The Resistance soldiers continued their descent along the narrow shaft.
The air grew colder and stale as they ventured deeper. Their shadows stretched longer on different surfaces and seemed to follow them.
They moved silently, each soldier inspecting their weapon meticulously.
The quiet clinking and clattering of metal punctuated their steps.
Fransisco reloaded his SCAR-H, the magazine locking in place with a solid click. Then he reached into his pack, pulling out his last suicide drone.
He wiped the dusted sensor with a dirty rag quickly.
Ahead of him, Maxwell worked silently.
He mounted a compact box to his chest, assembling his rifle piece by piece.
He connected the internal parts, sealing the machinery with the receiver until his firing chamber was whole.
Then he connected the barrel of the rifle into the receiver.
Beside him, Franklin tended to his own gear. He adjusted the few remaining rounds in his magazine, ensuring every bullet was properly seated.
He slid the magazine back into place, pulling the charging handle twice. All safe. The gun was not jammed.
Satisfied, he nodded to himself. This was his last magazine—every bullet would have to count.
Maxwell’s fingers tightened on the charging handle of his sniper rifle, his face was very serious.
He placed the 20mm ammo into the chamber of his Denel NTW-20, the massive round fitting snugly as he closed the chamber.
Clank
The door sealed the firing chamber and the sound echoed through the shaft, drawing the attention of the others.
Nearby, Stan finished locking the bolt of his M2010 sniper rifle, glancing at Maxwell who was carrying the rifle taller than him. Stan gave him a small nod.
“Looks like we’re the ones left now.”
Carina murmured, her voice barely breaking the silence. She glanced at Fransisco, then her gaze moved to Franklin, Maxwell, Stan, Oliver, and Ezra, each of them in various stages of final checks.
…
Orion’s pulse hammered as he counted the few remaining magazines. His gaze shifted to each teammate—Danny, Pharrell, Aban, Igar, Arya, Hans, Arwan, Rafael, Rega, and Rocky—each one reloading, their eyes steeled.
With a sharp nod, Orion drew a deep breath, took point, and pushed through the exit.
In an instant, his instincts flared—he snapped his head left, weapon raised, just as Carina stepped out from the opposite direction.
Both froze for a split second, eyes wide with recognition. In that moment, they pulled the trigger.
Franklin lunged, yanking Carina back just as Orion’s bullet grazed the wall behind her. In one swift movement, Franklin steadied himself and returned fire, rounds whizzing past Orion.
Orion tried his best to not flinch. He fired one more round out of his rifle. That bullet crashed into Franklin's left knee.
Pain stabbed Franklin, throwing off his aim as his shots veered wildly, with only a few grazing the edge of Orion's hood, and hitting the stone behind him.
Gritting his teeth, Orion ducked back to cover, passing his position to Rega, already with a grenade launcher in his hands.
Without hesitation, he fired off all the rounds, each one arcing toward the Resistance’s grounds.
Six explosive shells crossed through the air, coming in fast to their enemies’ grounds.
“Grenades!”
Franklin exclaimed, as soon as the grenade shells became visible.
He dropped his machine gun and flung himself back inside.
Six grenades slammed into the ground. The ground shook as the grenades hit, erupting one after another.
Each explosion tore through rock and splintered wooden beams, filling the air with shrapnel that whistled through the chaos.
Smoke and dust choked the area, veiling everything in a cloud of debris and disarray as the Resistance scattered.
Through the dense smoke, a sound split the air. A 20mm Anti-Materiel round ripped straight toward Rega.
It crashed into his chest, destroying his rib cage and everything inside, and sending his body rocketing back nearly 20 feet before he crashed to the ground, motionless.
Maxwell, eyes wide, ducked back to reload.
At the same time, Aban and Arwan seized the moment, leaning from their cover and unleashing a relentless hail of bullets toward the Resistance’s stronghold.
Taking advantage, Orion hurled a hand grenade, watching as it arced through the air—landing perfectly by the enemy’s entrance.
“Shit!”
Franklin spotted it instantly and threw himself forward, diving onto the grenade in a last-second attempt to shield his team. Stray bullets from Aban and Arwan struck him mid-leap, but he reached the grenade in time.
The blast erupted, muffled as it tore through Franklin’s body, leaving only charred fragments in his place.
The fire paused briefly as Aban and Arwan retreated to reload. Carina witnessed all that. Immediately, she scooped up Rasyid's Reapr LMG and opened fire.
