11:14 A.M. – Sector 20, Abandoned Parking Structure
The parking structure's cracked concrete bit into Nail's palms as he adjusted his position.
That flicker of movement behind the blackout curtains—too quick to be casual, too deliberate to ignore.
Someone had looked back.
He thumbed his comm unit, keeping his voice low. "Carlos. Situation check."
Static crackled before the reply came. "Still on eastside factory overwatch."
Carlos' breathing sounded steady through the link. "Count's light. Maybe twelve hostiles visible. Doesn't match last week's intel."
Nail's fingers tightened around his rifle.
The factory was supposed to be their secondary arms depot.
Either the Dogs had gotten sloppy with security—unlikely—or they'd redistributed forces.
"Could be they pulled people." He scanned the windows again, noting how the blackout curtains now hung completely still.
Too still. "Or this is another decoy site."
A pause on the line. Carlos knew what that meant.
Their entire assault plan assumed three key locations.
If there is another already compromised...
"Want me to move closer?" Carlos asked.
Nail exhaled through his nose.
The smart play was to abort, regroup.
But backing off now would leave them blind.
"Negative. Hold position." He adjusted his scope, catching a new detail—fresh scuff marks near the shelter's side door.
Recent traffic. "Just keep counting. Note any—"
The curtains twitched again.
Nail froze.
Not just a glance this time.
The fabric parted just enough to reveal a sliver of darkness—and the unmistakable glint of a scope's reflection.
Oh.
He was already moving before the shot came.
The bullet punched through the concrete barrier where Nail's head had been half a second earlier.
He rolled behind a support column, chunks of debris raining down as two more rounds chewed through the parking structure's crumbling facade.
"Contact!" he hissed into his comms, pressing flat against the column.
The shots had come from the shelter's second-floor window—high velocity, suppressed.
Professional work.
Static crackled in his earpiece before Carlos' voice cut through, tight with tension: "Say again?"
"Compromised. Sniper nest due east of my position." Nail risked a glance around the column.
The blackout curtains now hung askew, revealing a rifle barrel withdrawing into the shadows. "They knew I was here."
A beat of silence.
Then Carlos' whispered curse. "Fall back point Gamma?"
Nail's fingers found the flash charge in his belt pouch.
Standard Steel Talon protocol said retreat. But that sniper had seen his face, his gear, possibly even overheard his comms.
"Negative." He primed the charge, counting the seconds between patrol sweeps below. "Switching to passive recon. Maintain your watch—if they're this jumpy, something's moving today."
The shelter's front door creaked open.
Nail melted deeper into the shadows as two Red Dogs emerged, scanning the area with military-grade optics.
Not regular gang muscle—these were Tenn's augmented enforcers, their mechanical eyes whirring as they swept the parking structure.
Nail held his breath.
One enforcer pointed directly at his position.
***
11:21 A.M. — Sector 20, Half-Collapsed Watchtower
The wind whistled through the watchtower's skeletal ribs, carrying the stench of rust and damp concrete.
Mags didn't flinch as a loose bolt clattered down three stories to the rubble below.
Her boots stayed rooted to the rotting floorboards, her weight distributed just so—no creaks, no groans, no mistakes.
From a third-floor vantage point, the Red Dogs' base sprawled like a kicked anthill.
Dogs scrambled between barricades, hauling crates marked with explosive symbols.
A team wrestled a jury-rigged turret onto the roof, its barrel still dripping coolant.
Others argued over a holomap, their gestures sharp enough to slice air.
Mags counted seventeen visible fighters.
Disorganized. Under-equipped. Desperate.
Her fingers flexed around the rifle's stock, the cold metal biting into her palm.
She'd expected more.
A normal person's heart would've been hammering by now—pulse loud in their ears, sweat slicking their grip.
But Mags' breath stayed even. Her mind, crystalline.
This wasn't nerves.
This was clarity.
The moment before a kill was the only time the world made sense.
No words to fumble.
No faces to read.
Just the unspoken arithmetic of trajectory, wind speed, and the precise pressure needed to squeeze a trigger.
Movement near the base's eastern gate.
Isla stormed into view, her baton sparking with unstable glyphwork.
She drove the weapon into a recruit's ribs, sending him sprawling.
Mags tilted her head, lip-reading the tirade:
"—move your fucking asses—" A boot to the downed man's gut. "—Boss wants those charges set by noon—"
Isla's head snapped toward a commotion near the armory.
