The split happened fast.
No speeches. No hesitation.
A brief glance between squads, a silent understanding forged from too many missions gone wrong—and then they vanished into different corridors of the district.
EAST SIDE TEAM
Zev. Surgien. Rue. Circe. Ginny. SP3CTR. Battery. Serah. Renzo.
They moved low and fast, keeping to blind angles between structures and service passages already mapped during the previous sweep. Circe fed them intermittent visuals—grainy, lagging, distorted.
"Signal's unstable," she muttered.
"Someone's piggybacking the network."
SP3CTR's visor flickered..
"Confirmed. Surveillance grid adapting in real time."
Rue clicked her tongue.
"So we're being hunted."
Zev didn't answer. His senses were already flaring—heartbeat elevated, shoulders tense, eyes tracking movement no one else could see.
They weren't alone.
A patrol crossed ahead—not standard soldiers.
These ones moved too stiff. Too synchronized.
Black uniforms. Pale visors. Identical stride length.
Battery whispered,
"Secret Police."
Surgien grimaced.
"Already?"
The team pressed into cover as the patrol passed, boots echoing in rhythmic unison. One of them stopped suddenly.
Head tilted.
Zev froze.
The visor turned—directly toward their position.
SP3CTR hissed, .
"They're scanning—"
Ginny didn't wait. She flicked a small device across the ground. A soft chirp, then—
FLASH.
They moved as one.
Rue dropped first, blade opening a throat before the man could scream. Battery smashed another into the wall with his shield. Zev lunged, snapping an arm and driving the body down hard.
Surgien finished the last with a suppressed shot.
Silence.
Renzo exhaled. "Too close."
Circe crouched beside one of the bodies, quickly scanning the visor.
"…They're tagging movement patterns. Not just heat or sound."
Serah stiffened.
"So they'll know we were here."
"Eventually," Circe said.
"We should keep moving."
They pushed deeper east.
That's when they found the siblings.
Two figures hiding inside a maintenance alcove—one older boy, one younger girl. Filthy. Shaking. Eyes wide with terror.
Rue raised her weapon—then stopped.
"They're civilians."
The girl flinched. The boy stepped in front of her instinctively.
Zev slowly lowered his claws.
"It's okay," he said quietly.
"We're not with them."
Surgien frowned.
"We don't have time for—"
"They're being hunted," Rue snapped.
"Same as us."
The boy swallowed.
"They take people. At night. If you don't follow… you disappear."
Ginny glanced at the corridor behind them.
"The Secret Police?"
The girl nodded rapidly.
Circe checked her feed.
"Multiple patrols are converging. They'll sweep this sector in minutes."
Zev made a decision.
"We move them."
Surgien opened his mouth to argue—then shut it.
They escorted the siblings through a back route, dodging scanners, slipping through service tunnels Ginny forced open. The kids clung to them like lifelines.
At a junction point, Renzo tapped Zev's shoulder.
"Something's wrong. This area—"
A noise echoed ahead.
Metal doors sliding.
Boots.
Too many.
Circe cursed.
"They rerouted. This was a trap."
Battery growled.
"We can fight—"
"No," Zev said. His eyes locked on a side passage.
"They can't."
He shoved the siblings forward.
"Run. Don't stop. Don't look back."
The boy hesitated.
"What about—"
"GO.!!!"
They vanished into the dark.
Rue grabbed Zev's arm
. "We need to move too."
Zev's brow furrowed.
"…I dropped something earlier."
Surgien stared at him.
"Now?"
Zev nodded slowly.
"I'll catch up with you guys later."
Rue swore.
"Don't be stupid."
Too late.
Zev turned and sprinted back the way they came—moving fast, silent, predatory.
The others retreated under pressure, forced away by incoming patrols.
Zev followed the siblings' trail.
But when he reached the alcove—
It was empty.
No footprints.
No heat.
Only fresh drag marks leading toward an industrial zone.
His heart sank.
Then something heavy struck the back of his skull.
The world went black.
Elsewhere — East Side Factory Sector
Zev woke up chained.
Cold concrete. Harsh lights.
Voices echoed beyond his vision.
A child screaming.
Then—
Silence.
A wet thud.
A barrel being sealed.
Zev strained against the restraints, a guttural snarl tearing from his chest.
"No—Where am i? The kids, Surgien, Rue, where are you guys?"
Laughter answered him.
And the doors closed.