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I position myself in front of Ember as we enter the stairwell. The stench of cordite and death fills my lungs. Shell casingscrunch beneath our boots like broken promises. Crimson handprints mark our path—our handiwork from the climb up.
Two Rufi units bound ahead, their movements liquid metal precision, their sensors sweeping for threats. Two flank our sides, sensors sweeping for threats. The last brings up our rear, its targeting systems painting the shadows in infrared wavelengths.
“Movement,” Mac’s voice carries quiet urgency. “Two levels down.”
The mechanical hounds adjust their formation. Red targeting lasers dance through lingering gun smoke.
My rifle settles against my shoulder, the familiar weight both comfort and agony. Each micro adjustment sends fresh fire through tortured muscles.
Twenty-third floor—the first resistance finds us. Three hostiles emerge from emergency lighting, desperation making them sloppy. The Rufis react before triggers can be pulled. Mechanical jaws find throats and arteries. Wet gurgling follows. Then silence.
“Keep moving.” Jenny’s voice carries quiet authority. “Watch your six.”
Ember’s breath comes in sharp bursts. Each step brings us closer to those kids. To her past.
Twentieth floor landing—a door burst opens. Mac’s rifle barks twice. Bodies thud against the tiled floor.
“Clear,” he grunts. Fresh blood soaks his sleeve.
The rage still burns inside me, banked but ready. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every corner could bring death. My finger rests light on the trigger, ready to eliminate anything that threatens her.
Seventeenth floor—resistance. Heavy.
“Contact front!” Brett’s warning comes sharp and urgent.
Gunfire erupts, deafening in the confined space. Concrete chips explode from the walls. The Rufis bound forward, drawing fire. Their targeting systems paint the hostiles in light.
I spin, shielding Ember with my body as bullets whip past. Her fingers dig into my vest, but she doesn’t scream. Doesn’t panic.
The team responds with practiced violence. Jenny’s and Mac’s rifles thunder in perfect sync. Brett’s breaching shotgun roars, turning flesh to mist.
“Moving!” Mac advances through the chaos, the Rufis flanking him. More bodies join the dead.
Blood and shell casings rain down the stairs. The smell of death grows thicker.
Fifteenth floor—the lights flicker, casting strange shadows. A hostile rounds the corner, knife glinting. Before I can shift my rifle, Ember moves.
Her elbow strikes his throat. Her knee finds his groin. The knife clatters away as he folds.
My heart swells with pride as I put two rounds in his chest. She’s not just surviving. She’s fighting back.
“Nice moves,” Jenny says, stepping over the corpse. “But stay behind Blaze.”
The tenth floor brings another ambush. Flashbang grenades bounce off the walls. The Rufis’ sensors compensate instantly, and their targeting systems are unaffected by the flash and sound.
I pull Ember tight against me, shielding her eyes as the grenades detonate. The world goes white. My ears ring. But the Rufis are already moving, already killing.
Screams echo through the stairwell. Blood sprays across my face, hot and sticky.
“Push through!” Jenny’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Keep moving!”
Fifth floor—the resistance grows desperate. Wild shots from dying men. The Rufis paint the walls with their blood.
“Almost there,” Ember whispers, her voice tight with tension. “It’s the fifth sub-basement.”
My broken ribs scream as we descend, but nothing matters except keeping her safe. Getting those kids out.
Third floor—more hostiles. They die choking on their own blood, torn apart by mechanical jaws and precise gunfire.