Mags' scope followed.
There.
Gideon emerged from the shadows, his three-headed dog tattoo pulsing under the smog-filtered sun.
He gripped a rusted axe in one hand, a conduit in the other.
His mouth moved, barking orders Mags couldn't hear.
Primary target acquired.
Her finger hovered over the trigger.
One shot.
That's all it would take.
A hypersonic round through the ocular implant—clean, fast, no warning.
But—
Gideon suddenly turned, staring directly at the watchtower.
Mags didn't breathe.
A beat. Two.
Then he laughed, clapping a subordinate on the back and shoving him toward the gates.
Coincidence.
Had to be.
Yet as Mags exhaled, she noted the exact position of Gideon's augments—reinforced knuckles (left hand), subdermal plating (right forearm). Weak points: jawline (unarmored), knee joints (exposed cabling).
Her scope drifted left, where Tenn slunk from a side door, her multi-tool arms whirring as she adjusted something on a drone.
Secondary target.
Mags' rifle didn't waver.
She could drop them both in under four seconds. Gideon first, then Tenn as she turned toward the noise. Chaos would mask the shots long enough for Mags to vanish.
But Karen's orders echoed in her skull: "Disruptions come after the main assault. We need them all in one place."
A gamble.
Mags' jaw tightened.
She could disobey.
End this now.
The wind shifted, carrying the distant click of a safety being disengaged—not hers.
The first bullet tore through rotten wood where Mags' skull had been half a second earlier.
She didn't hear the shot—only the whump of compressed air as the hypersonic round passed through space her head had occupied.
Instinct took over.
Mags rolled left just as the second shot came.
This one glowed white-hot, superheated air rippling in its wake.
It struck the watchtower's rusted support beam with a sound like a bell being split in two.
The world tilted.
Wood groaned.
Metal screamed.
The entire structure lurched sideways as the compromised leg buckled.
Mags was already moving—boots slamming against the listing floor as she dove through the nearest window.
She fell three stories in perfect silence.
The ground rushed up to meet her.
At the last second, she twisted, letting her shoulder absorb the impact as she rolled.
Concrete scraped against her jacket, but the armorweave held.
Behind her, the watchtower collapsed in a thunderous roar of splintering wood and twisting metal.
A dust cloud billowed outward, swallowing the alley in gray haze.
Mags didn't wait to see if the shooter had a clean line of sight.
She was already moving, boots pounding against cracked pavement as she zigzagged between collapsed walls and burnt-out husks of vehicles.
Cinder.
It had to be.
Only a Scorcher's enhanced rounds burned that hot.
And only Cinder had the skill to make that shot from—
A bullet sparked off the wall to her left.
—from the east.
Mags changed direction mid-stride, ducking into the skeletal remains of a laundromat.
Broken tiles crunched underfoot as she pressed against the wall, listening.
Outside, shouts erupted from the Red Dogs' base.
"The fuck was that?"
"Watchtower just fucking imploded—"
"Scorchers testing new shit again?"
Good.
The collapse had masked her escape.
For now.
Mags' fingers tightened around the rifle.
The briefcase and her anti-materiel weapon was still up there, buried under tons of debris.
Useless.
But she still had Nex's shotgun strapped to her back, back up pistol on her thighs.
And the tantō at her hip.
Enough.
She peered through a crack in the wall.
The Red Dogs were mobilizing, but their attention was divided—half staring at the wreckage, half scanning the rooftops.
No one looked toward the alleys.
Yet.
Mags exhaled through her nose.
Her original plan was ash.
No overwatch position.
No clean shot on Gideon.
But Sector 20 was a graveyard of broken buildings.
She just needed to find another perch before—
A coin clinked against the floor near her boots.
Mags' blood turned to ice.
She knew that sound.
Slowly, she looked down.
The copper disc glowed faintly, its surface etched with unfamiliar glyphs that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Oh.
Behind her, a woman's voice purred:
"Found you."
The voice dripped with amusement, like a cat savoring the twitch of a cornered mouse.
Mags didn't need to turn to know Cinder stood barely ten paces behind her, rifle leveled at center mass.
The air smelled of scorched metal and something sweet—glyph-charged propellant.
Three obsidian drones hovered in triangular formation above Cinder's shoulders, their repulsor fields humming faintly.
