Blake pulled up his HUD map, marking three possible routes to Rax's bunker. The most direct path would take him straight through the search party. The longest would burn precious minutes while Kitt worked alone, vulnerable.
"They're moving faster than expected," Kitt warned. "Two more groups converging from the east wing."
The middle route then—thread the needle between search parties, use their own sweep patterns against them. They would know he was there, but if he did it right he'd avoid getting tagged. He'd done harder things before with less intel and no goddamned superpowers.
Blake checked his HUD map one final time, memorizing each turn and intersection ahead. This route would give him about thirty seconds of lead time if he pushed hard—assuming the search parties maintained their current sweep patterns.
His heart rate steadied as he visualized the path, muscle memory from countless similar operations taking over. The corridor outside would funnel them exactly where he wanted, forcing them to bunch up in predictable ways.
"Blake, wait." Kitt's presence felt like cool water in his mind. "There's a maintenance shaft that branches off two hundred meters ahead. If we time it right—"
"No." Blake adjusted Verdict in its holster, ensuring a clean draw. "I want them following me."
"That's idiotic." Kitt's tone sharpened. "You're deliberately reducing your tactical options for what? To play bait?"
Blake ignored her protest, focused on timing his exit. The nearest patrol was about to pass the junction ahead—they'd have just enough time to spot him before he rounded the corner. Perfect.
"Blake, this is unnecessarily risky. We can—"
He burst from cover, boots pounding against metal grating as he sprinted past the patrol. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from their unstable augmentations. Close enough to see their eyes widen in surprise.
"Contact!" The shout echoed through the corridor, followed by the whine of plasma rifles charging. Blake didn't slow, didn't look back. He knew exactly where each shot would land based on their positions and the corridor's geometry.
The first volley of plasma bolts splashed against the wall where he'd been half a second before. Blake weaved through the confined space, Stride making him absolutely confident in each step. More shots followed, filling the air with the scent of ozone and scorched metal.
"Seven hostiles now active on your six," Kitt reported, her tone clipped with irritation. "Another group moving to intercept ahead. This is still a terrible plan."
Blake's lungs burned pleasantly as he pushed himself faster, boots skidding slightly as he took the corner at full speed. He did love a good run. The new corridor stretched ahead, its walls a patchwork of salvaged starship panels. Faded corporate logos and military insignias created a strange collage of various alien attempts to reach the stars, now repurposed as shelter for scavengers and criminals.
Fresh graffiti covered many of the older marks—crude gang symbols and territorial warnings painted in various shades of rust-red. Blake picked out details as he ran: kill counts, patrol routes, warnings about regions marked only as "The Deep."
The thunder of pursuing boots grew louder, accompanied by the whir of servos and the crackle of overtaxed augmentations. Blake risked a glance over his shoulder, catching glimpses of purple-lit visors and the distinctive glow of plasma rifle cores. Eight men minimum, moving with an entirely unnatural speed. Blake grinned. He wasn't exactly baseline human himself any longer, after all.
"Patrol ahead just called for backup," Kitt warned. "They're trying to box you in."
Blake's eyes locked onto a storage alcove perhaps fifteen meters ahead, its entrance partially blocked by stacked crates. The containers bore faded warning symbols—ammunition storage, probably salvaged from the same military vessels that had provided the wall panels.
He didn't slow as he approached, using his momentum to carry him into a controlled slide. His shoulder brushed the closest crate as he tucked himself into the alcove's shadows. The position was perfect—just enough cover to break line of sight, but not so obvious that they'd immediately check it.
Boots thundered past his position. Blake controlled his breathing, keeping it slow and silent as they charged by. Eight men, just as he'd counted. Their augmentations cast purple shadows across the walls, creating a strange strobe effect as they passed.
"Clear ahead!" One of them shouted. "No sign of—"
Blake was already moving, slipping from the alcove back into the main corridor. Behind him, the search party's voices faded as they continued in the wrong direction. He allowed himself a small smile as he resumed his original course.
"You're enjoying this," Kitt accused.
"Little bit," Blake admitted, his voice barely a whisper. "Ready to go again?"
