “But we better move! I think we pissed ‘em off!”


    “You think?!” Pilar groaned as he pushed himself up, the painkillers already kicking in. “I thought this was just the welcoming party for their employees!”


    BOOM


    A burst of gunfire echoed through the facility—but not from their floor. It was coming from below.


    Maine, Dorio, and Pilar froze. That wasn’t a good sign. Rebecca was supposed to be down there, but if shots were flying already… Either someone else had made it here first, or there was some serious infighting going on.


    Without hesitation, they bolted for the stairs, but not before Maine jabbed the call button on the elevator. If someone was watching, they''d waste time focusing on the elevator while the crew moved freely.


    The descent was quick—until it wasn’t. Halfway down, the stairs abruptly ended, forcing them to take an emergency exit.


    Maine peeked in first, scanning the area. No immediate threats. He gestured for the others to follow.


    The underfloors weren’t like the rest of Pacifica. No crumbling walls, no signs of scavenger activity—this was high-end corpo territory. Sleek corridors, reinforced security systems, and enough cash sunk into the place to scream top secret. Even with the power out, some cameras were still operational, their little red lights blinking. Humanoid drones patrolled the halls, alongside a few tense-looking soldiers, their flashlights cutting through the darkness.


    “What are all these gonks doing?” Pilar muttered, asking the question on everyone’s mind.


    “Maine, you know all that military crap. What the hell’s going on?” Dorio nudged his shoulder.


    Maine narrowed his eyes, watching the soldiers. “They’re on alert—but not for us.”


    The way they moved was methodical: always in pairs, one covering forward while the other watched their six. And their weapons weren’t aimed around like they were searching. They were ready to fire. But where they were aiming—


    “Rebecca escaped?!” Pilar hissed in a whisper.


    “Maybe. Or maybe someone else is here,” Maine scoffed. “Either way, we need to move. I’ll clear the path. You two find another way down.”


    Before either of them could argue, Maine activated his Sandevistan.


    The world slowed.


    His every step felt smooth, deliberate. He raised his AJAX, lined up his shots—


    BANG BANG


    Then he was gone.


    From Dorio and Pilar’s perspective, Maine simply vanished. A moment later, they crept toward the ajar door where the gunshots had echoed. Inside, two guards lay lifeless.


    Dorio signaled Pilar to follow.


    The deeper they went, the weirder things got. The facility had cells—holding pens, really—but they weren’t for people.


    They were for animals.


    Rows of cages lined the walls, filled with creatures that ranged from recognizable to what the actual fuck is that? Some were labeled failures, others partial successes. None of it made sense.


    Pilar tapped one of the cages, eyeing a bizarre, half-formed thing inside. “Alright, what the fuck is this? Since when do corpos hoard zoo rejects?”


    “I’ve heard of lab rats, but this is ridiculous,” Dorio muttered, shaking her head. “Forget it. We can dig into this after we get Rebecca.”


    “I know,” Pilar grumbled, rolling his eyes. He glanced at the cages one last time before turning away. “It’s just… Eh, never mind.”


    <hr>


    Petrúcio Gonzalez


    Today was a terrible day to be a BioTechnica soldier.


    The facility wasn’t just breached—it was being ripped apart by two separate units. And the worst part? They weren’t even working together. It was like watching two rabid dogs go after the same bone, tearing through the place with no regard for who got caught in the crossfire.


    Gonzales had trained with the best of the best. He had clawed his way to the top of his class, aced every security drill, and earned a spot guarding Joanne Koch—the head researcher behind all the weird shit BioTechnica cooked up. It was a prestigious gig, one that should’ve cemented his career.


    But then they captured the midget, and everything went straight to hell.


    One second, he was finishing a bathroom break. The next? The unit he was with was wiped out, combat drones were deploying, and the lights went dark. He barely had time to regroup before the attackers picked them off one by one—like they knew exactly where they’d be.


    Three people. Three fucking people.


    Eleven dead, trained soldiers gone, and the culprits? Some street rats. One of them was practically a kid. How humiliating was that?!


