Shining a flashlight down the dimly lit staircase, Troy felt a sense of foreboding as the cold, damp air wrapped around him. The bunker seemed eerily silent, with only the sound of their footsteps echoing against the concrete walls.
Ignoring his unease, Troy pushed forward, his resolve propelling him deeper into the unknown. The winding staircase seemed to descend endlessly, each step steeped in darkness, but eventually, the team reached the bottom, their breaths clouding in the chill.
As they stepped off the final stair, an overwhelming and acrid scent assaulted their senses—a thick, smoky odor reminiscent of something that had recently been set ablaze. Glancing around the cavernous space, Jack noticed the stark contrast between the shadows and the flickering lights from his flashlight. The air felt heavy with tension as we moved cautiously through the dimly illuminated rooms.
Jack swung his light toward one of the rooms, flipping on the switch. The fluorescent bulbs buzzed to life, revealing grim images lining the far wall: photographs of various buildings, each one ominously marked with dark ink and circles. They were targets—destined for destruction. His stomach sank at the implications.
Nearby, a cluttered desk bore remnants of sinister preparations: scattered tools, wires, and materials arranged haphazardly, all unmistakably used for bomb-making. While Jack continued his cautious exploration, Anakin had shifted his focus to a small corner where a forgotten recording device lay half-obscured by dust and debris. Intrigued, he picked it up, careful not to disturb the settling grime. After a moment’s hesitation, he pressed play, and the device whirred quietly to life.
As the tape began to roll, a quiet voice emerged, low yet clear, cutting through the eerie silence of the bunker.
“It’s Wednesday, the 9th. Stallone has instructed me to develop a gas bomb that has the capacity to both kill and destroy. *Deep breath* He’s losing his mind; I don't know if it's the war with the government that's causing this or if he’s off his medication. He’s promised that he’ll pay well for the bombs, but I don't believe him. I'm still waiting for my payment for the last time he ordered me to create some bombs."
In the background of the recording, the sounds of Miguel the Green rummaging through his equipment before the ear-shattering sound of a saw cutting metal could be heard.
"Okay, so what I’m planning for the custom bomb is combining the gunpowder that I use in my H Bomb with the fuse and hardware of The Quick Bang."
Anakin fast-forwards the tape until Miguel the Green starts talking again.
“Uh... This is a very bad idea; I just used my device that calculates how dangerous a bomb can be, and this is an A-grade bomb. For context, the H bomb is an A-grade bomb, and nuclear bombs are A+ grade."
“Thank God we managed to stop the bomb from going off,” Ellie said, interrupting the tape.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
The group turned their attention back to the tape.
“This is going to be the last thing I’ll say on this tape. If the government or Stallone finds this bunker, I'm going to have a bomb rigged to blow. I’ll do this to protect myself."
This news shocked the group.
“Shit! How long ago was this tape made?” Troy asked.
“About eight days ago,” Anakin replied before asking if there was a possibility a bomb was ready to blow.
Ellie turned on her bomb sweeper and searched the room. She found nothing that suggested that there was a bomb ready to blow. The only thing she was able to find was a crate that had a lot of bomb material inside.
Jack cautiously opened the crate, and inside were bombs and missiles that were ready to be disassembled. Looking deeper in the crate, there was a note inside that read:
Miguel, I need you to create a nuclear bomb. Your last bomb failed and has been sized by Rainfall. I don't care how you do it; just do it. You have three weeks. Don't disappoint me.
-Stallone
After scanning the note with a furrowed brow, Jack turned to Troy and Anakin, his tone urgent. “I need your help lifting that crate out of the bunker. Once we get it out, we’ll mark it for extraction.” The three of them quickly gathered around the heavy crate, their muscles straining as they maneuvered it out of the dimly lit bunker.
As they worked to secure the missiles inside, Kairi, positioned a short distance away, noticed an unusual shape lurking in the deeper shadows of the room.
Curiosity piqued, she moved cautiously closer, her heart racing as she spotted a slightly battered cardboard box nestled against the wall. Straining to hear any sounds from within, she instinctively reached for one of her knives, her fingers wrapping around the cool handle.
With a steady breath, she gripped the flaps of the box and peeled them open, ready for whatever might be concealed inside.
To her shock, a young man with scruffy brown hair burst forth from the confines of the box. Panic flashed in his eyes as he immediately scrambled towards the exit, desperation driving his movements.
However, his escape was abruptly thwarted when Asuka, quick and agile, swept her leg in a swift motion, causing him to trip and crash to the floor.
“Who are you, and why were you hiding in that box?!” Asuka demanded, her voice firm and unwavering.
The young man, stunned and gasping for breath, remained silent, his composure shaken.
Meanwhile, Ellie, standing nearby, activated her arm-mounted monitor. She rapidly compared the image on the screen to a file of a man named Miguel they had been searching for. Her gaze narrowed as she observed the similarities; both figures bore strikingly identical features—a burn scar on the lower lip, a birthmark on the upper right eye, and a distinctive mole on the right nostril.
“It’s him! It’s Miguel,” Ellie exclaimed, her voice rising with disbelief and relief.
The sudden commotion of the young man hitting the ground, coupled with Asuka's authoritative shout, echoed through the bunker, prompting Jack, Troy, and Anakin to rush back down the corridor to investigate the noise.
“What’s going on?” Jack asked, concern etched on his face. His eyes quickly settled on the stranger sprawled on the floor. “Who’s he?” he probed.
Ellie stepped forward, her voice urgent as she informed Jack, “It’s Miguel.”
Jack approached Miguel cautiously, his expression shifting from confusion to determination. “You have intelligence that we need, and you’re going to share it with us,” he stated firmly, leaning in closer, emphasizing the seriousness of the situation.
At last, Miguel gathered his thoughts and spoke, his voice low but steady. “If I agree to help, I have some demands that need to be met first.”
“Name them,” Jack insisted, unwavering in his resolve.