In the lower corridors, Burton found himself lost in the labyrinthine place.

He had walked through a structure full of interconnected corridors, where wires of all colors ran across the ceilings, God knew where. And a few doors popped up from time to time—old but sturdy, cheap steel doors. They usually came in combination with long windows that let him see what was inside, so Burton didn't bother to open most of them. A few piqued his interest for various reasons, and while the glass was bulletproof, it wasn't anti-laser. They were basically warehouses for electrical materials and some guard stations.

A door without a window. Burton looked at it as if it were a walk in the park. He pulled a few pieces of dark metal from his belt: old, traditional lock picks. Surely a shot at the lock would have done the trick, but he panicked about making noise down there—the echo would bounce off there and all the floors below, they'd hear it even in the church.

He stuck the picks in the door and in seconds the lock had been defeated.

“Who is the master of infiltration, little girl? Well, it is…”

Skeletons, one on top of the other. And they stank as if the room hadn't been opened for years and they had left them there to rot. Burton swallowed, glanced to the right, to the left, and back to the bones.

He closed the door without another word.

Well, despite the little scares, this place didn't look as creepy as the rooms upstairs; in fact, it felt more peaceful down there than upstairs, where there was that old neo-gothic horror movie church and those rabid, crazy soldiers… Speaking of which, why wasn't there any down here? There had to be people here, didn't there, or were all the rest of them in the fortress wall?

Eventually he spotted a control box and stood in front of the old touch screen. He observed the small fluorescent lights along the ceiling and the shadowy corridor in front of him: he did not turn them on. Well, if they were off, it was surely because no one was there, but he didn't want to risk attracting attention.

He looked for a corner where he could crouch, set up the microphone, and tapped the screen of his PCC. He selected an ID and called out.

“This is NCO Burton, do you read me Cam?”

But the device returned an error message. The signal couldn't get through the stone and steel structure. He felt a cramp in his stomach and wondered if he should turn back or keep going. There were still two hours to go. If he turned back now, the boys would know he'd been scared. Not that! That he couldn't communicate wasn't a big deal; it wouldn't be a problem if he was careful to stay out of trouble.

He stood up slowly and peered into the corridor at the back, the wide one, perhaps the word tunnel would be more appropriate. And it had a wide-open door, its steel panels clinging to the walls. It led to the electric station. All he had to do was follow it carefully and quietly.

He made his way through the large tunnel and began to detect light. He took off his goggles and followed it. After a while he reached what seemed to be the nexus of the floor: a long, long hall with two large doors at either end, far apart. Wires leading out of the tunnel split and ran to both places above the doors and windows. These revealed electrical equipment behind them. And in front, a wide, deep space; it would be more than thirty meters to the wall. Since the lights were on, Burton concluded that someone had been there recently, someone who needed the electricity to flow.

He peered into one of the rooms in the hall: a series of bulky cabinets with wires running to the walls, the lamps and the ceiling; they made no noise but had a line of lights on and flickering. They were a bunch of industrial batteries. He darted to the other side and peered out: another row of contraptions at the back, smaller but no less bulky. These had screens and keyboards and were surrounded by steel tables. There were no tablets or notebooks, but there were some empty liquor bottles and a box of electrician's tools. Who did these people think they were? Nobody should bring liquids into a room full of such delicate computers. How lucky that… He furrowed his brow. No, more like how unfortunate that nothing bad had happened to them.

Now to check the back.

It was clean back there, the walls were porous, but they were no longer bricks or partitions, but unplastered concrete–gray, sad and no grace.

He looked at the ceiling and the lights, which had more power than the ones in the front and…

“Ouuuu," he murmured, face to the floor.

He crouched down. He touched his face carefully: he had scraped his chin in the fall. He examined the floor, holding back the urge to grunt, unsure. A crack, or maybe…—He watched it run from the ground to where he was standing. No, it was a sunken area. It was rectangular and big enough to fit a small truck. And he had an idea: he went back to the room with the control computers and used the laser again, pushed the glass and jumped in. He poked at the devices and the numbers on the screens until he found what he was looking for: one of them displayed a series of options, things like Access A and Access B, Exterior Lighting and Warehouse Access. He activated the last one and listened with pleasure to the sound of the platform he had stumbled over.

The slope was homogeneous, full of markings and loose pebbles: it was a ramp. And it had pedestrian steps on the left side. Okay, it was all very simple, but still Burton's eyes widened like saucers: how big was this place? How could this subway complex exist under an old ruin? Amazing! And strange, very strange. He didn't like it at all. He didn't know if it was the extraordinary fact that it was there at all, or the stench of wet earth and stale air, but something was wrong… That wouldn't stop him though.

After descending about seventy meters, the stairs ended. Below him, a larger, better-kept room opened, with visible beams supporting the walls and ceiling, and much more extensive lighting. It was like a large warehouse, where light colors predominated, but with no sound, only the sound of his footsteps.

From his elevated position, Burton could see the whole place: the spacious place was surrounded by three levels of railings that protected three narrow corridors and in them several metal doors, all closed. At the bottom there was a corner full of thick plastic boxes, and on the other side huge, closed container, similar to the dumpsters in the alleys; and at the back, attached to the walls, steel cabinets, clean, solid, and well protected. Who knows what they kept in all those boxes and cabinets.

Far away, on the other side, was a huge gate, wide open, where the workers probably drove their trucks in and out. He would have liked to get his hands on the containers or the rooms, but the sense of unknown danger and the lack of communication with his team made him a little uncomfortable: he still couldn't get a signal. He decided that his priority would be to find the exit of those vehicles, and if his companions did not find enough information, he would bring them there to inspect the site together. The tunnel behind the gate looked promising and dark, reinforced with beams and concrete like the warehouse.

He looked for a way down and found a small freight elevator in the middle of two doors. He used it: at this point he did not mind making a little noise, sure that if there was no one there or in the station, there would be no one up ahead.

