Location: Abandoned District Warehouse, Virek
Date and Time: December 16, 2552 – 1530 Hours
The air is thick with the smell of burnt powder, dust, and blood. It feels like the walls are closing in on us, trapping us in this crumbling warehouse. My ears are still ringing from the gunfire, but the noise has faded into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of Frost groaning as Doc Alvarez works on his wound.
I crouch behind a stack of crates, my rifle still raised, eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. My heart is pounding in my chest, the adrenaline pumping through my veins as the seconds stretch out like hours.
We're pinned down, outnumbered, and out of options.
Grayson crawls over to me, his face set in a grim expression. "How's Frost?"
I glance over at Doc, who's leaning over him, her hands working quickly to patch up the bullet wound in his side. "He's alive," I say, though my voice sounds hollow in my own ears. "For now."
Grayson nods, his eyes hard. "We're not getting out of here without a fight."
He doesn't need to tell me that. I already know. The URF rebels are out there, lurking in the dark, waiting for us to make a move. I can feel them—like shadows pressing in on all sides, suffocating us.
"Contact left!" Santiago shouts, breaking the silence as another burst of gunfire echoes through the warehouse. I turn just in time to see him open up with his M247H, laying down suppressive fire as more rebels try to flank us.
"Keep them back!" Grayson barks, shifting into a firing position beside Santiago. The roar of gunfire drowns out all other sound as bullets ricochet off the walls, sparks flying in the dim light.
I lean out from cover, my finger tight on the trigger as I return fire, trying to pick out targets in the shadows. My hands are steady, but my mind is racing—counting the shots, watching the angles, waiting for the next attack.
A figure darts from the shadows, moving fast and low. I swing my rifle around, tracking him as he raises a pistol. My finger tightens on the trigger, and the world narrows to that one point—just me, my rifle, and the man in my sights.
CRACK.
The shot echoes through the air, and the rebel drops, his body collapsing in a heap on the ground. I don't let myself think about it. I can't. There's no time. There's just the fight, and the next target.
"Keep it together, Kowalski!" O'Neill shouts, his voice barely cutting through the noise.
I nod, gritting my teeth as I shift positions, keeping my rifle trained on the entrance. The rebels are coming in waves now—small groups, probing our defenses, looking for weak spots. They're testing us, and I don't know how much longer we can hold.
I hear a grunt behind me, and I turn to see Dash Hayes clutching his leg, blood seeping through his combat pants. He's leaning against a crate, trying to keep the pressure on the wound, but his face is pale, and I can see the pain in his eyes.
"Damn it," I mutter, crawling over to him. "Hang in there, Dash."
He gives me a weak smile, his teeth gritted against the pain. "Don't worry about me. Just keep those bastards off us."
Doc Alvarez moves in beside me, her med kit already open as she kneels down to assess the injury. "This one's not too bad," she says, her voice calm and focused. "But he's not going anywhere for a while."
I nod, my mind racing. We're getting hit from all sides, and now we've got two men down. We're running out of options, and I can feel the walls closing in. We need a way out. Fast.
Grayson crawls back over, his eyes darting between us and the door. "We're boxed in here. We need to fall back."
"How?" I ask, my voice barely steady. "They've got us pinned."
"There's a service tunnel on the east side of the building," he says, his voice low but urgent. "We can use it to get out, but we'll need to cover our retreat."
I nod, feeling the weight of the decision settle on my shoulders. "What do you need me to do?"
Grayson's eyes lock on mine, and I can see the calculation behind them. He's weighing the risks, measuring the odds. "I need you to cover Doc and the wounded while we fall back. Santiago and I will take point. Can you handle that?"
I swallow hard, feeling the pressure mount, but I force myself to nod. "I've got it."
"Good man," Grayson says, clapping me on the shoulder. "We move on my mark."
The next few minutes are a blur of motion and noise. We start to pull back, Grayson and Santiago laying down suppressive fire as we move toward the east side of the warehouse. Frost and Dash are both injured, and Doc is doing her best to keep them stable as we drag them along. Every step feels like a mile, and I can feel the tension rising with each passing second.
"Keep moving!" Grayson shouts as another burst of gunfire erupts behind us. I swing around, firing off a few rounds to keep the rebels back, but it feels like they're everywhere—closing in from all sides, pushing us toward the edge.
We reach the service tunnel, and Grayson motions for us to move in. It's narrow, barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side, but it's our only way out.
Santiago is the last one through, his heavy weapon clattering against the wall as he squeezes into the tunnel. "Let's get the hell out of here," he mutters, his voice tight with adrenaline.
The tunnel stretches out ahead of us, dark and damp, with the faint sound of water dripping somewhere in the distance. The air is cool, but it feels heavy—like we're walking through a tomb. Every step echoes off the walls, and I can't shake the feeling that we're being followed.
We move in silence, the only sound the shuffle of boots on wet concrete and the labored breathing of the wounded. I glance back at Frost and Dash. They're both pale, but still conscious. Doc's doing her best to keep them stable, but we need to get them out of here fast.
Grayson takes point, his eyes scanning the darkness ahead as we move deeper into the tunnel. "Stay sharp," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "We're not out of the woods yet."
We finally emerge from the tunnel into a crumbling side street on the edge of the district. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the ground. The air feels different out here—cooler, quieter. But the tension is still there, lurking just beneath the surface.
Grayson motions for us to move out, and we start to make our way back toward the city. I can feel the adrenaline wearing off, leaving a dull ache in my muscles and a pounding in my head. My hands are still shaking, but I force myself to keep moving.