Ruff—shruff—tip-tap-tap-tap.

  The blades of plants scraped along my side—sharper than they had any right to be. My boots sank into soft soil with every step, leaving clean, detailed prints behind me. Afternoon sun bled through the towering trees, and birds chirped—then scattered the moment I shifted a branch.

  I pressed a button on the yellow utility belt at my hip. A panel slid out, extending into a removable module. When I pulled it free, it unfolded into a set of square binoculars—then expanded, hinges clicking, into a circular pair.

  Five hundred meters ahead sat the checkpoint: a cluster of tents, small buildings, and vehicles that were visible even without magnification.

  But I wasn’t looking for vehicles.

  I was hunting sentries—specifically the ones positioned where they could spot me before I ever got close.

  A watchtower stood over the perimeter. An enemy spy was posted inside with a long rifle—sniper, probably. And like anyone who’s ever seen a movie knows, those hurt.

  Like… really hurt.

  At least for about two seconds before you meet your Maker, domed by a .308. So yeah—taking him out before he took me out was kind of important.

  I slid deeper through the brush, moving closer one careful step at a time, then stopped after a couple minutes. I dropped low, raised the binoculars again, and scanned.

  That’s when I spotted the gate—something I somehow missed the first time. More off-roaders were parked near it, and a few had mounted blasters that probably fired different bolt types.

  I groaned.

  I clicked the black device in my right ear. “November, are you almost done on the posterior? I need at least half of these guys gone.”

  “I’m working on it,” November—Nikki—hissed.

  “How long?”

  “Give me a minute,” she said. “I’m trying to fault the sensor on the camera closest to the watchtower.”

  “Do you know how far that watchtower is?” I snapped. “They won’t all run over there. They’ll just tighten security up front.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” Nikki shot back.

  “Somewhat.”

  I sighed and kept watching the sentries stroll their routes. Sunlight flashed off their helmets like they were glass. I saw submachine guns, assault rifles, and—by the corner near the tall fence—a guy with what looked like a grenade launcher.

  “Tango—how are we on those cameras?” I asked.

  “Struggling,” Tango—Tisiah—said. “The defense on these is abnormal. Unreal. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “If we can’t shut them down,” Nikki cut in, “can we alter what they see? Because if all cameras stay normal except the one that catches the distraction, they’ll know the distraction is a distraction.”

  “Poetic,” I muttered. “You close by, Geronimo?”

  “Fifty meters left.”

  I turned—and caught the faint, unmistakable presence of someone before I even saw him. Then I spotted Greg, sprawled low in green camo that blended with soil and grass. A sniper rested in front of him, a suppressor fitted to the muzzle.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  “Copy,” I whispered.

  The air was humid. Sweat drenched me. My brown long-sleeve clung to my skin like glue, and I was pretty sure ants were using me as a highway.

  “Ready,” Nikki said.

  “Alright, Tango, you ready or—”

  “Working on the feed, Chuck,” Tisiah replied. “Give me a few seconds.”

  “Five… four… three,” Greg started counting.

  “Obviously not a few seconds, Geroni—” I began, but Tango cut in.

  “Ready.”

  Greg scoffed like he’d been personally disrespected. Then Nikki said, “Initiating distraction now.”

  A red beam snapped from a camera on the far right, locking onto a figure that burst from the bushes.

  Sentries stiffened—then started murmuring—then yelling as more figures bolted out, sprinting in different directions like a sudden swarm.

  That was my window.

  I rose. Power flooded my legs—cosmic, electric—and I darted toward the fence, recalculating placements as the guards shifted toward the commotion.

  My hands glowed red.

  I tore open a clean hole in the fence and slipped through. The metal knit itself back together behind me like I’d never been there.

  Inside, I scanned fast.

  A guard stood near a corner door—posted in a cramped blind spot. I didn’t know what the room was, but it didn’t matter.

  I sprinted.

  He noticed me ten feet away, hand moving toward the alarm—

  I tackled him and drove a punch into his jaw.

  He dropped.

  Now: phase two.

  I ripped his gear loose and found a card with a barcode tucked into a slot on his breastplate. I cleared my throat like it wasn’t already blazing hot. Then, with a grunt, I dragged the man—who weighed about as much as an elephant—over to the scanner.

  The door clicked open.

  Beyond it: a hallway lined with desks.

  The guard wore a black fabric shirt—tight, practical—secured by a belt. Honestly, it was the best clothing option I could’ve asked for. There was no way I could wear a full suit of armor in here without getting clocked immediately.

  I winced as I pulled the shirt on over my own clothes, then snatched his breastplate and carried it with me.

  A shield, if nothing else.

  I stepped through the next door and immediately ran into chaos.

  Employees rushed through the halls and down the stairs in panicked waves. Sentries barked orders, shoving people along. Red emergency lights flashed, bathing everything in harsh pulses.

  Errr—errr—errr.

  I ducked low and slipped into the moving crowd. People glanced at me—confused why a guard only had a chestplate and not the full kit—but that was probably the least of their problems.

  “Tango, I need directions!” I hissed into the earpiece.

  “Move forward past the stairs,” Tisiah said. “Be quick.”

  “You don’t say…” I muttered, forcing my way through the stampede. Ahead was a closed door with a large red sign: SENTRIES ONLY, painted in white block letters.

  “Is that the door I’m supposed to take?”

  “No. Down the hall to your left.”

  I pivoted and ran left, passing streams of employees fleeing in the opposite direction. The red flashes made everything look like a slideshow, like the world was skipping frames.

  “You’ll see a gray door on your right,” Tisiah said. “Use the card, go through the corridor, and you’ll hit stairs leading underground. Be quick.”

  “Ti—Tango. I know.”

  I found the door—heavy metal, cold to the touch—and swiped the card.

  It opened into a strange corridor: black walls riddled with tiny perforations, the same pattern on the floor, like a vent system built for people.

  Stairs waited at the end.

  I took them, fast, trying not to think about how suspicious I looked—a teenage anomaly lugging half a suit of armor like it was normal.

  At the bottom was a cube-shaped junction with five doors: three ahead, one left, one right.

  “Front left,” Tisiah said.

  “Front left. Copy.”

  I pushed through.

  The room beyond opened into something massive—an underground facility that looked like a tollbooth plaza smashed together with a military hangar. Booths lined the space, and beyond them sat a vault that looked… unreal.

  Not quite metal. Not quite rock.

  Reinforced mineral—gritty, dense, like steel had learned how to grow teeth.

  Nothing about it made sense. The whole room felt like it was built by someone who hated logic.

  Military-grade vehicles sat parked between the booths, and sentries were stationed across platforms and walkways—too many, too alert.

  “I need you to look up,” Tisiah said. “There’s a narrow path along the wall that leads to an entrance. Two guards are posted there. You’re gonna need to take them out—and try to make sure they don’t fall.”

  “How am I supposed to get up there?” I hissed, scanning overhead.

  “Use your Perk. No one’s looking your way right now,” he said. “Just dance up there and deal with them. You’ve got range.”

  “Whatever you say, I gue—”

  Something cold and hard pressed into my back.

  A firm grip clamped onto my shoulder.

  My whole body froze.

  Slowly, trembling, my eyes slid behind me.

  “Look forward,” a male voice hissed. “You’re gonna get me into that vault.”