He took a deep breath and crossed the large threshold.

After a few minutes of walking, a faint bluish light finally reached Burton. The light came from a secondary tunnel. The threshold was wide, as high as the main tunnel and probably half as wide as the gate. It was certain that large vehicles would not fit through there, and his priority was to find his entrance to the compound, so he would ignore it… But… Burton could not ignore the lights and approached. They were small, blue, round fluorescent lights; two parallel ones, one on each wall, each spanning as far as he could see, illuminated to form two snakes of light. They were protected by wire frames, and he wondered if they would get too hot. The combination of the light from the lamps and the silence from beyond the grave gave the impression of being in another strange world. He was so absorbed, and it was almost as if…

“Eeeek!”

Burton stepped back and looked in all directions, his gun drawn in a split second.

“A-a rat! God, how I de-despise them!” He could barely form the words out of panic.

He turned away from the animal in disgust, and the previous sensation returned, but this time it was accompanied by something tangible.

“A slight breeze, so… Yes! There's an exit nearby,” he rejoiced, completely forgetting the route of the vehicles.

His excitement increased when he saw that the tunnel forked. One of the paths was blocked by a fence and a heavy electronic lock, a top-of-the-line piece of equipment, perhaps the most technologically advanced thing he had seen during the entire mission. There, the cement no longer covered the walls, revealing the earth and rock of the underground. Supports still held up the ceiling to keep the tunnel stable, though it gave a strong impression of insecurity. It was dark and damp, but the current could be felt through it.

His narrowed eyes flew to the other path, still perfectly constructed, where the pattern of lamps and bluish lighting continued.

He turned his eyes cautiously to the dark tunnel on the right. The lock was strong, impossible to knock with the laser; but he knew how to hack this kind of mechanism, he could do it, if the foul-smelling darkness full of rats didn't terrify him—and the night vision didn't comfort him, because then he could see them—or if the frustration at the thought of leaving the blue path wasn't so abhorrent.

He followed the tunnel of bluish snakes; it did not fail to give him a sense of strangeness, but the excitement was greater, more all-encompassing than any fear. The danger, the call, were one and the same. And he had to find out why.

***

Cam was loitering near the rendezvous point, having found nothing in the end, but the nursery and his little lab.

Discouraged by his lack of success, he had gone up to the ground floor to send his first report to the tower, as the signal down there was poor. Then he had taken the opportunity to check on Gerard's status.

"Cam here, can you answer?” he had written.

“Yes, I'm alone at the moment. I found a library,” he replied speaking.

“Really? In this dump?” he snorted. “Anything important?”

“It is hard to say: I have a book that talks about a dragon, something like a story…” he paused for a moment and let out a subtle sigh. “Cam, are Frances and Buck listening? I have something personal to tell you.”

Cam instinctively covered his headset, knowing full well that no one was listening: this was a private call, not the team channel.

“What's going on?” he whispered, worried.

“It's Caleb: he's here… Well, he was here yesterday.”

Cam raised an eyebrow, surprised and even more concerned.

“You didn't say anything yesterday, why not?”

“I didn't get a chance to talk to you alone, Cam. And I'm not ready to talk to Frances or Buck about him, sorry.”

“Oh… I see, so what happened?”

Gerard sounded quite sorry and excited at the same time: guilt and hope together in his hurried words.

“Listen, I lied when I explained how I escaped from my cell. I didn't bust the bolts; he gave me the key. Cam, he got me out! He said it was to be even with Ivorsen, but I think I still have a chance to convince him somehow. He shouldn't have done it just for honor, right?”

“Hmm. So that's how he really escaped.” That boy, wow. And yet, he didn't dare to support his hopes. “Hey, hey, buddy, the important thing is that Caleb is okay, safe and sound. Okay? That's the most important thing right now.”

“Yeah… I guess that's true,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“Yes, I understand… However, I must insist that you bring our partners up to speed.” He didn't want it to sound like a scolding, but they should be able to trust each other completely, they were friends after all.

Now, in the subway corridor, the conversation was still in his head: Gerard, willing to spend his whole life after the boy, even though it was clear that he didn't want to leave Scott. What a difficult situation!

It wasn't long before Frances appeared around the corner. She paused for a second to make sure the area was clear and that the man in the darkness was indeed her captain.

“Frankie? Come on, we're alone.”

“All right!” She pranced over.

“Where did you leave Burton?”

“Oh, we split up to cover ground. He went to check the electric station.”

“Yeah.” He checked the time. “Did you try to contact him?”

“I tried, but the radio's no good here.”

Cam snorted.

“I know.” He looked up. “Which way did he go?”

“Down a hallway we found on the way down.” She leaned back roughly against the wall. “When I decided to go back, I waited for a while where we split up. Then I entered the corridor and followed him to a place full of corridors and wires in the ceilings: quite a labyrinth. I wouldn't be surprised if he got lost.”

“Ah, I don't think so. There's still some time left, so let's wait a while. In the meantime, give me your report. Anything useful?”

“I walked a long way down. There are no people here, and that seems very strange to me, because this place is clearly bigger than we imagined. And useful things: nothing, unfortunately. Well, I found a huge room with an equally huge cage, and it reeked of animals, so I decided to leave. I'd say this was all part of the original bunker and it's pretty much abandoned.”

“Nothing else?” he pressed her, somewhat disappointed.

“Mechanical workshops; believe it or not, there's a large area with all kinds of mechanical machinery and scrap metal. There are vents in some of the rooms, they are narrow but very warm air comes in. There is electric lighting.”

“Electronic locks, electric light: it looks like they don't live like cavemen. I saw a laboratory with refrigeration. There was nothing useful there, but it suddenly seemed so out of place.”

“The whole exterior is just a facade.”

“And now we have to find out what they need it for…”

Ruaaf ruaaf oof. The sound was drowned out beneath their feet.

