The corridor lights cut out one by one.
Not dramatically—methodically.
Netoshka raised her fist and the squad halted instantly. Boots froze mid-step. Weapons angled outward. No one spoke.
Circe's voice crackled in their ears.
"Signal sweep just spiked. They know we're here—or they're about to."
Genrihk's eyes narrowed, shadows coiling subtly around his boots.
"No. They don't know where we are. Yet."
Alev exhaled slowly, flame licking once across his knuckles before he forced it down.
"Which means they're casting a net."
A distant mechanical clatter echoed through the structure—multiple directions. Heavy. Coordinated.
Netoshka didn't hesitate.
"We'll have no choice but to split. Now."
No arguments. No hesitation. This wasn't the first time Inferius had done this—and it wouldn't be the last.
She tapped her comm once, assigning routes as the map flickered across everyone's HUD.
Team One
Netoshka. Taran. Zopi. Twila. Genrihk. Ron. Alev. Raine. Lyra.
"You're with me," Netoshka said.
"We move fast, draw pressure, keep their eyes off the rest."
Lyra Ashenblade stepped forward without a word, blade already half-drawn, expression unreadable—but focused. Very focused.
Taran checked his rifle, then glanced at Netoshka.
"Same rules?"
She nodded once.
"No heroics. No deaths we don't choose."
Team Two
Surgien. Zev. Rue. Circe. Ginny. SP3CTR. Battery. Serah. Renzo.
Circe pulled up the secondary routes immediately.
"I'll jam tracking pings and scramble their internal sensors. But once we split—comms won't be reliable."
Surgien muttered, adjusting his gear.
"Fantastic. Love being blind."
Rue cracked her neck.
"Relax. We'll survive."
Zev said nothing—but his jaw was tight, senses already stretched thin.
Netoshka's voice cut in, firm and final.
"Team Two—avoid contact if possible. If not—end it quickly and disappear. We rendezvous when the heat drops."
Battery raised his arms slightly.
"And if it doesn't?"
Netoshka's eyes flickered—just for a frame.
"Then we adapt."
Another sound—closer now. Boots. Orders barked through static-laced speakers.
Lyra glanced down the branching corridor.
"They're sweeping in pairs. Efficient."
Genrihk smiled faintly.
"Predictable."
Netoshka stepped back, already glitching at the edges, her outline desyncing from reality.
"Move out."
The split happened in seconds.
Team Two vanished down the maintenance passage as Circe dumped a data-spike into the system, lights flaring violently before stabilizing into false readings.
Team One surged the opposite direction.
Twila blurred ahead, splitting briefly into reflections to bait sensors.
Zopi stayed tight to Netoshka's flank, breathing controlled but fast.
Raine took point with heavy steps, ready to turn a corridor into a wall of bodies if needed.
Behind them—
A door slammed shut.
Metal locks engaged.
Netoshka stopped abruptly.
"That wasn't us," Ron said.
Genrihk turned slowly, eyes glowing faintly.
"No. That was intentional."
A distorted announcement crackled overhead—garbled, clipped, filtered.
> "Unauthorized units detected. Sector isolation in progress."
Lyra's grip tightened on her blade.
"They're cutting the structure into kill-zones."
Netoshka smiled—cold, sharp.
"Good."
She glanced back once, toward the path Team Two had taken.
"Stay alive," she muttered under her breath.
Then she turned forward as alarms began to rise.
"Team One," she said calmly, weapons already lifting.
"Let's keep them busy."
And the hunt truly began.