James entered the room.

  The reinforced door hissed shut behind him, sealing the noise of the team and the chaos of the corridor into a distant hum. Inside, it was cold—unnaturally cold. The kind of chill that lived in bunkers built for wars long over and secrets long buried.

  The walls were lined with old-world steel and composite plating, painted over with fresh layers of CVC red. Cracked monitors blinked across one side, displaying flickering maps and static feeds of battles outside. Burnt-out lights dangled from frayed wires overhead, swaying slightly as if the building itself were nervous. A war table dominated the center—surrounded by spent shell casings, blood-smeared datapads, and an open bottle of something expensive and untouched.

  At the far end of the room stood Elric Vance.

  Older than his file photo, but unmistakable. His once-pristine SDS uniform had been stripped of insignia and reshaped into something leaner—black tactical armor with crimson trim, weathered but efficient. His beard was short and grey, his eyes sharp and calculating beneath dark circles. There was a scar that ran from the base of his throat to his left cheek—jagged, surgical, and old. He didn’t move. Just stood behind the table, one hand resting on a modified rifle, the other tapping lightly on a cracked holoscreen.

  “Well,” Vance said, his voice rough, dry like sandpaper. “They really sent you the Norfolk devil.”

  He didn’t look surprised.

  “You don’t need to worry,” he said, gesturing lazily toward the far wall.

  James glanced that way—one of the aides lay there in a crumpled heap, a clean slit across the throat, the blood dried into the grout. Still wearing a corporate suit.

  “They were useless,” Vance said. “Dead weight. I cleared the room myself.”

  James said nothing, but his weapon didn’t lower.

  “I’m not here to fight you, James,” Vance continued. “I just want to talk.”

  James’ voice was like stone. “Then you’ve got a problem.”

  Vance raised an eyebrow. “Do I?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk,” James said. “I came to kill you.”

  Vance gave a quiet laugh. “Of course you did. That’s what they do, isn’t it? Wind you up, point you at the next problem, and pull the trigger.”

  He stepped closer to the table, hands still in view. “You’re fighting for the wrong side, James.”

  “What the hell are you getting at?” James asked, tone flat but gaze sharp.

  Vance’s smirk didn’t falter. “I’m telling you the cause you’re fighting for isn’t what you think it is.”

  James raised an eyebrow. “Are you stupid?”

  “You think SDS is some paragon of order, of freedom?” Vance took a step forward, arms slightly raised, not in surrender—just conviction. “I’ve seen what they do in the shadows. I’ve seen the memos. The purges. The quiet executions. I know the real numbers. The real goals.”

  James didn’t move.

  “Why do you think I defected?” Vance’s voice hardened. “Because I got greedy? No. I defected because the system you serve is already rotten, and you—”

  “Wait.” James held up a hand, finally speaking. “You seriously think that’s why I’m here?”

  Vance blinked, caught mid-rant. “You’re Norfolk’s loyal dog.”

  James tilted his head, expression unreadable. Then he spoke, low and cool:

  “I’m only loyal to two things.”

  Vance frowned. “What are you even—”

  “Money,” James said.

  A pause.

  “And my car.”

  The Hk barked once. A single, clean shot. Vance’s head snapped back, and he collapsed without ceremony.

  The silence afterward was thick.

  James stared at the body for a beat longer than necessary.

  Then he holstered his sidearm and muttered, almost to himself—

  “What the hell was wrong with that guy?”

  He turned, stepped over the body, and walked out without another word.

  The rest of the team was waiting, crouched behind shattered cover and overturned desks. James stepped out of the command room without a word.

  “It’s time we get the hell out of here,” he said, HK slung up tight. “Let’s move.”

  “We’ve got high enemy contact converging on the route we came from,” Ghost snapped, ducking back behind a pillar as rounds sparked off the edge. “Our original exit is blocked.”

  “We’re on the third floor, right?” James asked, eyes already scanning the room.

  Ghost flinched as a belt-fed burst tore through a busted terminal beside her. “Umm—” she checked her slate, “yes.”

  James turned to Wrench, who had just pumped his last shell into a CVC soldier’s chest. The man crumpled, a ruined mess of meat and ruined armor, painting the floor in a steaming arc of red.

  “You know what I’m thinking,” James said, already bracing his rifle.

  “Oh, I do, boss,” Wrench grinned, pulling a fresh charge from his satchel. “Give me three minutes, I’ll blow us a hole.”

  “You heard the man,” James barked. “Get me three minutes!”

  Another wave of CVC soldiers rounded the far hallway—six of them in a tight formation. Flashbangs bounced across the floor, followed by grenades.

  “DOWN!” Ghost yelled, dragging Elias’s rifle into firing position and bracing behind a flipped table.

  The blasts hit like thunder—bright white light and concussive heat slamming through the hall. James coughed through the smoke, muzzle already flashing. His shots punched clean through two soldiers—one catching a round to the eye, the other to the throat. They fell like broken mannequins.