    He’d seen them move, seen how they worked. They weren’t just gunning people down—they were surgical. Their assault rifles found the only unarmored spot on the helmets: the mouth. Perfect shots, every time. Then some brat hacked half the squad’s chrome, locking them in place with electric jolts while the others cleaned house.


    Gonzales ran. He wasn’t stupid. But it didn’t matter—more were dying behind him. Even the combat drones weren’t holding up. The attackers just aimed for the joints, immobilizing them in seconds. Then that damn kid strolled in, lugging a Tactician, and blew their heads off like it was target practice.


    It wasn’t just an ambush. It was a fucking execution.


    And now, as he pressed his back against the cold metal wall, heart hammering in his chest, the teenager found him.


    A slow, deliberate step. Then another.


    Gonzales barely had time to register the oversized Overture revolver being leveled at his head.


    <hr>


    David Martinez


    BANG.


    "Clear!" I call out, lowering my weapon as the last gonk drops. "Gotta say, I expected a trained private military to put up more of a fight."


    Seven’s voice crackles over the comms. "Well, we did trap and ambush them before they could react. Even trained soldiers can’t counter an attack they never see coming."


    "The less resistance, the better," Anderson adds, swapping out a spent mag in his Saratoga.


    Jessy chuckles. "And this is way better than pretending to be someone’s sibling—oh, hold up, check out this gear! How much do you think we could get for it?"


    "Considering it’s BioTechnica’s?" Seven says dryly. "Not much."


    "Aw, dang it."


    Anderson nudges a corpse with his boot. "Alright, so what exactly are we looking for? We already know this isn’t just some gang op—it’s a corp. So what’s the play?"


    "Evidence and a scapegoat," Seven replies without hesitation. "Take pictures, grab shards, documents—anything that classifies this as illegal. And if we find someone with a recognizable face? Even better."


    "Incriminating BioTechnica like that… ain’t that risky?" I ask, scratching my cheek.


    Seven huffs. "David, you studied the Corporate Wars at the academy, yeah?"


    "Only the first two. We’re covering the advanced stuff next year."


    "Well, to summarize, the Fourth Corporate War ended because of the government. Sure, corps have weapons, manpower, and political pull, but the second they piss off Uncle Sam—" Seven hummed. "It’s game over."


    "Huh." I mutter, surprised.


    "Alright, I''m downloading their agents'' data," Jessy mutters, still poking around the squad we just flatlined. "Looks like they were recently reassigned to guard this place. Oh… that’s interesting."


    "What?" Seven asks.


    "Joanne Koch. That name ring any bells?"


    "No," I say.


    "Not a clue," Anderson adds with a shrug.


    Seven groans. "She’s BioTechnica’s current head researcher. If she’s involved, this whole operation is probably hers. Anything else?"


    "Nothing these scops knew," Jessy replies, disconnecting from her port. "But I pulled some schematics. Not much, just a rough layout. We’re on the fifth underground level. Below us is where they keep the good stuff."


    "So down we go," Anderson says, taking point. I fall in behind him.


    "There’s a separate elevator north of here," Jessy explains, taking up the rear. "Heavily guarded now, thanks to our little ambush."


    "How many?" I ask, sweeping my gaze across the adjacent corridors. This place feels like a damn maze.


    "Few drones, two meat shields. Nothing we can’t handle," she says, completely unconcerned.


    So, naturally, I don’t feel concerned either.


    We move carefully, keeping to the shadows where we can. The lights flicker overhead, and the whole facility hums with a low, steady vibration—probably the security system working overtime.


    Jessy gestures ahead. “Drones on the right. They’re patrolling in loops, basic stuff. The guards are posted by the elevator.”


    Seven hummed. “You take out the drones first, quiet-like. Then you deal with the meat shields.”


    Anderson smirks. “Oh yeah, ‘quiet-like.’ That’s our specialty.”


    Jessy rolls her eyes. “Just don’t make it a firefight.”


    We creep forward, keeping low. The first drone passes by, its optics scanning side to side. Jessy moves first—quick and efficient, she sends a pulse through her deck. The drone spasms, its servos locking up before it collapses with a quiet clunk.