The weapon roared as she unleashed every remaining round, hammering the enemy’s cover and giving her team precious seconds to reposition.
“I’ll buy some time!”
Carina yelled, her voice nearly lost under the relentless gunfire as she fought against the LMG’s recoil.
“As soon as I stop, you hit them, Stan!”
“Got it!”
Stan replied, locking his stance and steadying his rifle right behind her, positioning himself for a clean shot.
His breath slowed, eyes narrowing as he tracked the enemies through the smoke, ready to strike the moment Carina ceased fire.
As soon as Carina’s gunfire ceased, Hans, Aban, and Arya seized the chance to peek out, hoping for a tactical edge.
But Stan was faster. In one fluid motion, he took aim and fired, his shot echoed through the air as it hit Arya square in the temple, dropping him instantly.
Igar and Aban retaliated, their UIC 10A and M4 Block II rifles blazing as they fired back.
But Maxwell was ready. He squeezed off a precise round, hitting Igar square in the chest. The impact sent Igar’s body hurtling back seven feet before he hit the ground, lifeless.
Suddenly, Hans peeked out.
Eyes burning with malice as he raised his M1870 Vetterli. He took a quick but deadly aim and fired.
The 10.35mm round slammed into Maxwell’s left shoulder, tearing through flesh and bone.
“Fuck! I’m hit!”
Maxwell grunted, dropping his weapon as pain surged through him.
Ezra immediately went to the cave entrance and dragged Maxwell back into cover just as Stan turned his sights on Hans, returning fire in a furious barrage.
But Hans was already facing the onslaught, snarling defiantly—
Shriek
A round found its mark faster, piercing his forehead.
Blood and brain matter sprayed out as his body crumpled.
Between the chaos, Oliver rushed to Maxwell's side with medkits in hand. He wasted no time, pouring potent fentanyl onto the open wound before tightly wrapping it with a long bandage.
The screams of agony from Maxwell filled the air as Oliver desperately tried to save him from bleeding out.
“You guys seem to be in trouble!”
Rocky shouted, a spark of confidence in his eyes.
“We’ll cover while you shoot!”
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“No! Don’t bother!”
Orion yelled back.
“They’re low on ammo, their best sniper’s down! We’re going in!”
“That sounds better.”
Aban grinned, wiping the sweat from his face. He recalled his taunt to Caleb that morning.
“Nah, I’d win.”
Orion counted down with his fingers—three, two, one.
On one, they sprang forward, surging toward the enemy's position.
Behind them, Hans sat deathly still.
His skin was as pale as rice, his blood frozen in place, his hands still clutching his Vetterli. But his body was long gone.
Stan caught sight of the advancing enemies. He spun around, reloading frantically, his voice shaking.
“They’re rushing!”
“How many?”
Carina demanded, her tone cold and focused. She reached for a sleek iron device that looked like a solar panel—the same one she’d revealed when she first met Ezra.
“All of them!”
Stan’s eyes were wide as he pressed his back against the cover, trembling.
A sly smirk crept across Carina’s face.
“Then we rush, too.”
She deployed the Ray Shielding, as she sprinted out of her cover and rushed to the enemy's line, followed by Ezra, Fransisco and Oliver, while Stan and Maxwell stayed behind together, manning their sniper rifles while Maxwell was dismantling his rifle, replacing the entire system with the 14.5mm variant using a conversion kit.
The Ray Shielding reflected their surroundings smoothly, Carina behind it was completely invisible from the front.
Once the distance between Carina and Orion was close, Carina threw the shield away as at the same time she fired her pistol at Orion. The bullets crashed into his helmet, bouncing off.
Orion reflexively moved out of the way as he fired his HK-417 before even aiming it at Carina.
Carina immediately dashed to his back as Orion started aiming the rifle at her.
As it fired 7 times, the HK-417 was destroyed in half, the bullets in the magazines fell out as Orion quickly looked to the right.
It was Stan, his rifle was still smoking. Quickly, he pulled the bolt, ejecting the casing, and loaded another one into the firing chamber, targeting Orion.
Suddenly, Rocky pushed Orion away as he sprayed the bullets from his P90 to Stan.
At the same time, Stan opened fire, his bullet penetrated through the P90, destroying the entire mechanical systems and flew into his chest.
At the same time, Maxwell pulled the trigger of his rifle and fired at Rocky, the 14.5mm shell slammed into his head, blowing it away as his body flew back.
Pharrell leaped from behind Orion, his boot striking Carina square in the chest, sending her stumbling back with a sharp gasp.