They stood silent, fingers on the grips of their guns.

“Came from below.”

“Damn, it was a dog.”

“There were no dogs where I was, you think Burton ran into one?”

“Shit, if they got trained dogs down there… Come on, he might need some help.”

“Yes, sir. Oh, Burton, always getting into trouble.”

“He's tough in his own way. Come on, show me the way,” he smiled.

“Sure.”

They came quickly to where the corridor began, where Burton had split from her.

“And you followed him down, didn't you?”

“Yes.”

“Mmh.”

Cam crouched slowly: footprints, faint, barely discernible. He wrinkled his forehead: they weren't from the boots they were wearing. It looked like whoever had left them had the soles full of wet dirt, reddish dirt.

Frances approached quietly.

“They weren't here when I left.”

“Then someone was here while we were talking back there.”

“This place isn't so lonely after all.” She peered into the darkness of the side corridor and turned on her night vision.

“It's only one guy.”

He got up from the floor and motioned for Frances to lead the way.

“Good,” she whispered.

Frances led her captain down the widening corridor until it led into the maze of passageways where wires ran from one side of the ceiling to the other.

They searched every detail as they proceeded in a straight line: the stone of the walls, now regular and rectangular, the rooms whose lasered windows indicated that Burton had enjoyed himself there, and the footprints that kept appearing in front of them.

They followed to a large, locked gate, wide enough for ten people side by side.

“Electronic lock, great,” Frances muttered.

“Whoever owned the tracks must have locked it behind him.”

“Do you think Burton went this way?”

“It's a possibility.” He crossed her arms and examined the lock, that little box with its little screen and buttons, so small and troublesome. “I need to improve my skills with these things.”

“I think I saw another door, two corridors back. It was bigger than the one in the warehouse.”

“Well, let's take a look.” He took another annoyed look at the lock and left.

They went back two aisles and turned left: at the back, the door that awaited them was wide, but nowhere near as wide as the gate. Suddenly they saw the footprints again. They were almost indistinguishable: the moisture was gone, and the sienna flagstones camouflaged this reddish track much better, but there they were.

Frances grabbed the handle and pulled; the latch gave way, and the door opened with a lazy creak.

They peered inside from the threshold, which would have been pitch black without the night vision. There was a faint smell of animals.

It was a wide, long corridor connecting… two, four, six, eight rooms; and at the far end it turned to the left, as if it didn't want to be followed.

Cam spotted the switch next to the first door and, after turning off the goggles, activated it. It lit up and the place was very white and somewhat clean.

They decided to inspect the rooms before moving on. The doors were locked, but these locks were common, and the MT's laser would do the job without a problem.

The first door gave way with a hiss.

They looked at each other: these were laboratories. They had already forgotten what the sign had informed them: "Workshops/Laboratories/Sanctuary/Electric Station."

“Damn!”

It would have been a perfect place to look for information if they hadn't been ahead of them. There were computers, analyzers, and other scientific instruments, but they had been smashed, cut, burned, their entrails exposed. Whoever did it had taken the storage units from all the equipment, leaving only the marks of use and dirt to try to guess what was being done there.

The same thing was repeated after opening six more doors: small laboratories full of destroyed machines, filled with the smell of burnt plastic and the acidic sting of some other mysterious substance they didn't recognize; rooms white and clean, hot and smelly, silent and dead.

They pulled the latch on the seventh door and pushed it, expecting more of the same, and the interior exhaled the stench of a dozen animals, blood and waste.

There was no laboratory there, but their guinea pigs, well, dogs really. They were in steel cages that filled the entire east wall, three rows of cages and four columns. And the dogs were all dead.

“This is fresh, they've just been put down,” Frances concluded, touching the nearest one on the belly. “They all have gunshot wounds in their heads.”

“We heard the barking, but not the shots.”

“Maybe it was another dog that was closer to us, or maybe the killer has a suppressor. Whatever it was, the blood is fresh… He's not far, Cam,” she whispered.

Tick.

They looked behind them: high up on the wall was a package taped to the wall, a small red light flashing.

“Out!”

Cam jumped out, rounded the corner and ran. Frances followed him side by side. They just kept running until they heard the detonation.

They fell to the ground, feeling the shock wave from the tips of their toes to their brains.

“Whoever that guy is, he's as good as dead,” Frances yelled. She didn't care to be heard.

“If he doesn't know we're alive, there's no reason to change that,” he scolded her.

“Cam, he almost killed us!” she whispered.

“I know! Breathe, Frankie, we must find him: he's dangerous. We can't let him get to Burton before we do. Come on!”

They looked at the place they had fled to—a very large room, the walls ashen, the lights dim, the decorations absent. In the middle of the west wall was a double gate, ajar; at the back, near the right corner, a narrow corridor opened that continued straight ahead.

The half-open gate let in light from the other side: someone had turned it on. Would he still be there?

With a wave of her hand, Frances moved to the left of the gate, pistol at the ready. Cam stepped to the right, took a deep breath, and pushed it.

They stood there, staring, aiming steadily.

It was an impressive room, sienna-colored stone, just like the tile. There were several seats lined with shabby leather; they were arranged in rows facing the east end, all with their backs to the wall. And what faced east was an entire wall of thick, shiny bars, behind which there was nothing but darkness and silence. On front of them, two doors, one wide and dark, the other narrow and ordinary.

“Do you know what this place is?” whispered Cam.

“No idea. I guess a bunch of people sit there talking, watching, whatever they put in the cell.”

“Maybe it's some kind of courtroom?”

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

“It's a demonstration room, though I admit it would make a nice courtroom,” corrected a voice from behind the small door on the other side.

They jumped and pointed at the door, now realizing it was ajar.

“What about the General? Is he desperate enough to send spies into our territory? Again!”

He opened the door wider to show himself. He leaned heavily on the frame and watched them with his head cocked to one side.

