Boom!

The first explosion woke Arik from his mid-morning nap. He sat suddenly and bonked his head on the bunk above. Grunting, he staggered to his feet, clearly befuddled.

What, in the name of the Cosmos, is going on?

The second explosion shook him, and he swayed. The basement complex beneath the factory rumbled violently. He grabbed hold of the bunk to brace himself. One explosion could be an accident. Two explosions were foreboding.

Arik exited the bunk room into the central tunnel. To his right, in the end, a freight elevator led to the factory's first floor. Distant sounds of automatic gunfire chattered above.

Faceless soldiers scrambled to the armory, slipping their reflective masks over their faces.

Arik swallowed his panic.

Pom and Fahon were out on their mission to abduct the Big Three. He warned them of a trap before they left. They chose to take the risk anyway. Turned out it didn't matter because it was a double trap.

The Faceless relocated bases when their location was compromised. Usually, they could get out before the Syndicate or the police could raid it. Even if they survived this attack, it would be costly. The Faceless would lose lives, abandoning supplies and equipment, and be forced to disperse. It would take time for them to regroup.

How long had the Syndicate known the location?

A third minor explosion rattled above. Arik considered his options as he watched the masked soldiers line the hallway, rifles aimed toward the freight elevator. Two men pulled a big steel table out of a nearby room and turned it sideways in the tunnel's center. A few soldiers quickly kneeled behind it, taking cover and leveling their rifles.

Well, the basement was going to turn into a killing zone. Arik wasn't a fighter. What could he do to help? Fear froze him on the threshold, gripping the frame. His breathing quickened, pulse beating like a drum in his ears.

Not wishing to be unarmed during an attack, he stumbled back into the room and pulled a footlocker from beneath his bunk. He fumbled with the electronic lock, punching in his combination wrong two times before getting it right. Inside was his duffle bag. He pulled his submachine gun out of it. After zipping it, he slung the bag over his shoulder.

"All non-combat personnel, please evacuate," a voice called out over the loudspeaker.

Non-combat personnel, that's me!

Now he needed to make it to the escape route. Spying a look down the main tunnel, an angular black pyramid dropped from the access hatch of the elevator. Before hitting the floor, the object unfolded and hovered in the air, spinning rotors on its angular wings. It lurched forward, spraying bullets from a mounted turret on its underbelly.

The soldiers opened fire.

They have hunter-drones. Great!

The barrage of bullets clipped it, sparking off its armored frame. One well-placed shot struck its front rotor. The drone careened hard, tumbled sideways, and skidded across the floor, pieces of broken rotors flinging everywhere. It stopped right in front of the upturned table, twitching and buzzing.

Arik threw himself back into the bunk room as the drone's hidden explosive payload detonated. Ears ringing and dazed, Arik peeled himself off the floor. Despite the terror pulsing through him, it was time to move. The tunnel was filled with smoke, fire, and smoldering bodies.

He ran in the opposite direction from the freight elevator, taking him deeper into the basement complex. Some Faceless must have survived the blast because they were shooting again behind him. Syndicate mercenaries dropped from the elevator access hatch. A few died before they hit the floor. The others sprawled prone on the floor and returned deafeningly loud gunfire.

Hustling, Arik came to a three-way intersection. On his right, a group of Faceless soldiers was barricading the door to the stairwell. It wasn't the way he wanted to go. As he ran, he dashed left, huffing for air, panic overwhelming him. He could barely breathe.

Where am I going?

At the intersection, a four-way Arik grabbed a female Faceless by the shoulder, turning her around. "Where's the escape route?"

"Follow me!" She took a series of lefts and rights, disorienting Arik. He had no idea where they were going or how to get back, his mind numb and lungs burning. Arik had yet to be this deep into the secret base before. The woman ducked into a wide tunnel and ran to the right. Foot traffic here was heavy, dozens of Faceless flowing in the same direction as the woman.

The tunnel was at least twice as wide as the others. This section of the basement still needed to be renovated. Dirt coated the floors, and the smell of mold was thick in the air. Rusty pipes ran along the walls. Water leaked out, leaving slick patches and puddles on the floor.

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The lights went out without warning, plunging the tunnel into darkness. Arik froze in the pitch black, fingers curling tight around the grip of his submachine gun. A few anxiety-inducing seconds later, emergency lights flickered on. They were set in the walls in intervals, creating pools of dim amber. With a deep breath, he pressed on, shuffling after the rest of the fleeing Faceless.

His foot slipped in a slimy puddle, and he fell, bashing his knee on the ground. Grunting through the pain, he used the pipes on the wall to pull himself back to his feet. He continued, limping along, the pace slowed by his throbbing joint. A person bumped into him from behind.

"Watch out!" Arik shouted. When he turned around, the perpetrator was gone, having passed into the inky shadows between emergency lights.

The sounds of gunfire seemed closer behind him now. The Faceless were falling back into this tunnel. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sprint, pushing through the acute agony in his leg.