Mags' eye caught the glint of miniaturized muzzle ports beneath each one.
No words.
No hesitation.
Mags spun, Nex's shotgun already coming up as her finger tightened on the trigger.
The weapon roared, buckshot screaming toward Cinder's smirking face—
"Rank 1—Static Shield."
The left drone pulsed blue.
A hexagonal barrier materialized inches from Cinder's nose, the pellets disintegrating against its surface in a shower of sparks.
Ricochets pinged off the crumbling walls as Cinder didn't even blink.
Corporate tech.
Too smooth for gang modifications.
Too precise for black-market gear.
Mags was already moving, boots slamming against cracked pavement as she dove behind a collapsed brick wall.
Karen's warning echoed in her skull like a mantra:
Never solo the Scorchers. We still don't know their full capabilities.
Cinder's laughter chased her through the ruins. "The Silent Killer really won't speak even if I greeted you!"
The mock disappointment in her voice undercut by the whine of charging energy weapons. "Blaze'll be so hurt—he loves monologues."
Mags' breath came steady, controlled.
She counted the drones' positions by sound alone—one hovering northeast, two circling west.
The shotgun's pump-action clack echoed as she reloaded, fingers moving on muscle memory.
A shadow flickered at the edge of her vision.
Mags dropped flat as the first drone's beam sliced through where her head had been, superheating the bricks behind her into molten slag.
The stench of vaporized mortar filled her nose as she rolled right, coming up with the shotgun braced against her shoulder—
Boom.
The blast caught the nearest drone mid-flight, shredding its repulsor array.
It spiraled into the wall with a satisfying crunch, but the other two adjusted instantly, their targeting lasers painting jagged red lines across Mags' cover.
Cinder's boots crunched on broken glass, closer now. "You know what's funny?"
Her voice oozed of fake camaraderie. "We studied you. All those jobs where you never said a word? Made you real hard to profile."
A pause. "Until we noticed you always go for high ground."
Mags' jaw tightened.
The realization hit like a slug to the gut—the watchtower was bait.
A metallic click above her.
The surviving drones had repositioned, their undersides opening to reveal cylindrical payloads.
Glyph-charged grenades.
Mags moved.
Her conduit flared to life in her left hand, fingers dancing across its surface with mechanical precision.
The Rank 2—Invisible Steps glyph ignited beneath her boots in a pulse of blue light.
Air solidified underfoot like stepping onto glass stairs.
She launched upward just as the grenades detonated below.
The shockwave licked at her heels, heat searing through the reinforced soles of her boots.
Broken concrete and shrapnel peppered the air where she'd stood half a second earlier.
Too close.
Mags didn't hesitate.
She ran vertically up the ruined apartment facade, each step finding purchase on nothing but compressed air molecules.
The world tilted sideways as she cleared the rooftop, her augmented eye tracking three red dots swarming after her.
Cinder's voice carried from below, amused: "Oh, you're fun!"
The drones reconfigured mid-pursuit, their undersides retracting grenade launchers in favor of sleek railgun barrels.
Magnetic coils hummed as they charged.
Mags pivoted hard right just as the first hypersonic round screamed past her ear.
The second grazed her shoulder, armorweave fraying as the superheated round cauterized flesh in the same motion.
No pain.
Just the sharp scent of burning fabric and meat.
She didn't slow.
The residential apartment's shattered balcony loomed ahead.
Mags canceled the glyph three feet from impact, letting momentum carry her through the glassless window frame in a controlled roll.
Broken furniture and peeling wallpaper blurred past as she skidded across moldy floorboards. The drones hesitated at the threshold—too large to follow easily.
A heartbeat's reprieve.
Mags was on her feet instantly, Nex's shotgun sweeping the room.
Empty.
The apartment stank of mildew and old blood, its walls pockmarked with bullet holes from some long-forgotten firefight.
Outside, Cinder's boots crunched on broken glass. "You know we'll find you anyway, right?"
Her voice echoed through the hollow building. "I've got eyes everywhere in this sector!"
The tanto's hilt grew warm in Mags' grip as the Razor glyph activated.
No visible glow—just a faint distortion in the air around the blade, like heat shimmer over desert sands.
Pen's gift.
The vibration traveled up Mags' arm, making her teeth ache.
She exhaled through her nose.
Slow.
Controlled.