“Who are you?” asked Cam, pointing at his head.

“He's one of the guys that tried to take down the Falconer in the canyon,” whispered Frances. She remembered his voice, the voice of the man who had shown up with dragonflies to prevent their escape. His threats came back to her. What did Gerard say his name was?

“My, you remember me.” He adjusted a lock of long hair and let out a small chuckle. “I'm flattered, but is there time to remember such things? It's a bad strategy… This is not the time to go into details. I suppose you are here for your friend, aren't you?” He smiled at them casually, without arrogance.

Cam clenched his jaw.

“Where do you have him?”

“Yeah, worm. What did you do to him?”

“Worm? A little early for insults, don't you think? As for your friend, I didn't do anything to him. From what I've seen, he's capable of getting into enough trouble on his own. Poor simpleton,” he scoffed, “right now he's going straight to the Dragon Shrine. A voluntary sacrifice! It's… perversely entertaining to watch.”

“Sacrifice? Damn it. You're a cult!”

“A cult? No, this doesn't work in the real world!” he growled in anger and indignation. “The shrine is our small tribute to Dragon, who was the protector of our ideological ancestors before he was betrayed; and he taught those who followed lost causes. But he is not a god, he is Dragon, infallible guide, to a tomorrow in order!”

“Really? And where is this ‘eminence’?” Frances made air quotes.

“It doesn't matter where he is, because he watches and listens from everywhere, everything we are, everything we do.”

“Wow, it's Big Brother! Then, what the hell does he need you for?”

The soldier snorted impatiently.

“He is… limited, and as long as he is, our goal can never truly be achieved. That's why we built the shrine and many other such devices. When the Ultimate Project is assembled and then executed, his abilities will increase, and he will be able to exercise proper authority over his domain.” He smiled self-sufficiently, “I would tell you more, Cinians, but as I said, no time.”

“No, please, go on. Have you been back there, dude?” Cam pointed over his shoulder. “We've had bad luck finding clues since someone has been destroying the records. Oh, speaking of which, you wouldn't happen to know who that was?”

Frances looked at him sideways with a narrowed expression: Rodger Melville Augustus Cameron (that was a lot of names, man), when anger and impatience struck, he became sarcasm king.

“And he tried to kill us, too. I'll put a bullet in his head myself, like he did those dogs.”

The other laughed.

“I didn't want to kill you: I just wanted to destroy the evidence. In fact, I waited for you to finish playing dumb before I set off the bomb. I'm damn considerate! Besides, those dogs needed to die—they were messed up enough as it was.”

“The only one who ‘needs’ to die here is you!” she shouted.

“Yes… It's possible,” he admitted, thoughtfully and resigned. “Anyway, if mistreated dogs bother you, you should have seen the experiments on humans. I bet the wrinkle in the middle of your eyebrows would have lasted for weeks.”

“Fuck, doesn't anyone here know what empathy is?” asked Cam, pained and angry. “If you've been using Cinian citizens…”

“We have, Captain, many,” he replied dryly. “But they are minor sacrifices; the most important sacrifice, and the one for which we have been patiently waiting, has not yet taken place.”

Cam was so disgusted he could barely think of what to say.

“Well, not anymore!” Frances continued. “Now that we know, now that Cinia knows, there will be no chance for you to kidnap people anymore. We'll hunt you down for the rest of your lives!”

“Don't worry, your people are of little use. Only blood that doesn't hide secrets from him can work in the final sacrifice, and we already have someone perfect. Even better… he is one of us.” He narrowed his eyes without removing the cruel smile that made him look like a lunatic. “Of course, we can use Cinians to test some things, experiments…”

“Is that what you do here? Experiments?” Anger rose inside her. “I don't care about your ideas, or your boss, be it Wilker, Dragon or some other crazy tyrant; but the damage you've done will not go unpunished, you can be sure of that.”

She took two steps forward and Cam stopped her, shaking his head.

“What is this place really? It's definitely not a military base. It's a research center? Really?”

“Oh,” he said in his most casual tone, “this used to be an old mine, which is why that crappy little town was built up there. It was evacuated during the war between Cinia and Kennéh, about twenty years ago. Wilker revived it. He turned it into an outpost, and even though it's not our main research center, we do some testing here.”

He didn't answer. A bead of sweat fell from his chin to the floor.

Frances pointed at him with a hateful look and Cam held her back again.

“Wait, Frankie… Not yet,” he held her shoulders.

“You want to kill me?” he gloated. “I don't think you mean that. You don't know what you're getting yourself into! And now that you know, you'll never be able to leave this place. You damned Cinians! Cowards! Dragon's justice will be swift, it will be… sweet!” The renegade seemed to choke on his own words. “Treason and tyranny will be paid with death!”

“You are in a terrible state,” Cam observed. He had just noticed that the man was not breathing normally.

“I wouldn't say that, Captain.”

“It's funny that after being so fanatical, you say tyranny is paid with death.”

“Dragon is no tyrant, sir. And I am not a fanatic: I understand the purpose and logic behind my actions. My impulses, on the other hand, are often beyond my control. That's how deep my anger runs.”

The man dropped his arms and looked up again, this time with a blank stare.

“And now I must go. There are some insects I need to talk to,” the tone of his voice exuded a special contempt. “Well… Farewell, children of Cinia.”

“Tssk!” Cam hissed. “So soon? I thought we could talk a little longer,” he threatened.

The rebel paused briefly.

“I have no intention of being retained,” he reported dryly.

He stepped back and slammed the door against the frame with such force that the bullets barely rattled against the steel of the panel. They ran over and attacked the lock with their lasers. They heard a click and something coming down quickly behind the door. When they opened it, they found that it was an extra steel defense.

Then an even louder click made them turn to the gate they had entered: it had closed. And the bars, all of them, dropped to the ground. There were strange sounds coming from inside the cell.

