Page 18

“Always.” I smirk, cutting the connection as I pick up speed. The tunnel slopes downward, the air growing cooler and damper as I near the exit. The faint sound of waves crashing against the shore reaches my ears.

The tunnel ends in a concealed hatch, which hisses open to reveal a rocky outcrop overlooking the water. The cannery looms in the distance, its rusted facade barely visible in fog. I crouch low, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.

“Alright, Bob,” I murmur, adjusting the straps on my jetpack. “Let’s see what you’re up to in there.”

I leap into the air, the jetpack roaring to life as I glide silently toward the cannery. The wind whips past my face, carrying the tang of salt and the faint scent of decay. The cannery grows larger with every passing second, its darkened windows like empty eye sockets.

I land on the roof with a soft thud, my boots barely making a sound on the corrugated metal. The place looks abandoned, but I know better. My fingers brush the plasma pistol at my side as I crouch low, listening for any signs of movement.

“Let’s make this interesting,” I whisper, creeping toward the edge of the roof. The scene is still, but I can feel the tension in the air—a storm waiting to break.

The scent of Grolgath hangs thick in the air, a mix of damp scales and something metallic, like blood left to dry in the sun. My nostrils flare as I step deeper into the cannery, my plasma pistol gripped tight in my hand. The place is a maze of rusted machinery and crumbling walls, shadows stretching long and jagged in the dim light filtering through broken windows. Every creak of metal, every drip of water, sets my nerves on edge.

“Where are you, you slippery bastards?” I mutter under my breath, my golden eyes scanning the darkness. The scent is everywhere, but there’s no sign of them. Not yet.

A skittering sound catches my attention, sharp and quick, like claws on metal. I spin, my pistol snapping up to aim at the source. A rat darts out from behind a pile of debris, its beady eyes glinting in the faint light. It freezes, staring at me, its whiskers twitching.

I don’t lower the gun. Not yet.

“Alright, you little furball,” I growl, stepping closer. “You’re either dinner or a spy. Which is it?”

The rat squeaks, its tiny body trembling. I crouch down, keeping the pistol trained on it. “Speak up. I know you Grolgath can shapeshift. What’s your game here? What are you planning?”

The rat just stares at me, its nose twitching. I wait, my finger hovering over the trigger, but there’s no sudden transformation, no flash of green scales or milky white eyes. Just a rat. A regular, Earth rat.

I lower the pistol with a frustrated snarl. “Damn it. I’m interrogating rodents now. Pyke’s never going to let me live this down.”

The rat scurries away, disappearing into the shadows. I stand, shaking my head. “Get it together, Lanz. You’re better than this.”

The words are barely out of my mouth when a bright flash of light blinds me. I throw up an arm to shield my eyes, but it’s too late. The first laser blast hits me square in the chest, the impact slamming me back into a support strut. My armor absorbs most of the blow, but the heat sears through, leaving a scorch mark on my scales.

“Son of a—” I dive behind the strut as more blasts rain down, the air sizzling with energy. The smell of burnt metal fills mynostrils, heat radiating from the beams as they slice through the air around me.

I press my back against the strut, my heart pounding. “Alright, Bob,” I shout over the din. “You’ve got my attention. Let’s see if you can keep it.”

The blasts keep coming, each one closer than the last. I grip my pistol tighter, waiting for a break in the barrage. My mind races, calculating angles, distances, and the odds of making it out of this alive.

“Come on, you overgrown lizards,” I mutter, peeking out from behind the strut. “Give me something to work with.”

My compad chirps as I pull it from my belt, the holographic display flickering to life. The scan reveals a network of automated turrets - dozens of them - their targeting systems far more precise than even Vakutan reflexes.

"Clever bastards." I unclip my jetpack, fingers dancing over the controls. "Let's see how smart your toys really are."

The jetpack rockets skyward on autopilot, drawing immediate fire. Red beams slice through the air, tracking its erratic path. My muscles coil as I count the seconds, waiting for the perfect moment.

"Now." I sprint for the window, glass crunching under my boots. The sea stretches below, dark and uninviting. A laser catches my shoulder as I dive, searing through the flight suit. Another grazes my leg.

The impact with the water drives the breath from my lungs. Salt water floods the burns, setting my nerves on fire. I grit my teeth, pushing through the pain as I swim deeper, letting the current carry me away from the cannery.

I surface near the shore, dragging myself onto the rocks. My wounds throb, but they'll heal. The real sting is to my pride.

I could call Pyke, have him send a strike team. But the thought makes my scales itch. This is personal now.

"I can handle this myself." The words taste like iron in my mouth. "I'll get my revenge for this insult."

I pull out my compad, wincing as the movement pulls at my burns. "Soanzo. Need a pickup. Sending coordinates."

"Right away, sir. Everything alright?"