Page 63 of Victorious: Part 3

Hash begins hauling terrified scientists out of their labs, herding them like panicked deer. Their faces are ghost-white, barely comprehending the hellstorm we’re dragging them out of. Axel’s hands fly in a blur, stuffing chemical samples into evidence containers, his breathing shallow and rapid, fingers slick with sweat and adrenaline.

Flint’s crouched over a computer terminal, eyes scanning lines of code like a man possessed. “I need two more minutes,” he yells, his voice tight. “This data could expose everything… distribution, names, supply chains. All of it.”

Then the facility’s speakers crackle to life, and a cold, mechanical voice floods every hallway. “Emergency sterilization in ninety seconds.”

The sound chills me to my core.

It’s not a fire drill.

It’s a fucking death sentence.

“Ghost!” I shout, pivoting toward my tech genius. “Status on emergency exits?”

A pause. Then his voice comes through, almost sounding panicked. “Blocked. Cave-in sealed off all auxiliary tunnels.”

My stomach drops, and I grit my teeth in annoyance. “You saying we’re trapped?”

“Only way out is the way we came in,” Ghost confirms grimly.

Jesus. They built this place to be a fucking tomb.

“All teams, converge on the main elevator shaft. We’re punching out the way we punched in.”

Suddenly, the ear-splitting sound of gunfire erupts from below.

It’s close. Muffled by the stone, but unmistakable.

“Shots fired!” Liam’s voice crackles, though it’s ragged with effort. “Cartel reinforcements, coming up from level three. They’re heading for the gas controls.”

Fuck.

My feet take off before I even register that I’m running, before the words finish leaving his mouth. Sparks fly where bullet fragments chew through the railings, one of the stray bullets slamming into my left shoulder. “Goddammit, motherfu—” I groan, glancing down to see blood pouring along the length of my arm, my lungs burning while pain ripples through me.

But I don’t stop.

I can’t.

If they reach that console, they’ll flood the whole facility with whatever the hell they have cooked up in those labs.

We’ll be drowning in vaporized death.

“Warden, Bear, lock down those stairs. I don’t want a single fucker making it through,” I yell.

“Copy,” Warden’s voice fires back. “Setting up chokepoint.”

The stairwell to level three is narrow. Jagged stone edges, steep steps slick with moisture, lit only by flickering emergency lights that paint everything in a sickly red hue.

It’s a kill box.

A perfect place to get shredded.

As I reach the top of the stairs, nursing my fucked shoulder, Bear and Warden are in position, weapons braced, breathing heavy. Shadows lurk below, Cartel soldiers in tactical gear, screaming in Spanish, and they aim, firing at us blindly.

I drop to one knee, and with my good hand, I bring my gun up with precision and open fire. The flash lights up the shaft like a lightning storm, almost blinding me, but my eyes right themselves just in time for me to see a grenade being arced up toward us.

Fuck!“Get down,”I scream.

We dive as the explosion punches the air from my lungs. Heat, dust, and shards of concrete rain down when the stairwell collapses. My ears ring, my vision shakes as dust floats through the air like confetti.