She recovered fast, her eyes narrowing as she leveled her pistol and fired point-blank. Each shot pounded against Pharrell’s torso—but the bullets crashed uselessly against his blazer, the armor holding firm.
In a heartbeat, Pharrell had his Deagle raised, the muzzle aimed squarely at her.
Carina twisted left, narrowly dodging the .50 cal round that tore past her. She responded without missing a beat, throwing her empty pistol like a missile.
It hit Pharrell hard across the face, making him flinch as his eyes watered from the impact.
Her weapon clattered to the ground, but she was already moving. In one swift, brutal motion, she drove her middle finger into Pharrell’s left eye.
“Aaagh!”
He screamed, stumbling back, his good eye wild with fury.
Carina seized the moment, launching herself forward.
Her fingers curled around his Deagle, ripping it from his hand.
She swung it up to aim at his chest, her finger tight on the trigger.
Pharrell immediately whipped out a second pistol.
He pulled off a tight, defensive Center Axis Relock stance, the muzzle inches from her.
His trigger finger moved like a machine, unloading shot after shot into her chest.
Each round slammed into Carina’s blazer, pushing her back but never penetrating.
She gritted her teeth, feeling the bruises forming as she absorbed the barrage.
Pharrell’s eyes flickered in disbelief as she kept coming, unfazed.
Before he could react, she retaliated, firing a .50 cal round into his abdomen.
The impact hit like a hammer, and he doubled over, his face twisted in agony.
The round hadn’t pierced his blazer, but the sheer force had left him gasping.
But before she could squeeze the trigger again, a shadow moved—Orion burst into her peripheral vision.
His arm wrapped around her neck like an iron bar, yanking her back before slamming her to the ground with brutal force.
Her skull crashed against the concrete, and her vision blurred as pain shot through her head.
She twisted and kicked, but Orion’s weight pinned her down, his grip unbreakable.
The ground blurred beneath her, and she let out a strangled cry as she struggled.
“Get off her!”
A voice roared.
Oliver raced toward them, his weapon discarded.
Without hesitation, he leapt at Orion, his fingers latching onto Orion’s head, pulling his head back as as he drove his hand viciously into his neck, smashing his Adam's apple into his throat.
Orion’s grip slackened instantly, his gasp a strangled wheeze.
Carina wrenched herself free, dragging in a desperate breath as Oliver drove his knee into Orion’s gut with relentless force.
Orion crumpled, clutching his throat and abdomen as he wheezed, pain etched across his face.
Carina rolled onto her back, her chest heaving, her vision still reeling from the impact.
Blood smeared her lips as she pressed her hand against the cold, unyielding ground, forcing herself up.
Oliver wrestled Orion on the ground, fists and feet flying in a brutal struggle, neither man yielding an inch.
Oliver’s relentless kicks and punches kept Orion pinned, denying him any chance to rise, both men grappling for control as they rolled across the blood-streaked floor.
Nearby, Danny raised his AA-12 shotgun, locking his aim onto Oliver’s back.
His finger tightened on the trigger—but before he could fire, Stan appeared like a shadow, thrusting his sniper rifle, with a combat knife fixed to the barrel, straight toward Danny’s gut.
Danny reacted instantly, swinging his shotgun around to meet the threat, but Stan was faster.
With a flick of his grip of his rifles, Stan knocked the shotgun barrel away from his body.
For a split second, the two men locked eyes, each aware of the barrel now pointed squarely at Danny’s chest and Danny's shotgun barrel was traversing to Stan's head.
The deafening roar of gunfire filled the space as both men fired, the simultaneous blasts echoing off the walls.
When the smoke cleared, it was Stan who stood, panting, victorious.
Danny’s shotgun slipped from his grasp, and he dropped to the ground, a hole was on his chest, blood pooling beneath him.
“Dance with me!”
A voice taunted from the shadows.
Before Stan could react, Rafael sprang up from behind Danny’s lifeless body, twin Schmidt M1882 pistols gleaming in his hands.
He aimed them directly at Stan, his grin cold and merciless, his glasses reflecting the deadly gleam of the muzzle.
Without hesitation, Rafael fired, unleashing a hailstorm of bullets that ripped through the air with deadly precision.
Stan braced himself, his heart pounding, fully expecting the impact.
But… nothing.
Stan opened his eyes, surprised to find himself unscathed.
His gaze darted around, trying to understand. And then he saw Maxwell standing between him and Rafael, an enormous NTW-20 rifle pressed against Rafael’s chest at point-blank range.
