Every muscle in Netoshka's body screamed in protest. Plasmageist hung in the air before her, a vortex of crimson lightning and contempt. Her ammo was down to a few precious rounds, her glitching ability sputtering like a dying lightbulb from overuse.
Just a little longer. Just a few more minutes. The thought was a mantra, a lifeline.
Taran's voice, strained and staticky, burst through her comms. "Netoshka! We're overrun at the power grid! The last valve is stuck—we're working on it!"
"Noted. Just get it done," she rasped, diving behind a crumbling wall as a lance of red energy turned it to dust. She couldn't fight him; she could only run, a mouse leading a hurricane.
Suddenly, a new sound joined the fray—the familiar report of Ron's shotgun. Through the smoke, she saw his team crash into the flank of the Plasmagheist soldiers pressing Taran's position.
"Sorry we're late!" Ron yelled over the comms. "Had a pest problem at the factory. You wouldn't believe the number of killer dolls lined up in there—hundreds!"
"Save the briefing!" Taran shouted back. "Just clear us a path!"
It was the opening they needed. Netoshka used the distraction to break into a full-speed sprint toward D-Block. She didn't look back, feeling the static charge of Plasmageist's rage prickle on her skin as he pursued.
She skidded to a halt in the vast chamber of D-Block. Taran, Zopi, Alev, and the others were formed up, weapons trained on the entrance, their faces grimed with sweat and soot. The massive, circular door of the Cylinder Room stood behind them, its perimeter now glowing with a faint, blue energy.
"The veil is lifted!" Taran confirmed. "But the power cycle is unstable. You have three minutes, maybe less, before it collapses!"
As if on cue, the air grew heavy and split open. Plasmageist materialized in the center of the room, his mere presence forcing the squad to their knees under a wave of paralyzing energy. The very light bent around his twisted, ethereal form.
"You lowly terrorists," his voice boomed, a symphony of malice. "You truly believe that opening my grand prize room—a chamber designed to study space and time—could ever hold a god? How poetic that you have all gathered here, in my grasp, to die together. Isn't that right, Vermissen Netoshka?"
Netoshka, gritting her teeth against the pressure, met his hollow gaze. A smirk touched her bloodied lips.
"Yeah," she said, her voice cutting through his static-filled dramatics. "For you that is, you stupid red electric freakbag."
In one fluid motion, she raised her pistol—not at him, but at a fragile-looking conduit on the upper frame of the Cylinder Room door. She fired.
The shot sparked. With a sound like a universe inhaling, the glowing door irised open, revealing an infinite, silent blackness within. A gravitational torrent erupted from the opening, pulling everything not bolted down toward the void.
Plasmageist's triumphant expression shattered into pure shock. "What—?!" His form, for all its ethereal power, was caught like smoke in a vacuum. He was dragged backward, his crimson light streaking, his furious shrieks silenced as he was violently sucked into the abyss. The door slammed shut with a final, resonant BOOM that shook the very foundations of the facility.
Silence descended, broken only by the ragged breaths of the Inferius squad.
Netoshka looked at the sealed door, a wave of exhausted relief washing over her. "Goodbye, freak eyes," she whispered.
For a moment, they dared to believe it was over. Stumbling out of D-Block and into the main town, they saw it—the giant crimson energy dome that had caged them flickered and died, revealing the open sky. Taran immediately raised comms to DomiTech. "Plasmageist is contained. Requesting immediate exfil!"
Then, the world exploded.
A deafening blast erupted from the south side of Grimshire. Not from the sky, but from the ground—the Robotics Factory. A swarm of figures poured from the smoke, moving with a silent, unnerving grace. They were sleek, feminine humanoids, their faces porcelain masks, their eyes glowing with a cold, blue light.
One of them led the charge. It raised an arm, and a cannon barrel unfolded from its forearm, firing a pulse of concentrated energy straight at Netoshka's head.
She dropped to the ground, the heat of the blast singing her hair. The robot stepped forward, its voice a synthetic, chilling monotone.
"TARGET ACQUIRED: GLITCHING ABERRATION. DESIGNATION: DECAPITATOR-097. ORDERS: EXTERMINATE. DIRECTIVE FROM: DIRECTOR KRANKL."
More of them emerged, an endless stream of killing machines. Inferius Squad, already pushed to their absolute limit, formed a ragged defensive circle. It was a hopeless stand.
The whine of turbines cut through the air. From above, a swarm of DomiTech Raptor jets screamed in, missiles streaking down to impact the advancing robotic line, carving a temporary firebreak.
Netoshka's comms buzzed with a familiar, irreverent voice.
"Yo, that took you long enough, yeah Netoshka?" Director Lucretia's tone was light, but there was an edge of urgency.
"I could only scramble a few Raptors; you're in the middle of damn nowhere. Good work bagging the lightshow, though. We'll take it from here."
As the Raptors engaged the drone army, she continued.
"Listen up. I've rerouted Genrihk, Serah, Battery and the kids. They're headed to a turbine station to prep the 'Bloodhawk' airship. That's your new exfil. Your coordinates are being uploaded now. All of you better get there in one piece."
The line crackled. "Better not die, Netoshka. I still need you to run my errands."
The comms went dead. Netoshka let out a long, weary sigh, looking from her exhausted squad to the endless sea of robots, and then to the distant horizon. One mission was over. The next bullshit thing had already begun.