  Rios rose from cover, his one working arm cradling his rifle. “Contacts to the left!”

  Gunfire tore through the side—two cartel fighters charging in from the shadows.

  Rios dropped one with a perfect burst to the chest—but the second got a round off. It caught Rios in the chest, spinning him with a grunt of pain.

  “Rios is hit!” Ghost shouted, snapping off three clean shots from her sidearm. The last one cracked straight through the attacker’s chest plate, folding him backward in a spray of red.

  “I’m good!” Rios grunted, clutching his bleeding shoulder as he dragged himself behind cover. “It’s a graze—just keep shooting!”

  Smoke thickened the air. Blood streaked across the floor. Spent brass rained down like wind chimes in a war zone.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Two more CVC soldiers stormed in through the west corridor. James lunged forward, slamming the first into the wall with bone-crushing force before pumping two rounds into his gut. The second raised his weapon—too late. A blade whistled past James' ear, burying itself in the man’s thigh. Ghost lowered her hand, already reaching for another knife.

  “There’s too many of them coming,” Ghost said, ducking behind cover as more gunfire rattled the air. “We need to fall back—find better ground.”

  “I’m almost done!” Wrench barked, sweat slick on his brow as he slapped the last of the charges onto the wall’s support beam.

  A grenade clinked onto the floor, rolling to a stop between them.

  James didn’t blink. He kicked it back down the hall.

  It bounced twice.

  Then detonated mid-air.

  The explosion tore into the advancing squad. Screams echoed briefly—cut short by the roar and heat. Blood painted the walls.

  “Wrench,” James snapped, teeth gritted as more bullets tore overhead. “Tick tock.”

  “One minute!” Wrench shouted, yanking the final detonator wire into place.

  Seconds later, he looked up. “Alright, we’re good—take cover!”

  The team dove behind the nearest intact wall segment as Wrench slammed the detonator.

  BOOM.

  The wall erupted in a thunderous blast, the shockwave slamming through the corridor like a hammer of gods. Heat and debris tore past them in a whirlwind—concrete screamed, lights shattered, and the floor shook beneath their boots. For a moment, the world was nothing but sound and pressure.

  Then—silence, broken only by falling dust and the distant crackle of fire.

  James was the first to rise, brushing debris off his chest plate. A yawning hole now gaped in the wall where Wrench’s charge had gone off—exposing a three-story drop to the ravaged street below.

  Ghost staggered to her feet, blinking through the settling smoke. She looked down. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am,” James said flatly. “We can’t stay here.”

  Wrench was already moving, pulling a reinforced rope from his pack. Without a word, he clipped it to a shattered support beam, tested the knot once, and tossed the line into the void. “He’s right. Let’s move.”

  Without hesitation, he jumped—disappearing into the smoke.

  Ghost hesitated for half a breath, then glanced back. “What about Rios?”

  James turned.

  Rios was still slumped behind a half-shattered console, blood trailing from his shoulder, rifle barely clutched in his hand. His eyes were glassy, unfocused.

  “I’ll handle it,” James said, stepping past Ghost. “Go.”

  He shoved her toward the breach. She vanished into the smoke with a reluctant curse.

  James dropped to a knee beside Rios. “Come on. You said you wouldn’t slow us down, remember?”

  No response.

  “Hey.” James slapped his face. “I’m not dragging your ass just for you to bleed out halfway down.”

  “I… can’t…” Rios rasped. “Go without me.”

  “Shut it, you self-sacrificing bastard,” James growled, hooking an arm under him. With a grunt, he hauled Rios over his shoulder, ignoring the blood soaking into his jacket.

  Boots thundered behind him.

  Another squad of CVC burst through the far door, weapons raised.

  “Fuck,” James spat, raising his HK one-handed. He fired on the move—short, brutal bursts that dropped two of the lead men before the rest could react.

  No time.

  He pivoted and sprinted, boots hammering toward the breach. Gunfire tore after him, shattering walls and chewing through stone.

  With Rios on his back and bullets slicing past his heels, James dove through the smoke-filled hole—into the open air and the burning city below.

  The air howled past as James and Rios dropped like a stone through the smoke and fire.

  THUMP.

  James hit hard. His boots struck the cracked concrete with a bone-jarring force. One knee drove down, cratering the pavement beneath him. His fist slammed into the ground beside it to steady the impact.

  Dust exploded around him.

  He held the pose for a beat—knee down, one fist to the floor, the other gripping Rios on his shoulder. A breathless silence followed, broken only by the hiss of steam and the distant echo of gunfire.

  “You gonna stay like that, Superman?” Wrench called out as he dropped the last three feet of the rope with a grunt.

  James rose slowly, knees popping, dust slipping off his shoulders like ash. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Always wanted to try that… but it’s hell on the joints. Would not recommend. Three outta ten.”

  Wrench smirked, already moving.