"I still think this is stupid," Kitt grumbled. "Try not to get us killed with your showing off."
Blake slowed his pace, marshaling his breathing but keeping the sound of his pursuit audible. Kitt complained, but both of them knew she needed to spend as much time alone with the security systems as possible.
"Target sighted!" Came a call from behind Blake. He sighed and picked up the pace again. He had counted on another 10 seconds or so of lead time.
Ah well, he thought, at least the next part might be fun.
Blake hit the corner at a dead sprint, too fast to make the turn conventionally. He flared Stride, the ability singing through his muscles as he planted his right foot on the wall. Momentum carried him up and along the curved surface like a surfer riding a wave. His left boot found purchase next to his right, and he kicked off hard, bleeding speed and redirecting his vector down the new corridor.
"Show-off," Kitt muttered.
Blake landed in a controlled roll, coming up running. The maneuver had cost him maybe half a second, but it beat smashing face-first into the wall. Plus, he was certain that most of his pursuers wouldn't make the sudden turn as gracefully.
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"You were the one saying you wanted a show," Blake said, his breathing steady despite the exertion. The pursuing footsteps grew louder behind him.
Ahead of him in the hallway—which he realized was the body of some sort of cargo ship—widened into a long open space. Racks of weaponry lined the walls, a small hoard of technological murder. Rifle stocks gleamed with fresh oil, blades shone with machine-polished edges, and shelves sagged under the weight of explosives bearing warning labels in a dozen alien languages.
Three startled faces turned his way—guards on inventory duty startled by his sudden appearance. They fumbled for weapons, one slamming his hand onto an alarm panel beside the door. A shrill siren cut through the rumble of explosions from outside. Blake's ears identified it as a local alert rather than a full facility klaxon.
"Well, that's going to complicate things," Kitt observed dryly.
Blake didn't slow. His eyes swept the weapon racks as he moved, [Warden's Insight] was trying to highlight anything potentially useful based on the exhaustive list of tech specs Eland had loaded him up with when they first went salvaging together. The noise wasn't useful, so Blake willed it away. Weapons and Armor were something he knew—even if it was of alien make. Most of the gear looked salvaged or cobbled together from spare parts, but a few items caught his attention as worth coming back for after the battle.
But soon he found what he needed.
As Blake passed the rack holding the grenades, his left hand shot out with perfect economy of motion. Fingers closed around a promising grenade, muscle memory from countless operations guiding his grip to the pin even as his sprint carried him forward. The weight felt right—proper military hardware, not some improvised noisemaker. That was good.
The thunder of boots behind him grew louder as his pursuers caught up. Purple light painted the walls ahead of him, their augments apparently working overtime to lend them speed. Blake counted heartbeats, timing his move.
"You know," Kitt mused, "I could probably fabricate better grenades than these if you'd just—"
Blake yanked the pin free and lobbed the grenade over his shoulder in a single fluid motion. He didn't need to look back—[Warden's Insight] painted a perfect picture of its arc through space, highlighted its point of impact. The ability even calculated the likely radius of effect, data streaming across his HUD in a burst of technical specifications.
"Three..." Kitt began the countdown unnecessarily. Blake was already shifting his weight, preparing for what came next.
"Two..." Blake's free hand rose to shield his eyes, though he kept them fixed firmly ahead.
"One..."
The flash grenade detonated with all the fury and thunder Blake had hoped for. More, really. The stun grenade he had just thrown seemed to have easily double the output of the M84 he was used to. Even facing away and shielded, the burst of light had him seeing afterimages. The thunderclap of its detonation filled the hall with disorienting noise, amplified by the metal walls into a physical force.
Behind him, augmented soldiers stumbled and cursed. Their enhanced senses worked against them—optical implants overloaded by the flash, audio processors scrambled by the concussive blast. The sounds of their pursuit dissolved into chaos as guards collided with each other in their temporary blindness.
Blake remembered a training exercise in Kentucky that went wrong—a flash-bang that bounced badly and went off three feet from his face. The blast had damaged his right eardrum and left him blind for two hours. His instructor had called it a teaching moment.