“Have you ever let anyone down?” he asked the other side. “I don't like to disappoint people, so I'm leaving this for you. I'm sorry, but you will never see the carefree blue of the sky again.”

“What are you saying?”

“More like what's he doing,” Cam corrected, pointing to the now open cell. “Hey, what did you do?”

“A demonstration. Goodbye,” he replied in a low, almost whispering voice.

Cam liked the dark: it was quiet, it was beautiful, it was still. But this one had eyes. It had eyes! The darkness was watching them.

Frances examined the cell without being able to utter a word.

The darkness shook off the veil.

There were two of them. They looked like huge, sinuous panthers. They were over three meters long, their eyes like salt, their fur brown and thick. They had scars around their necks, like crosses, bulging. They drooled and panted as if they were starving.

They prowled noiselessly, without approaching, without averting their terrible gaze. Both soldiers froze when they saw the strange animals stop nearby, tense and fearful.

“What the hell are those things?”

“They look like cougars… huge cougars,” muttered Frances.

“Probably one of the experiments.”

“I guess so.”

“Here they come,” he warned.

The felines ran straight for them. They fired at them, but the animals simply dodged the bullets. The speed with which they predicted the direction of the bullets and the agility with which they dodged them was astonishing and terrifying. One jumped in front of Cam. He tried to shoot it, but a paw knocked the weapon out of his reach. It tried to jump again, and Cam jumped to the side and rolled across the floor near the seats. With great agility, he crouched down and drew his knife. The beast became enraged and struck again, knocking him down and pinning him hard to the ground. Its jaw began to bleed, tightly clenched around the knife and two fingers. He snorted, painfully but stubbornly, as his saliva, frothy and reddish, dripped onto Cam's face. He kept pushing with both hands, unable to let himself feel the teeth piercing his fingers.

“Leave him alone!” Frances shot him in the back.

The animal dropped the knife, barely glancing back, and dug its claws into Cam's belly, not knowing what to do.

The second cat fixed its gaze on Frances and leaped at her. The girl ran straight at it, sweeping under its body. She spun around at full speed and shot him in the thigh. The roar seemed to end its brother's hesitation; the other ran straight for her, spreading its blood across the floor. She tightened her grip on the gun and aimed at it, but barely had the sight on it when the claws already touched the metal.

“Cam!”

Heart pounding, Frances rose from the floor. Her hands were empty. It was dark, very dark. She looked around: she had fallen into the cell. And her enemies were stalking her from the threshold, but they didn't seem to want to enter; that was understandable, she supposed. How long would they have kept them there, trapped and without…?

A shadow, and suddenly she found herself throwing herself backwards with all her might until she fell back on her butt, confused and uncertain. Petrified, she followed the furious movement that was barely discernible at the bottom of the cell. Now she understood why the other cats were afraid to go near it: there was a third animal, chained by one hind leg; its fur must have been black, and it made no sound except the hiss of its panting as it passed through its teeth and tongue.

He listened to the other two: their paws and guttural snorts echoed as they advanced, victors over his fear. He had no time to worry about this one.

A hail of bullets tore through the room and the animals' bellies bled. They writhed in pain, jerked and ran inside.

“Are you okay?" shouted Cam.

Frances took the opportunity to run out of the cell at full speed.

“What about you?”

Cam touched his stomach.

“Let's just say I'm glad I'm wearing protection.”

“Yeah. There's another one in there. I think it's chained.”

“Chained…? Well, let’s not change that. Where's your gun?”

Frances stamped her foot.

“It must be in there,” she grumbled. “I have to check with night vision.”

The felines came out of the cell in a panic, even a little clumsily. They checked the darkness, then the soldiers, then the darkness, then them again.

“Incredible!” Cam put another magazine in his gun and pulled the slide. “You see them? I unloaded the whole magazine and they're like nothing happened. And earlier, when one came at me… Hell, they've got tremendous speed.”

“We gotta aim for the heads, see if they're still messing around after their brains are all over the floor!”

“Yeah, looks like it. You'll have to help me distract them.”

“Well, I still have my knife and grenades…”

“I'd rather not use the grenades in such close quarters.

Damn, she cursed.

Cam darted to the left, Frances to the right. And the animals darted after them.

The panthers staggered, not very noticeably, but there was the limp, each time the pierced stomach contracted as they ran.

Frances turned and ran toward the feline that had followed Cam: she needed them both to follow her. She passed him from behind, knife in hand, and sliced it across the hip. She broke into a faster run: it wasn't so hard to keep up with them now. She looked back: both behind her. Perfect!

She jumped into a corner and turned around, crouching low and waiting for them to approach. They wouldn't dare jump at her: they'd hit the walls!

The limps became more pronounced as the felines slowed down: two paws away, one paw away, half a paw away!

The bullets came back.

One reared back so fast it almost fell on its side. Not so the other one, the one that took the direct hit. The beast staggered in front of the bullets that burst in its face, without vocalizing, its tongue lolling. It collapsed to the ground without further ado.

There was no time to contemplate the corpse. The other animal, indolent and furious, pounced on Frances: its open jaws vibrating, hot, over her face.

Cam began to run toward them.

He stopped, bewildered by the clacking metal in the shadows of the cell: it was relentless, desperate, stubborn and vicious. The other animal was doing everything it could to get out of there. He felt cautious, but he had no time for that: he kept running.

“Frankie, roll!”

He shot the animal twice in the butt, enough to make it move aside.

Frances obeyed, but it wasn't enough: the animal lunged at her on three legs, pinning her to the ground again.

"Taste this!” And she stabbed it through the neck as the beast tried to tear at her vest.

Behind them, in the darkness, the metallic clacking became frantic, and the claws clutched vehemently at the rock on the ground.

Cam was overcome with rage as he watched the animal flail around so much—impossible to hit its head like that! He put the gun down, took a deep breath, felt the tension in his ankles and leapt at it, ramming his own knife into its neck. He grabbed it with all his might: it was like riding a rodeo bull. How crazy!

