We managed to stop one of the two launches with the EMP—barely. The second one? That took improvisation and luck. Ashford, bleeding and furious, rerouted power from the facility's core, triggering an internal overload that fried the secondary launch system. The failsafe kicked in with less than five seconds on the countdown.
The building didn't explode—but it wanted to.
By the time we escaped, the entire structure behind us groaned like it was mourning. Power surged through broken systems, lights died, flames bloomed in distant corners. We didn't look back. We ran.
We stumbled through the undercity tunnels—bloodied, burned, bruised. The metallic scent of ash clung to our skin. My ears rang, my lungs burned, and every step shot pain through my right leg. Ashford didn't speak. His right arm was wrapped with my torn sleeve, and he pressed a hand to his side where the shrapnel tore through his vest.
Still, we made it.
The hideout looked the same as we'd left it: cracked concrete, flickering ceiling light, rusty ventilation fan spinning in uneven cycles. A portable heater hummed in the corner, barely warming the space. It was ugly and cold, but it was ours.
Ashford collapsed into a chair and exhaled slowly, like he'd finally allowed himself to feel the weight of everything. His expression didn't change, but I saw the twitch in his fingers—fatigue catching up with fury.
I grabbed two instant coffee packets from the shelf and lit the burner.
"You think they'll try again?" I asked while the water heated.
Ashford didn't answer for a moment. Then: "They never stop trying."
I stirred the powdered mix into two chipped mugs, handed one over, then grabbed a chunk of hardened bread from the ration box and dipped it in mine. The bread cracked and floated like debris.
"We can't keep going like this," I muttered.
"No," Ashford said. "We're out of gear. No ammo, no tech, and no backup. If that last launch hadn't glitched—"
"We'd be dust."
He nodded, jaw tense. "We need support. Resources. Information. Something."
I took a bite, chewing slowly. "Maybe more people. Two's not enough anymore."
Ashford raised an eyebrow. "You want to recruit?"
"We don't have to trust them. We just need bodies. Someone who can shoot straight or hack a door."
As if summoned by our words, the hideout door creaked open.
I stood immediately, hand on my pistol. Ashford shifted but stayed seated, alert.
A pair of footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by a knock.
The door opened fully.
One of our off-site scouts stepped in. Behind him, two figures. Young. New.
"Command's orders," the scout said. "You've been assigned backup."
Ashford's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"They're desperate. Your last mission proved your unit's effective. They want to expand it."
"Drafted?" I asked.
The scout nodded. "Last-minute pulls. They passed the psych and tactical screens. That's all I know."
The girl stepped forward first.
Long black hair tied loosely at her back. Calm, steady eyes. Her face was striking—flawless in a way that made you wonder how she'd survived this long in a war zone. But there was steel under her features. Her gaze scanned the room quickly: two exits, three supply crates, four weapons within reach. I could tell by the way her eyes moved.
She didn't look scared. She looked bored—but not lazy. Composed.
"I'm Amara Krynn," she said. Her voice was soft but clear. "I'm not here to be your friend. I'm here because I'm efficient."
Ashford studied her silently.
The boy behind her stepped forward next. He looked more like what I expected—tense, stiff posture, nervous grip on his gear bag. But he didn't look weak. Just unsure.
"Akio Tanaka," he said with a small bow. "I may not have much field experience, but I'll learn fast. I won't hold you back."
Ashford leaned back slightly. "You know how many people we've lost on missions like the one we just got back from?"
Akio nodded. "That's why I'm here."
There was no cockiness in his tone. Just quiet guilt.
Amara glanced at him, then back to us. "If you need someone lazy, you should've picked someone else. I didn't come here to hide behind a gun. I came here to do the job."
She wasn't bluffing. There was a fire in her voice—subtle, restrained, but real. I liked her already.
Akio placed his pack down gently, then glanced between us. "I know I don't look like much. But I won't freeze if things get loud."
Ashford looked at me.
I gave a half-shrug. "They're better than ghosts."
Ashford sighed. "We'll see."
The scout saluted us and left, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment, we just stood there. Four strangers, one room, and a war still out there ticking like a bomb.
Ashford finally waved to the side. "Find a corner and stay out of the way. You'll get tested soon."
Amara gave a nod and took her seat on a crate near the heater. She sat like a soldier—upright, focused, silent.
Akio looked at the rusted desk, then quietly began sorting his gear by type: knife, bandages, multitool, compact scanner. I noticed his hands trembling for a second—but he clenched his fists and it stopped.
Ashford leaned in toward me.
"Your read?"
"Amara's steady. Tactical. Probably smarter than she lets on. Akio's heart-first—could be a problem, or a weapon, depending how we use him."
He raised an eyebrow. "Use them?"
"I don't trust anyone blindly," I said. "But I know how to put people in the right spots."
Ashford gave a faint smirk. "Still the strategist, huh?"
I glanced back at the two recruits. "Always."