At the end of the tunnel, on the left, stood a single doorway. Having rusted off its hinges, the door leaned against the wall nearby. A tall female soldier, mask on, stood underneath the timid amber illumination of an emergency light, ushering people inside the room. Arik shuffled into line behind the others.

Against the far wall was a row of three bulbous cylinders tall as the ceiling. A complex matrix of tubes, ducts, pressure gauges, and machinery crowded the space between.

Navigation was precarious in tight confines and pure darkness. Arik tripped and staggered a few times on unseen objects.

Another soldier, who happened to have a flashlight, was waving the harsh blue light at the back of the room, shouting for people to hurry. Arik had to walk sideways through the industrial mess, squeezing between two thick pipes as a person behind him pressed against him.

On the other side, a rusty steel tool cabinet had been pushed aside, revealing a crumbling maw in the concrete wall with a snarl of rebar, like a set of wicked teeth. The escapees piled into the hole as gunshots thundered behind them. The firefight had moved into the large tunnel behind them.

"Use the wall to guide you and follow the passage until you reach the storm drain," the soldier with the flashlight said.

Arik's fingers sunk into the dirt of the wall as he ducked inside the passage. With how narrow it had been carved, he didn't understand how anyone would get lost. In the confines, he clutched his weapon tight with his opposite hand, hoping to stop his hands from trembling. At specific points, his shoulders brushed on jutting rock, and his head scraped against the low dirt ceiling. Limping along, soldiers recklessly barged their way past him. The injury to his knee slowed him, and they wouldn't wait. At this point, it was survival of the fittest.

The earth pressed in around him like a tomb. At any moment, it could collapse and crush him. His breathing was rapid and uncoordinated. Sweat beaded on his brow. The beating of his heart in his temples reminded him of the fast-paced rhythms of a dance club.

Minutes dragged on, the passage seeming to slope deep into the earth. Soldiers shoved past him in a rush. The flashlight guy eventually, the illumination blinding as he used it to light his path. For a moment, Arik could see ahead the carved passage looking like the gullet of some great beast. At least the flashlight guy had the courtesy to slip past him sideways instead of pushing. He was left alone and limping. Before long, the light faded, and he was plunged into the dark once again.

When he saw a glimmer again, it was faint, and he wondered if his mind was playing tricks on him. As the flicker grew into a steady glow, hope filled him. Wincing in pain, increased his pace, ready to escape the stuffy air and confines of the passage.

He squinted as he finally broke free and stepped into the storm drain. A large crumbling concrete covered in graffiti lay on its side, where it must have served as a facade before it was moved. The storm drain was a concrete canyon with various bridges across it. A debris-clogged river flowed through the center, sloping gently towards the sea. In the distance, he could see sapphire waves glittering in the Twins' light.

He slumped against the wall, catching his breath. Faceless soldiers were above the canyon, gathered beside a warehouse. The windows were broken like the jagged teeth of a sinister grin. One Faceless ascended a precariously rusted ladder by the nearest bridge.

He had to try because, eventually, the Syndicate would return him to the dust. To get to the ladder, he had the cross the river. Who wouldn't build a bridge? He waded into the thigh-deep water. It was warm as bathwater and surprisingly clear, despite all the branches and garbage floating on the surface. A light current tugged at him, and he lost his footing a few times. Slipping and sliding, he sloshed out of the river and climbed the ladder; straight into the incoming gunfire.

A silver truck sped around the corner of the warehouse. Syndicate mercenaries stood in the truck bed with rifles mounted on the cab's roof. Bullets whizzed by. One grazed Arik's side as he dove behind a stack of plastic pallets.

The packed truck drove past Arik and skidded to a stop, turning sideways. With their backs to Arik, the mercenaries leveled their weapons. Faceless soldiers dispersed, sprinting in different directions, and the enemy opened fire ruthlessly.

Arik raised his own sub-machine gun, sighting a mercenary's back. In quaking hands, the iron sights swayed. Arik exhaled, remembering the vid he watched on shooting. Steadying his aim, he flicked the safety off and squeezed the trigger. The weapon kicked as it sprayed rounds into the back of the mercenary. He fell out of the truck's bed, face first, onto the asphalt. Arik swept the weapon to pepper the rest.

He didn't stop firing. Eventually, the weapon clicked, and it was out of ammo. Arik had killed four men in an instant. Stunned at his own action, he didn't react fast enough when another mercenary leaned out the cab window with a pistol. The pistol discharged with a crack. Arik jolted as the bullet hit him and hurled himself back behind the pallets.

The murder was complete, and the truck fled with tires squealing.

Arik's sub-machine clattered on the ground. He slid onto his rump, leaning his head back against the pallet. After unslinging his duffle back from his shoulder, he examined his wound. Blood soaked his shirt around a surprisingly small hole.

The groans from the wounded and dying haunted him and steadied his breathing. A few dozen bodies spotted the lot, a few trying to crawl away and leaving behind slick blood trails. A few had escaped behind the warehouse before bullets reached them. Perhaps they had run. Arik could hope.

He noticed smoke streaming into the air from a nearby hill, where the hidden factory base was. They had lost today. Big time.

Now he would die if he didn't get medical attention soon.