The animal stepped away from the girl, lunging around, kicking and clawing at Cam with its paws. It let out the worst, most agonizing roar they'd ever heard, a pitiful, chilling thing.

And then the clacking finally piled up, one after the other, to release a final, resounding clap.

Claaang!

The action stopped dead in its tracks: even the badly wounded feline ignored the rider as he kept his eyes on the cell.

The drag of the chain on the rock and the echo of wheezing were the only sounds announcing the third cat's triumph. He stepped out of the shadows, but it was as if it had wrapped itself in them and carried them with it: he was completely black, like coal; Frances had been right. Its body was full of scars, and the worst part was that most of them didn't look like claws or bites, but made by sharp objects. And on his lean, haggard face there was only one milky eye and a cruel, yellowish smile.

The brown feline shook in desperation and fled. Cam grabbed the knife and jumped to the ground. He watched it circle the room and flee into the darkness, now empty and safe.

The black one was not interested in his companion, not now. It wiggled its fingers on the floor, raised its shoulders and lowered the head. In an instant, it was on top of Frances.

The soldier threw slashes into the air to push it away, but the claws, swift as bullets themselves, landed on her arm, ripping the knife from her, shredding the vambrace and lacerating the exposed part of her elbow.

Cam shot at its neck, its shoulders, its ribs, desperately trying to get it off her.

“Frankie! Run!”

He kept firing, bullet after bullet: the whole magazine as close to the head as he could. But the animal hid it; it let itself be wounded, as if it knew very well that sooner or later the bullets would run out.

“Cam, this is too much! I need my gun; I need it now!”

“The other one went in. You don't expect it to ignore you?”

Cam was left talking to himself: Frances was already stepping over the threshold.

Yes, yes, she knew: the other one had escaped in there. Well, so what? It was badly wounded, it was cowering, and if she got her gun, she could kill it quickly, concentrate on the spawn outside.

She turned on the scope, full speed, and opened her eyes wide: the back wall was full of long iron spikes, bones piled up, and there was no sign of the weapon.

“Crap…”

The grunts of the hidden animal echoed off the stone walls. It leaned against the right wall, licking itself with flattened ears. It was—it stood up awkwardly and growled. It began to approach cautiously.

“I can't find my gun,” she shouted. “But I think I have a plan.”

“Frankie!” he panted. “What the hell are you going to do?”

“I'm going to kill it, don't worry!”

She heard no answer: the captain must have been more than busy with the black one. That was fine, let him take care of the other one; she would do her thing with this one.

The feline ran towards her, and she jumped aside, spinning on her arm and crouching down.

She whistled at it, inviting it to jump.

The animal stood in the threshold and looked back sideways like a paranoid waiting to be attacked from behind. She whistled again and the cat growled at her and ran back toward her. And once again, Frances swept across the floor and crouched in front of it.

Now the feline was enraged again and focused on her. Its fears of the black one were gone. Perfect!

Frances began to run to the back again, this time at full speed. And once again, the drooling, tired feline followed her. It ran straight at her like a raging animal, and when it felt the tension in every muscle, it jumped up, roaring, ready to tear her to pieces; and she stood still against the wall until she felt its breath on her face; only then did she duck and sweep to the side.

It let out a sharp, cutting roar. It let out several more, each one shorter and weaker as it moved, trying to free its heavy body from the spikes. But it was useless: one pierced its chest completely, another its stomach, and another tore its neck horribly. The shiny red metal bent upward, leaving the animal completely impaled and gushing with blood.

Frances recoiled, transfixed by the scene, mesmerized by the movements, the sounds it made, choking, foaming and gurgling.

Outside, Cam was running out of bullets. He had one magazine left, just one. And his enemy was barely affected: it was bleeding from every hole and its eyelid twitched as it moved, but wouldn't stop, wouldn't back down, and he wasn't sure how to proceed.

"Okay,” he said to himself, “one last magazine, dude.” He reached for it.

The panther watched the magazine in his hand: the fire was in it, it knew it. It watched him insert the magazine into the gun and heard the roar of fire, a roar like the one it no longer possessed, sounding more like a challenge than a threat. He watched him pull the slide and knew what came next.

In a second, it was in the air in front of Cam, above him, on top of him. The claw hit the barrel and was pierced by the bullet. The toes disappeared from its paw, but the attack did not falter, and the gun flew through the air. And the attack was half over: it swung its left paw with all its fury. A wide, diagonal blow from the bottom up. Cam ducked, terrified, but not fast enough: he felt the blow to his temple and his helmet coming off his head; he felt it and then he felt nothing.

“Hey!” Frances unloaded all her bullets on him.

The black one snarled with every tooth in sight and a stifled wheeze and threw itself at her.

Frances bolted, not even having time to reload her gun. And Cam was still on the ground, half lying, half sitting, completely stunned.

This wasn't going well, she had to take a chance, load the gun as she ran.

She reached for her belt, unbuckled the case. She grabbed the magazine, she had it…

The panther reached out and snatched it from her.

Oh, damn, are you serious? the girl cursed in her mind. Now she was really starting to get tired: she was panting, and sweat was soaking her body.

She reached into the case again and pulled out another one. Clumsily, she tried to put it into the weapon, if only she could slow down, it would be much easier. Just a little more effort!

The panther didn't want to face the fire again, and in a rush of adrenaline it accelerated. It half leaped after her, caught her, pushed her and made her fall, caught her and wrapped its body around her: she was its now. Lips tightened and spears were exposed—the final bite.

He lunged for her throat, relentless and seized by the hunter's instinct.

But something stopped it: fire, fire stopped it. Its jaws stopped at one centimeter of her neck, and its breath struck her once, twice, three times. On the fourth, it staggered to the side, its skin caked with blood. Frances dared to look up: its neck was bleeding.