Maxwell’s face was streaked with blood, his eyes glistening with pain, yet he wore a triumphant smirk, his chin stained with blood.
In one smooth motion, Maxwell pulled the trigger, the monstrous 14.5mm round detonating into Rafael’s abdomen.
The impact tore through him with brutal force, his torso exploding in a spray of gore as his dismembered body crumpled lifelessly to the floor.
Maxwell’s strength waned as he collapsed onto his knees, his body hitting the pool of blood beneath him. Adrenaline surged through his veins, but his wounds gushed with unrelenting force.
He clutched his sides with shaking hands, trying to stem the flow, his fingers slick with crimson.
“Maxwell!”
Stan’s voice was raw with desperation. He sprinted towards him, heedless of the danger at his back. But behind him, Arwan was already lining up his AAC Honey Badger, his gaze steady and ruthless.
“Stan! Watch out!”
Carina’s scream cut through the chaos as she spotted Arwan aiming from behind.
With split-second instinct, Fransisco barreled forward, crashing into Arwan before he could pull the trigger. The two men hit the ground, sliding several meters across the blood-streaked floor. Fransisco scrambled to his feet, whirling on his heel to throw Arwan off balance.
But Arwan recovered almost instantly, gripping his Honey Badger and firing at Fransisco in a single, precise shot. Fransisco twisted left, dodging just enough for the bullet to graze past, and he retaliated by shooting the rifle clean out of Arwan’s hands.
As Fransisco leveled his weapon at Arwan, ready to end it, Arwan whipped a Beretta 92 from his waistband and unloaded it mercilessly into Fransisco. Each shot hammered into Fransisco’s chest, where his armor was weakest. He staggered back, blood sputtering from his mouth as he fought to stay upright, his vision darkening at the edges.
Carina was at his side in seconds, her Deagle raised—but an empty click echoed as she pulled the trigger. No rounds left.
Arwan lunged, seizing Fransisco’s SCAR-H. He spun on his heel, aiming it straight at Carina.
In a desperate move, Fransisco, barely standing, swung his elbow into Arwan’s jaw with all the force he could muster. Arwan staggered, and Fransisco took advantage, yanking the SCAR-H from his grip.
He slammed the rifle into full-auto and fired wildly at the ground, ripping apart the soft rock beneath them. The floor trembled, cracks snaking outward in a widening web.
Fransisco drove the buttstock of the rifle into Arwan’s face, momentarily dazing him.
Arwan’s grip slackened just enough for Fransisco to kick him back, but the damage was done.
The ground heaved beneath them, splitting with an ominous rumble as the cracks widened into a gaping abyss.
With a lurch, the floor shattered completely, and they plunged into the darkness below, swallowed by the black void as the ground gave way.
As they plummeted into the abyss, Maxwell's lifeless form knelt eerily on the shattered ground above, eyes blank as he disappeared into the darkness below.
Watching chaotic freefall, Ezra frantically scanned his surroundings.
He could see Stan, Oliver and Fransisco hanging on Carina’s legs, with white-knuckled hands on one side, while Orion fought to hold onto Pharrell and Arwan on the other.
The weight was tearing at their bodies, straining them to the breaking point.
“This is really it, huh? Just the rest of us?”
A voice, smooth and unfazed, echoed above the clamor. Ezra whipped his head forward to see Aban, coolly igniting a cigar with an iron lighter. An M4 Block II dangled from his shoulder, his face unreadable beneath the soft glow of the ember.
“Man... everyone's already dead. Caleb was right to let me lead the rushing division. He and I were not suited to be tank commanders after all.”
Aban mused, tossing the lighter away and letting smoke curl from his lips.
"This is the last magazine in my gun." His tone was casual, almost lazy.
Ezra’s eyes darted to the few shells he had left in his KSG-12, fingers trembling as he did a quick count. Only three.
“Do you know how many pellets are in a birdshot?”
Aban continued, smoke drifting from his mouth.
“Too many. Can’t count them on all the fingers of your hands and toes combined.” He grinned, voice echoing with a hint of dark humor. “You’ve got more firepower in that one shell than I do in my entire magazine.”
Ezra raised his shotgun slowly, but in the blink of an eye, Aban vanished. Heart hammering, Ezra swung the barrel around, his mind racing to anticipate where the next attack might come from.
A glint—a flash—and he saw Aban darting toward him with inhuman speed.
Aban skidded to a halt just feet away, raising his rifle. Gunfire exploded between them as Ezra dodged and weaved, every bullet narrowly missing him, tearing into the crumbling ground beneath.