    The second drone is trickier. It hovers a little higher, out of reach. Anderson takes care of it, aiming his silenced Saratoga and landing two precise shots into its joints. It drops like a rock.


    "Preem," I whisper.


    Now for the guards.


    Anderson raises a hand. "We take them together. On my mark—"


    But before he can finish, one of the guards glances our way. His eyes widen.


    Shit.


    No more sneaking.


    Anderson fires first, his Saratoga spitting out a short burst. I follow up, my Overture barking as I put two in the guy’s chest. He stumbles, barely hanging on. The second guard ducks behind cover, shouting into his radio.


    “Move!” Seven orders.


    Jessy’s already on it, jamming their comms before backup can mobilize. The guard behind cover peeks out—big mistake. A single shot from my Overture takes half his head off.


    The room goes quiet.


    Jessy exhales. “So much for quiet.”


    "Honestly? Better than anything," I mutter. "Now, let''s make sure we know what’s waiting for us before we head down."


    "Alright, Ping it is."


    Jessy''s eyes flicker blue as she breaches their server. After a few moments, she nods and shares the results. The guards below are already engaged in a firefight—but not with us. They’re holding their ground, unloading rounds at someone we can’t see, but whoever it is, they’re dismantling the squad one by one.


    "Who the hell is that?" I ask, watching the feed.


    "Someone not connected to their system," Anderson notes, staring at the blank space where the unknown combatant should be. "That’s good. We can slip in and gather evidence while they’re distracted."


    "Don’t get cocky," Seven warns. "Whoever they are, they might not be on our side."


    Jessy steps into the elevator. "Doesn’t matter. We can get down there just fine."


    The panel lists floors from five to ten. I press the tenth, obviously. As the elevator descends, we keep watching the firefight play out. A soldier manages to pin the mystery attacker down, but within seconds, they break free and retaliate. Then, without warning, an explosion erupts, shaking the facility enough that we feel it in the shaft. The tides are turning, but not in the guards'' favor.


    "Shit," Anderson mutters, gripping his Saratoga tight. "Whoever they are, they''re dangerous."


    "Yeah," I nod, drawing both my Overture and Lexington.


    Six soldiers stood at the elevator entrance.


    I took a deep breath. In. Out.


    The doors slid open, and I fired immediately. Two shots, two bodies down. Anderson followed up, dropping three more in quick succession. The last guy barely had time to react before Jessy hacked his cyberware, sending a surge of heat through his chrome. He screamed as he burned from the inside out—not the prettiest sight, but it got the job done.


    We moved to cover, advancing toward the unknown gunner. I could close the distance fast, but I wasn’t exactly swimming in ammo. Anderson wasn’t either. Jessy needed visual confirmation to hack, so we held position, waiting for an opening.


    BANG


    The shooter aimed for Anderson.


    I didn’t think—I moved. Dashing forward, I pushed my Klyntar agility to the limit, raising my Overture and lining up a clean shot. Whoever they were, they wouldn’t be getting back up.


    But just as my finger tightened on the trigger—


    I stopped.


    "You…?"


    <hr>


    Rebecca froze at the faint, uncertain "You…?" behind her.


    Instinct kicked in—she hadn’t fought her way here just to get flatlined by some random gonk. But they hadn’t shot her on sight. Something was off. She turned, Unity raised, finger on the trigger, ready to fire her last bullet.


    Then she saw him.


    David.


    Tactical gear, locked and loaded—but it was him.


    Her grip faltered. The gun slipped from her hands.


    “...D-David?” Her voice was weak, barely more than a breath.


    David’s eyes widened. “Guys, this one’s a choom!” he called back to his crew before turning back to her. “How the hell are you even—?”


    His words trailed off as he took in the corridor behind her—bodies piled up, shredded, broken. Every single one of those snakes that tried to rip her apart lay dead.


    Was that shock on his face? Maybe even a little bit of…impressed? Hard to tell in the dim light. But it didn’t matter.


    Rebecca let out a shaky breath. At least one familiar face was here.


    For the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself relax.


    And as exhaustion finally caught up to her, she let go, drifting into unconsciousness.