It fell to the ground, slowly, in surrender; it rested its open, panting snout on the ground, licked its lips, and stopped breathing.

Frances turned, knelt, rolled over and looked up: she was mute with fear.

“Frances!” asked Gerard, agitated and confused. “I… Are you all right?”

He looked back at the animal, the monster, the mutant.

“I…” She couldn't believe she wasn't dead. She had its damn teeth in her neck. “I-I'm fine. Cam, I think he's… hurt.”

Gerard looked behind her: he was sitting on the floor across the room. He rushed over to him.

“Oh… Hey, you're going to be okay, all right?”

Cam finally shook off the shock at the sound of Gerard's calm voice and stood up with his help.

“Gerard? Wow buddy, I never thought I'd see you again.”

“Looks like there's nothing broken.”

“Yeah, I'm fine… The side of my face hurts.”

“Don't panic, but that thing scratched you from ear to temple… I think those goggles might have saved your eye.”

He barely remembered the pain. He sighed.

“Does it look bad?”

“You've got two lacerations, Cam. And they're bleeding… Frances must have something that can help us.”

“Where…?”

“I'm right here, Cam, relax,” Frances replied, coming closer.

“Hey,” he smiled. Nice scratches.

“Pfff, you're just saying that because you haven't seen your face. It's like Gerard said: you're lucky.”

She took out her little disinfectant spray and a roll of bandages: that should do for now. She also repaired his badly injured fingers.

“Hey,” Gerard said, scanning the rest of the room, “is Burton here?”

“No,” she replied. “We were looking for him when we got into this mess.”

Cam grunted.

“Some insane insurgent told us Burton was in danger and then locked us in with those things.”

“An insane insurgent?”

“Yeah. One of Scott Wilker's soldiers. Frankie, you said it was the same one that attacked us in the canyon?”

“I'm sure it was him, yeah. I'll never forget the sound of his voice, arrogant and full of contempt. Ah, Gerard, what did you say his name was?”

“Blackburn?”

“That's it!”

That man, Gerard thought.

“He said he was going to the ‘Dragon's Shrine’. We need to find out where that is.”

“I see. Then I think it is necessary for me to tell you what I have found out.”

Gerard told them what he had read and showed them the book. Then he asked them to tell him everything Blackburn had said, and Cam repeated every single crazy thing the man had said.

“I still don't get it,” Cam thought. “So far, we know that Dragon is some kind of leader for Sarzo's soldiers and that he must be locked up and these guys want to free him… I don't know what to think, it's too strange. Locked up where? What the hell is this ‘ultimate project’? He said it would be used to free him. And what's the war got to do with it?”

“It's an unbearable mess,” Frances agreed. “I think we can at least agree with Lieutenant General Ponce.”

“There must be more to it than we can imagine. But can Ponce? I bet she could put the pieces together: she seems to know a lot.”

“She didn't come right out and say it, but it's clear she thinks Art is hiding something from all of us,” Gerard recalled.

“Yeah, that's right, and I think it's true, unfortunately,” Cam carefully touched his bandage. “Let's see what he does when we tell him: he can't leave us out in the cold.”

“We shouldn't jump to conclusions yet. We should keep looking… And Burton too,” Gerard suggested, glancing sideways at the dead creature.

Frances followed his gaze to the creature that almost took her life.

“I suppose I should take a video and a sample as evidence.”

She approached it, at a slow pace: lest it's faking it and get up again. She walked nervously around it with the PCC's flexible camera pointed in its direction. She crouched down and looked at the back of its neck, where Gerard had aimed an entire magazine of bullets. One of its cervical vertebrae was protruding… though there was something unusual about that whitish bulge. She frowned as she realized that it was not a bone, but a tiny piece of metal protruding from the back of its shattered neck. Cautiously, she reached for the thing and pulled it out.

Cam looked at it with a raised eyebrow.

“What is it? Something weird?”

“I think it's… some kind of device.”

Beneath the blood and hair covering it, Frances could make out a small circuit.

“How strange! Let me see it.”

“Sure.”

Cam rubbed the blood off.

“It looks like a computer chip.”

“Really? Why would…? Oh, God, what the hell are these people doing down here? I mean, they do experiments, I know that.”

“Yeah, I get it.” He turned it over. “It has little broken strands, and I guess they were connected to the animal's spine… Frankie,” he suddenly remembered, “the cross-shaped scars: the other one must have one like this.”

“Want me to take it out?”

Cam put the chip in his pants.

“No, one is enough. Take the sample, it's time to look for Burton.”

She nodded, serene.

“Wait…”

He pulled out his MT and reached for a small sensor he kept in the small emergency kit on her belt. She placed the sensor on the device and used it on a small piece of the animal's flesh. The MT analyzed and recorded the tissue sample: DNA and full composition, with precision and speed.

“That's it, let's roll.”

Cam nodded and motioned for the group to follow, though one thought held him back.

“Hey, how did you get in? Wasn’t the other gate clos…?”

No, it was open now.

“Yes, it was closed,” Gerard said, showing his MT. “But it didn't have good security.”

“Ha, of course.” He scratched his head. “Oh, right: the helmet.”

He went to get it and joined the others at the gate.

The wide, dark gate was heavy, and it also had an electronic lock.

“It looks kind of old now that I see it up close,” Frances commented. “What do you think?”

“I guess we could try to blow a hole in it with the grenades.” Cam turned to look at the open door at the side. “This one has a seal, and I'm pretty sure I only heard the sound of one, which means this other door is unlocked.”

“Maybe they don't care about what's behind it.”

“Yeah, we could be wasting time and ammo.”

“Guys,” Gerard approached the gate, “I've tried to make a mental map of this place from what I've seen, and I think it's possible this is the way in, at least it looks susceptible to breaking.”