Ezra’s pulse thundered as Aban appeared right in front of him again, closing the gap in a split second. Instinctively, Ezra fired his shotgun, but Aban twisted out of the line of fire, effortlessly evading each shot. Aban’s dark figure blurred again, disappearing, only to reappear in another volley of bullets that finally struck Ezra’s left arm, sending him to his knees with a cry of pain.
Meanwhile, Fransisco, blood streaming from open wounds, was climbing desperately above, pulling himself over Oliver’s body, leaving smears of red as he ascended. Every pull tore a scream from Carina, her body at the limit, muscles stretched as she fought to hold on.
Below, Arwan, one hand clutching Pharrell’s leg, fumbled to reload his gun. With frantic urgency, Oliver reached for a fresh magazine in his pocket, only for it to slip through his fingers and vanish into the abyss. A curse tore from his lips.
“Fuck!”
He shouted, looking up to see Arwan, trembling with exertion, take aim at Carina’s hands.
A sharp crack split the air as Arwan’s first shot struck the stone just inches from her, then another ricocheted off the ground near her grip.
Stan’s urgent voice cut through the chaos.
“Gentlemen, we need to lighten the load!”
His words sank into Oliver’s mind like cold steel, crystallizing into one resolve.
“We… we have to make sure she survives this.”
Fransisco whispered through gritted teeth, tightening his grip on Oliver’s shoulder.
Oliver’s gaze darted to Ezra, still locked in his deadly dance with Aban, ducking and dodging, bullets narrowly missing with each move.
Relief coursed through Oliver at Ezra’s skill, but they needed a sacrifice. He inhaled deeply, eyes hardening.
“Let’s do it,”
He said, locking eyes with Ezra.
“I trust you with the rest.”
As if on cue, Oliver released his grip on Stan. Without hesitation, Stan threw himself with his arms and wrapped himself around Carina, hugging her tightly from behind.
Arwan’s next shot fired, missing again but dangerously close.
Then he steadied his aim, sweat dripping as he focused on Carina’s hands.
Stan’s arms tightened as he took a final breath, ready for the onslaught.
At the same time, Arwan pulled the trigger, and Stan’s body took the barrage, emptying his entire magazine—each bullet ripping into his arms and head.
Blood spattered, but he held strong until, with a last burst of effort, he released Carina from his embrace and plummeted into the abyss, leaving her safe above.
Fransisco let out a roar, launching himself from Oliver’s shoulder, his last bit of strength fueling a final act.
He hurled a small, sleek suicide drone like a lifeline, watching as it streaked through the dark toward its target.
As he fell, darkness consuming his vision, the drone hit its mark, slamming into Arwan’s head.
The impact sent Arwan’s figure spiraling out of control, disappearing into the shadows below.
Ezra looked on, chest heavy with dread, as one by one, his comrades disappeared into the void.
Carina clung desperately to the jagged rocks, her knuckles pale as her body trembled with exhaustion.
She could hear the echoes of distant gunfire, the sounds of struggle that had defined this fight, but each second sapped her strength as she hung precariously between life and the abyss.
Above her, Ezra was locked in his last stand against Aban, who prowled forward with deadly purpose. Aban’s rifle fired, forcing Ezra to dodge and weave, but the relentless barrage drove him back, his options dwindling.
Ezra whirled around to fire his shotgun, hoping to gain a split-second advantage, but his aim missed, the shot going wide. He felt his stomach drop; he was out of ammo, out of time.
Aban didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, slamming the barrel of his rifle into Ezra’s abdomen, shoving him toward the cliff’s edge with merciless force.
Ezra’s hands scrambled for anything to hold onto, but he felt only empty air.
The world spun as he plummeted, the cold bite of gravity yanking him downward, sealing his fate.
In those last, brutal seconds, Ezra looked up, helpless, as Aban’s silhouette loomed overhead.
His vision began to blur, but he could still make out Aban's face, twisted in a cruel, mocking grin.
Aban raised his rifle and aimed, his cold gaze meeting Ezra’s as he squeezed the trigger.
Three shots rang out in quick succession, each one striking with unerring precision.
The bullets tore through Ezra’s body, and he felt a searing pain spread through his chest before the world went dark, his last thoughts fading as he surrendered to the void.
Carina, still gripping the ledge, had witnessed it all. She screamed.
Her voice, raw with grief, echoed through the empty expanse and reverberated against the cliffside.