The first drone entered through the bedroom window in textbook formation—sensors whirring, gun barrels sweeping the room.
Mags didn't blink.
Her strike was not just fast.
It was bound to happen.
The blade passed through the drone's alloy casing like a ghost.
No resistance.
No sparking wires. Just clean separation as molecular bonds surrendered to the Razor's hunger.
Two perfect halves clattered to the floor, their insides spilling across termite-eaten floorboards.
Mags was already moving before the pieces stopped vibrating.
Cinder's voice floated up the stairwell, closer now: "That's corporate property you're destroying, Silent Killer."
Amusement colored her next words. "Think your gang's got the credits to cover—"
The second drone chose that moment to breach through the kitchen window.
Mags pivoted, the tanto's edge finding the gap between the drone's shield emitter and its main body.
The blade didn't so much cut as slid between realities, severing the connection before the defensive glyph could fully activate.
Another corpse for the scrap pile.
But the third drone learned.
It didn't enter.
Didn't even approach the windows.
Instead, it latched onto the exterior wall with magnetic claws, its weapons pod rotating to reveal a pulsating aether core.
Mags' stomach dropped.
Overload sequence.
Cinder's laughter echoed through the crumbling apartment: "Game over."
The final drone's core began its death scream.
***
11:21 A.M. – Sector 20 West Side Warehouse
The midday sun struggled behind thickening clouds, casting the warehouse district in muted grays.
Echo moved through the maze of alleys with practiced ease, her boots avoiding broken glass and rusted metal with unconscious precision.
The air smelled of wet concrete and old motor oil.
Liz's position came into view—a second-story window of a derelict textile factory overlooking the Red Dogs' staging area.
The rookie scout perched on a crumbling ledge, her rifle resting across her knees.
"You're finally here," Liz whispered as Echo slipped into position beside her.
The younger woman's fingers tapped a nervous rhythm against her weapon.
Echo scanned the warehouse complex below through her scope.
Nothing had visibly changed since the last report—Dogs still hauling crates, arguing over holomaps, testing weapons.
But the rhythm felt... off.
"Anything new?" Echo kept her voice flat, professional.
Liz chewed her lip.
"They pulled six men from perimeter patrol ten minutes ago. Sent them inside." She pointed to a side entrance where fresh boot prints marked the dust. "And their comms chatter changed—started using coded phrases."
Echo's thumb brushed the edge of her scope.
Predictable reaction.
Cinder's detection had spooked them, but not enough for full retreat.
Just enough to make them cautious.
She adjusted her position slightly, the aged wood creaking under her weight. "Keep watching the east loading dock. If they're moving something important, it'll go through there."
Liz nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly at having clear instructions.
The rookie's hands stilled on her rifle.
Beyond the warehouse, the clouds darkened further.
The promise of rain, nothing more.
For now.
The warehouse's corrugated metal walls sweated condensation in the thickening humidity.
Echo counted seven visible guards through her scope—three at the main entrance, two patrolling the perimeter, and a pair smoking near the loading docks.
Their postures spoke of boredom, not alertness.
Liz shifted beside her. "I marked the blind spots."
She tapped her scope, transferring the data to Echo's display. "Service tunnel access here, roof vents here. All clear for the past twenty minutes."
Echo studied the patterns.
The rhythm was wrong.
Too few guards for a primary supply depot.
The crates stacked near the docks looked full, but the way they sat on the forklifts—weight distribution off.
Decoys.
This was a test.
She lowered her scope.
The real stockpile would be elsewhere, but burning this facade would still hurt.
The Dogs had invested time in this theater.
Destroying it would force them to adjust, reveal new patterns.
"Charges," Echo said, holding out her hand.
Liz passed three compact devices from her pack.
Each bore Vey's mark—crude skulls scratched into the casings next to the arming switches.
"East dock first," Echo murmured, checking the primer timers. "Then structural supports. Leave the main entrance intact."
Liz frowned. "But the plan—"
"—assumed real supplies." Echo snapped a charge onto her belt. "We'll burn everything simultaneously. They'll panic trying to figure out what we know."
A raindrop struck the windowsill between them, leaving a dark circle on the rusted metal. The storm would help.
Echo moved toward the fire escape, her boots silent on the corroded steps.
Below, a guard laughed at some unheard joke, his rifle slung carelessly over his shoulder.
The game had changed, but the rules remained.