Cam nodded and took the grenades from his belt. Each DOB agent was supposed to carry three to five of them. He carried six. The Cinian grenades could be used manually or programmed with the PCC, and that's exactly what they did: they placed them in a pile by the door and bolted across the room.

They detonated them and the explosion echoed, a deafening and deep echo—thunderous.

“I bet that Blackburn guy heard that. There's no way he didn't!” Frances exclaimed, her ears aching.

“Yeah… I hope the surface soldiers are far away and distracted, Cam added.”

“We opened the entire lower left part of the panel… Wow, I could have sworn it was weaker.”

Cam snorted.

“Don't worry buddy, that's enough. Let's roll!”

They ran back to the gate and watched the opening: they would have to crawl in.

One by one, they crawled inside and were relieved to find that there was no security panel behind. It was just dark; it looked deep. They put their goggles back on. It was a wide, descending corridor. They stared at it in silence.

“So… how did you find us, Gerard?” asked Frances in a low voice. “You were supposed to be upstairs waiting for us.”

“The soldiers on the surface were talking about how their boss was going to take out some ‘black dogs’… And I don't like to wait, I guess.”

“God, I hate that nickname,” Cam whispered.

“So you just disobeyed Cam and came after us?” she laughed softly.

He smiled a little too.

“Yes, but for a very good reason.”

“Your disobedience worries me,” Cam joined the smile club, “but not too much: thanks for coming, partner. Okay, let's see what's down here.”

“Yes, sir,” both lieutenants replied in unison and started to walk behind their leader.

***

Gradually, Burton began to discern a white light in the distance, like that of the large warehouse. The illumination became more intense, and he had to turn off his night vision. He covered his face with his arm as he tried to adjust to the light.

He felt his foot land on lower ground and uncovered one eye to look at the floor: he was at the entrance to a large chamber.

The bluish tint persisted, though whitish. It was an elongated room, its long side measuring more than twenty-five meters. The interior had gray pentagonal tiles on the floor, and the walls and ceiling were plastered and painted a pleasant steel blue, with some darker moldings at the corners. There was also a very elaborate gold band that ran several centimeters around the top and bottom of the walls.

He had never seen anything like it in this location and concluded that it must be of some importance to the society.

The chamber extended to the right and Burton watched from the threshold, wide enough for four people.

He entered cautiously, stepping over a large painted figure on the floor. There was an electronic device attached to the back wall; not a computer, but a terminal that must have been connected to other computers and a processor somewhere. It had a pair of small screens above the controls and another three below, turned off, with a row of buttons above them. He wondered what they controlled and slid his fingers along the frame, pressing nothing.

He looked to the sides: there were only a few closed metal boxes near the terminal.

He found it all very attractive, but only when he turned around was he speechless: a metal statue in the shape of an infuriated dragon adorned the lonely place, a huge figure with a noble and stoic posture. He hadn't seen it when he entered: it was behind a large niche in the wall. It sat with its head held high, like a dog, and its wings spread and attached to its body. The statue was made of steel, taller than he was; he estimated it to be two and a half meters high, one and a half meters wide, and perhaps two meters deep. It was made in a bulky style, with few gaps and many visual ornaments: intertwined lines and touches of grayish colors. It was cool, absolutely cool, tremendous and terrifying.

Burton casually walked over to the statue and stared at it for a few minutes, guilty of appreciating enemy art. He looked at the gaping metal mouth and the sharp black fangs, so well made. There, where the mouth began, was a glint. It was encrusted with a dark crystalline mineral, very ostentatious. The NCO wondered what it was for. Then he jumped on the statue and tried to remove it, but he couldn't get it off.

He almost stuck his face in its mouth to get a better look at the glass: it reflected almost the whole room, and there was the figure on the floor again. He looked over his shoulder, that ornament in the middle. Of course, curiosity got the better of him! He approached and stood over the figure. aha! It was not a drawing on the floor, but a molding. It was a square of two copper-colored stripes, with some bumps at the ends, and inside was a ring that seemed to be made of different metals, for it looked like gold and silver, splashed in different places. The ring had inscriptions facing the statue, and Burton leaned over to read it: "Surrender to his will, surrender to his guidance.” A shiver ran through his body, and he made a face of dismay: he had already imagined that the place looked too nice.

He began to speculate again, trying to make the connection between the statue, the figure and the terminal.

He crouched down and started to run his fingertips over the inlays, idly, when he saw the small bumps again. They weren't exactly round, they had a blunt cone-like point at the top and two small holes on the sides. He brought his fingers close to the nearest one. He touched it gently and heard a sound behind it: the monitors were on, all five of them, and beeping. One of the top monitors showed four gray circles, and one changed to blue.

“Oops!”

He jumped to his feet and stood guard, but before he could do anything, he saw four thin, bluish translucent panels surrounding him. They had risen from the floor, from between the strips of the square, and reached up to the ceiling. In each of the four ornaments was a tiny red light.

Burton looked in all directions, pushing at the panels—he was in a panic now. What the hell was that?

The statue's eyes took on a yellowish color and the glass in its mouth began to flicker, bluish.

“Oh, hell.” He hit the new walls hard, and the only thing left bruised was his hand.

The black crystal began to shine a thin beam at him. He felt the heat of the laser on him and nothing else. The laser positioned itself over his forehead, through the translucent wall, and began to move slowly, as if scanning his head. The eyes flashed a yellowish light, and two lasers came out of them as well, all aimed at the frightened, confused NCO. He saw the bluish laser inches from his eyes and the yellow ones flashing across his belly.

He felt a sting in his neck.

He turned backwards at full speed, but saw only a metallic, rod-like thing retreating behind a gap in the ceiling that closed as soon as the thing was up.

The computer made another pattern of sounds and Burton looked at it sideways, over his shoulder.

He began to see the device blurry. He felt heavy, all heavy; he let himself fall to the floor. Too little space, too tight. He noticed his breath catching—it was jellylike, his throat.

He closed his eyes—it was too hard.