Location: Industrial Park, Virek
Date and Time: December 17, 2552 – 1145 Hours
The air around us is thick with smoke and the acrid smell of burning metal. The firefight hasn't let up for what feels like hours, but I know it's only been minutes. Time gets funny when you're pinned down, waiting for the next burst of gunfire.
I glance at O'Neill, who's propped up against the crates, blood still seeping from the wound in his thigh. Doc Alvarez works quickly, her hands steady as she applies pressure and begins bandaging him up. O'Neill grits his teeth, trying not to wince as she tightens the dressing.
"I'm good," he mutters, though the pain is etched across his face. "Just patch me up so I can get back in the fight."
"You're not going anywhere," Doc snaps, her tone sharp. "You're losing blood. Stay still."
Above us, the rebels continue to fire from their elevated positions, keeping us pinned in the open. Every time I lean out to return fire, a volley of bullets snaps past, forcing me to duck back behind cover. It's like they've got us locked in a cage, waiting to close in for the kill.
"We need to move!" Grayson shouts over the gunfire, his voice barely audible through the chaos. He's crouched next to Santiago, who's laying down suppressive fire with his heavy weapon, the roar of the M247H cutting through the din of battle.
I glance at the building ahead, where the rebels have entrenched themselves in the upper floors. It's a fortress—a maze of broken windows and crumbling walls that give them the perfect vantage point to pick us off.
But if we stay here, we're dead. We have to push forward.
"Let me move up," I say, turning to Grayson. "I'll draw their fire. You get the others across."
Grayson's eyes narrow as he weighs the options, his jaw tight. Finally, he nods. "Alright. But don't get yourself killed."
I take a deep breath, my hands tightening on the grip of my rifle. My heart is pounding, my muscles tense as I prepare to move. This is it—one chance to break through their line and give us a shot at survival.
"On my mark," Grayson says, his voice steady despite the chaos. "Santiago, give him cover."
Santiago nods, his hands already moving to unleash another barrage from the M247H. "Go get 'em, Kowalski."
"Mark!"
I'm on my feet before I can second-guess the decision, my legs pumping as I sprint across the open ground. Bullets tear through the air around me, zipping past my ears and slamming into the dirt at my feet. Every step feels like a lifetime, my mind screaming at me to drop, to find cover, to stop running straight into the fire.
But I don't stop. I can't.
I reach the next building, diving into cover just as another burst of gunfire rips through the air behind me. My shoulder slams into the ground hard, knocking the wind out of me, but I force myself to keep moving, dragging myself behind a stack of rusted barrels as I catch my breath.
I lean out, raising my rifle, and fire a few rounds toward the second floor of the building. I see movement—figures darting between the windows, their rifles flashing in the dim light. I don't have a clean shot, but I'm not here to take them down. I'm here to keep them off my squad.
"Go!" I shout into the comms, my voice ragged. "Move now!"
I hear the sounds of boots on the ground as Grayson and the others make their move, dashing across the open space toward my position. Santiago's heavy weapon continues to thunder, spraying rounds at the rebels to keep their heads down. It's chaos—bullets flying, voices shouting, the constant roar of gunfire making it impossible to think clearly.
Suddenly, there's a sharp crack from above—a sniper round. I feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I dive back into cover, the shot whizzing past me so close I can feel the air ripple.
"Sniper!" I shout, my heart racing. "Top floor!"
Grayson's voice comes through the comms. "We've got to take that building. Santiago, give us cover. Kowalski, you're with me."
I nod, my grip tightening on my rifle as I move to join Grayson. The sniper has us pinned, but if we can get inside the building, we'll have a chance to take him down. The plan is simple: get in, neutralize the threat, and push the rebels out of their stronghold. But I know it's not going to be easy.
We make our way to the base of the building, staying low as bullets continue to rain down from above. The front entrance is blocked by debris, but there's a side entrance—barely intact, but it'll have to do.
Grayson motions for me to go first. I take a deep breath, pushing open the door as quietly as possible, my rifle raised and ready. The interior is dark, the air thick with dust and decay. Broken furniture and rusting equipment are scattered across the floor, casting long shadows in the dim light.
We move slowly, carefully, our boots barely making a sound as we sweep the room. The sniper is somewhere above us, waiting for the next opportunity to take a shot. Every step we take feels like we're walking into a trap.
I glance at Grayson, who nods toward the stairs. We move up, our eyes trained on the landing above, every sense on high alert. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the distant sound of gunfire outside.
We reach the top of the stairs, and I catch a glimpse of movement—just a shadow, but enough to set my nerves on edge. I raise my rifle, my finger hovering over the trigger, waiting for the shot.
Suddenly, the sniper steps out from behind a crumbling pillar, his rifle aimed directly at us. It happens in an instant—a blur of motion, the sound of a trigger being pulled.
But Grayson is faster.
His sidearm flashes in the dim light, and the sniper drops, his body crumpling to the floor in a heap.
I exhale, the tension leaving my body in a rush. It's over. At least for now.
"Clear," Grayson says, his voice low but steady. "Let's move."
We make our way back down to the ground floor, joining the rest of Bravo Fireteam as they regroup. The rebels are pulling back now, retreating into the industrial park as they try to regroup.
"We've got them on the run," Grayson says, his eyes scanning the horizon. "But this isn't over. Not by a long shot."
I glance at Doc Alvarez, who's helping O'Neill to his feet. He's pale, but alive. We made it through another fight, but I can't shake the feeling that something's coming. Something bigger.