  The sound of boots pounded above—reinforcements incoming. But now that James was outside, the real noise hit him. Distant explosions thundered beyond the city, shaking the ground in dull, rhythmic blasts. The siege had begun. Artillery. Gunships. War, in full swing.

  James looked up.

  Ghost was still halfway down the rope, silhouetted against the smoke-streaked dawn.

  “Wrench, take him,” James said, shifting Rios over his shoulder. Before Wrench could argue, James launched the man forward with a grunt.

  Wrench caught Rios with a stumble, muttering, “Jesus—you throw people like grenades.”

  “Ghost—let go of the rope,” James called, stepping into position below. “I’ll catch you.”

  She looked down, eyes wide. “Yeah, fuck no. Just wait a damn—”

  Thunk.

  James threw a knife.

  It sliced clean through the rope above her hand.

  “JAMES—!”

  She dropped with a scream.

  And he caught her—arms braced, boots skidding back an inch. The impact rattled his arms, but he didn’t drop her.

  He set her down.

  “See?” he said with that crooked grin. “Wasn’t that bad.”

  Ghost glared at him, breath caught somewhere between rage and disbelief.

  He gave her a gentle shove. “We’ve gotta move. Let’s go.”

  The city burned as they ran.

  Gunfire cracked like thunder down the alleyways, echoing between scorched high-rises. James led the team at full sprint, boots pounding across pavement slick with ash and oil.

  “Contact left!” Ghost shouted.

  She fired a tight burst, catching a CVC soldier mid-run. The man spun and crashed against a wall, blood arcing wide across the graffiti-scarred bricks.

  James surged ahead. A soldier popped up from behind a burned-out sedan—James didn’t hesitate. Two shots. One to the shoulder, one to the throat. The man dropped in a wet heap.

  Then—

  A thunderclap split the sky. An artillery shell slammed into the building just ahead, blasting the top floors apart. Debris rained down—steel, glass, brick.

  “Building’s compromised!” Ghost yelled, already vaulting over a shattered divider. “We need to move east!”

  They pushed forward, weaving through collapsed scaffolding and smoke-choked intersections. More enemies appeared—two, then four—rushing from a broken storefront. Flashbangs scattered across the ground.

  White light.

  Deafening pop.

  James blinked through the daze faster than the others and dove into the smoke.

  He slammed the butt of his rifle into a soldier’s faceplate, shattering the visor and crunching the man’s nose. As he dropped, another lunged—James sidestepped, caught the attacker’s wrist, twisted. The bone snapped. The man screamed.

  James ended it with a punch to the throat.

  “Move!” he barked.

  Wrench came barreling through the smoke, Rios slung across his back. Ghost covered them with short bursts from her rifle.

  “We’re close!” she called out. “The wall’s just ahead—one more block!”

  The soundscape shifted—artillery fire faded, replaced by the roar of engines and the distant whoosh of rocket strikes. The SDS main assault had begun.

  As they rounded the last corner, the city’s perimeter wall loomed ahead.

  “That’s our exit,” Ghost said, breathing hard.

  “Wrench—set the charges,” James ordered.

  Wrench grunted, gently lowering Rios beside the cover of a rusted-out car. “On it. Gimme two minutes.”

  “Ghost—cover west,” James said, checking his ammo. “I’ve got east. They should be too busy with the main assault, but just in case…”

  “Copy,” she said, already moving into position.

  Wrench worked fast, planting high-yield charges along the base of the wall, sweat glistening on his forehead.

  “We’re all good, boss,” Wrench called, stepping back.

  “Alright—everyone take cover,” James ordered.

  The team crossed the blasted road, diving into the alley across the street. James hauled Rios up again, slinging him over his shoulder. He locked eyes with Wrench and gave a quick nod.

  Then the world exploded.

  The charges tore into the wall with a deafening roar that drowned out the battle outside. Smoke belched outward, choking the street. Chunks of metal and concrete rained down. A groan, low and ominous, echoed through the district.

  Then—collapse.

  The perimeter wall folded outward like a felled titan, crashing down in a storm of dust and rubble.

  “GO GO GO!” James yelled.

  Wrench took off first, then Ghost. James stood one last moment, looking down at Rios—still breathing, but unconscious. Blood soaked the man’s side pulled him back up and turned and sprinted.

  He cleared the road and burst through the walls breach—a hole the size of a building now gaped where steel had once stood.

  On the far side, through dust and morning light, an SDS troop transport waited. Ghost and Wrench were already climbing in as a squad of SDS elite troops stormed past them, charging into the city.

  James hauled himself the last few feet and passed Rios up to a waiting soldier in the back of the truck. The man caught him, nodding.

  “Easy, we’ve got him.”

  James reached up—and Wrench grabbed his hand, yanking him into the truck.

  They slammed the door shut behind him.

  Smoke curled in the air. Engines roared to life.

  Rochester burned behind them.