After agreeing to help them, Elliot leaned forward, hands clasped on the table.
"So… when do you plan on leaving?"
Luce leaned back in her chair, eyes steady.
"Tonight."
Elliot blinked.
"Tonight?"
"Yeah. Tonight," Bobo echoed, his tone casual but firm as he folded his arms.
Elliot exhaled, thinking.
"Then we take the tunnels."
Bobo's brow lifted.
"Tunnels?"
Luce nodded. "Old ones. They run under the slums and stretch out beneath the water. Council doesn't know they still exist. Folks used them before the war to smuggle people out."
Bobo scoffed lightly.
"Convenient."
Elliot gave him a sharp look.
"They're barely standing. Some sections are half-collapsed. Flooded. We'll be lucky to make it through without getting caught or buried."
"Sounds like a fucking party," Bobo muttered.
Elliot leaned in, lowering his voice.
"We'll need to get past the night patrols just to reach the entrance. Ever since they found out about Desmond… it's been tighter than ever. They're paranoid now. Makes sense—one of their own turned out to be a Defector. A Vice Secretary of Defense at that."
Bobo nodded, jaw tightening at the name.
"So when's our window?" Luce asked.
Elliot checked the watch on his wrist—scratched and faded, but still ticking. "Eight o'clock. Guards rotate every hour. If we move quick after the seven o'clock shift ends, we'll have a gap. Ten minutes, maybe fifteen tops, before they sweep back through."
Bobo glanced at Luce, then back to Elliot.
"Then we pack light and move fast."
Luce cracked her neck and stood.
"I'll get the gear ready."
Elliot looked between them both, his voice quieter now.
"If we get caught out there… we're all dead. They won't arrest us. They'll bury it."
Bobo grinned, that glint of madness behind his eyes.
"Good thing we're hard to kill."
Luce smirked as she disappeared into the hallway.
"Better hope that streak holds."
And just like that, the clock started ticking.
Time slipped by. The sun sank low, casting a warm, orange haze through the windows. Bobo stepped into the living room, his frame filling the space. He wore a tight black compression shirt stretched across his broad chest, grey cargo pants tucked into worn combat boots. His metal arm clanked softly as he adjusted the strap on his shoulder.
"Luce, you got the gear ready?" he called out.
Her voice echoed from the bedroom. "Almost!"
Bobo opened the door to find Luce bent over a pair of open duffel bags, rummaging through weapons and supplies.
"I can't find my spare gun," she muttered, tossing aside a bundle of ammo clips. "Shit."
Bobo leaned against the doorframe.
"It's fine. We're almost outta time anyway."
She stood up straight, brushing her hair back with a sigh. "Yeah, I got enough lead to punch through a riot squad. Here." She handed him a backpack. "There's your shit."
She patted his shoulder with a smirk.
"Got your baby in there."
Bobo chuckled and unzipped the pack.
"Hell yeah…"
From inside, he pulled out a short-handled shotgun with twin barrels mounted side-by-side, a red activation button near the grip. He grinned like a kid at a birthday party. Then came a dense, thick metal rod—he brought it to his side and pressed a button. With a satisfying click-hiss, it telescoped into a three-foot shock-club.
He twirled it once, nodding in appreciation.
"You always get me right, huh, Luce?"
Her laugh came from the other room.
"That's the one thing I like about you, Bo. You're easy to please."
They both stepped into the main room. Luce shrugged into a black leather jacket over her tank top and grabbed a long combat knife from the table, sliding it into the sheath strapped to her thigh. Her movements were sharp, practiced—like someone who knew the weight of battle.
From the adjacent room, Elliot's voice rang out. "Ten minutes! Get your asses in gear!"
He emerged a moment later, pistol in hand, sliding a fresh magazine into place before holstering it beneath his coat. His eyes scanned the two of them as they checked straps and buckles.
"You guys packed?" he asked.
Bobo and Luce both nodded.
"Good," Elliot continued. "You'll follow me. We cut through the alleys—quietly. Tunnels are under a rusted-out car in the junkyard near the Outer Wall. We move fast and don't draw attention. Patrols sweep heavy around this hour."
He looked between them, eyes steady now.
"If we get caught this close to the wall, we don't talk. We don't run. We fight."
Bobo cracked his neck.
"Just how I like it."
Luce pulled her hair into a tight ponytail, eyes sharp.
"Let's get this over with."
Just before they stepped out, a low creak echoed from the ceiling above.
Bobo froze.
His brow furrowed. He slowly reached for the metal rod strapped to his back, thumbed the activation switch, and with a sharp click, the weapon extended into its full three-foot length. He lifted it and gave the ceiling a firm tap-tap.
The sound faded into silence.
"Bo, we gotta move," Luce called from near the door, her voice hushed but urgent.
He lowered the club, still eyeing the ceiling as he slowly backpedaled toward her.
"Yeah… sorry. Thought I heard something."
He gave a small laugh to mask his tension and looked over his shoulder.
"You got rats?"
Luce snorted.
"Hell no. Maybe you're finally going deaf."
Bobo smirked.
"I ain't that old," he muttered, half to himself.
They fell into formation behind Elliot at the front door—tight, ready. Bobo checked his shotgun once more, then nodded. Luce tightened the strap on her backpack, eyes locked forward. Elliot crouched beside the door, listening.
"Right on time," he whispered, glancing back at them. "We ready?"
Luce nodded once, sharp and confident. Bobo gave a single grunt and a nod of his own.
Elliot allowed himself a faint grin.
"Let's go get your friends back."
With a soft click, he slid open the door. The cool night air drifted in as they slipped silently into the dark—three shadows melting into the alleys of the sleeping island.