Behind him now, the augmented soldiers weren't having a better time. Their fancy optical implants would be fused into useless chunks of silicon, audio processors reduced to white noise generators. Even if their wetware survived the overload, they'd need serious repairs before chasing anyone again.
It was only good to delay some of the pursuers, but any delay was a good delay. He could have caused a lot more havoc with a proper explosive, but Blake didn't see any reason to waste the weapons in the armory when they might belong to Mara and Korrn when this was all said and done.
Red warning lights strobed as klaxons screamed through the compound's corridors. Behind Blake, reinforced shutters slammed down with pneumatic force, sealing off his path of retreat. That was actually pretty helpful.
Up ahead, another shutter began its descent. Less helpful. He pushed harder, legs burning as he accelerated.
Blake dropped into a slide, metal deck plating scraping against his armor as he shot under the falling barrier. The shutter crashed down behind him with enough force to dent the deck. Close.
"That was unnecessarily dramatic," Kitt observed.
Blake rose smoothly to his feet, scanning the new corridor. Propaganda posters covered nearly every surface, most bearing Rax's stern visage. The man's cybernetic arm featured prominently in most images, held high in triumph while text beneath proclaimed strength through dominance. Some showed his enforcers standing victorious over fallen rivals.
Movement ahead caught his eye—another patrol rounding the corner, weapons already raised. Blake vaulted over a stack of crates as plasma fire lit up the corridor. The smell of scorched metal filled the air as shots impacted around him. Through the crates' gaps, he spotted salvaged tech and scattered parts—likely loot from Rax's raids.
Blake drew Verdict in a smooth motion, returning fire while maintaining his momentum. The handgun's report echoed off the metal walls as he put two rounds through the nearest enforcer's chest. The man dropped, something in his armor sparking.
Acrid smoke rolled through the corridor ahead, billowing from ruptured pipes and ventilation ducts. Blake crouched low, using the cover to his advantage. Through the haze, he caught glimpses of militia fighters scrambling to secure crates and equipment, their attention focused inward rather than on potential threats.
He slipped past them like a ghost, boots silent against the deck plating. The smoke obscured his vision, but [Warden's Insight] painted clear paths through the chaos, and his helmet protected his lungs from whatever was in the haze.
The corridor opened into a massive hangar bay, its ceiling lost in the smoke above. Armored transports and salvaged hovercraft filled the space in various states of repair. Mechanics scattered at his approach, tools clattering to the deck as they fled. Behind him, boots thundered as guards pushed through the smoke.
Blake's eyes locked onto a coiled fuel line near one of the vehicles. He grabbed it, yanking it free with a sharp twist. The metallic smell of fuel hit his nostrils as he spun, hurling the line toward his pursuers.
Verdict came up smooth in his grip. One shot, perfectly placed. The round struck the metal connection point of the hose just as the fuel line reached the guards. The pool of burning liquid that splashed around them was massive, but it was enough—the closest guards scrambled to smother the burning fuel that had covered them. Again, not anything likely to kill his pursuers, but a fine delaying tactic.
He shouldered through a heavy steel door that groaned in protest, emerging into a room that was almost completely destroyed. This wasn't his doing, he didn't think—the scavengers had plenty of explosives of their own after all. The battlefield spread out below him in the northern quadrant, a maze of ruins lit by weapons fire and explosions. Mara's forces pushed forward in surprisingly disciplined waves while Rax's men fell back to prepared positions.
Blake dropped behind a section of broken railing, activating [Warden's Insight] to analyze the flow of combat. The ability highlighted choke points where Mara's fighters were making the most progress, marking optimal paths through the chaos. He spotted Korrn himself leading from the front, which was a pleasant surprise.
Blake moved like he belonged, hoping to look like just another body among the scores of men preparing to join the fight. He wanted to do more—to sabotage Rax's rear somehow—but his part of the plan hadn't changed. He had to get to that bunker.
20 yards to the east, there was another intact wall and a door leading back into the compound. Blake checked his HUD. It would work to get him where he needed to go.
It was time to meet Rax face-to-face.