The blinking red dots on Eliza's screen multiplied, spreading across the map like blood vessels. They weren't just tracking Adam—they were closing in, fast and coordinated. They moved like they had rehearsed it, like they knew the layout of this place better than she did.
"How many?" Adam asked, already pulling on his boots, hands moving with practiced urgency.
Eliza's fingers flew across the keyboard. Her brow furrowed. "Three squads. Maybe four. One from the east corridor. Two coming in from sewer access. We've got two minutes, tops."
Adam scanned the room. It was cluttered with old tech, worn-out machinery, and hastily labeled crates. He pointed toward the corner. "That locker still got my stuff?"
Without looking, Eliza tossed a rusted key over her shoulder. "Don't break anything I actually need."
He caught it, crouched, and pried open the steel container. Inside lay a dusty arsenal: plasma-charged knuckle plates, a photon flare stick, and a worn SHIELD breather mask. He grabbed all three. The plates snapped onto his hands with a magnetic hiss.
"They're not here for a chat," he muttered, strapping on the mask.
Eliza shot him a look. "Yeah, no kidding. I'm not leaving until I wipe the servers. Everything I've got on you — your readings, scans, background — all of it."
The lab's metal door let out a groan. A thud. Then another. Heavy, deliberate. It was about to blow.
Adam stepped closer. "How long do you need?"
"Thirty seconds. Less if they didn't bring toys."
He braced a hand against the desk. Antimatter tingled along his arms, whispering for release. He shut his eyes, breathed slowly.
"I'll hold them off."
He flipped open the side panel, rerouted power to the bulkhead. The blast door slammed shut. Overhead lights dimmed.
"Manual override's set. If I don't make it—"
Eliza didn't respond. Her hands were a blur on the keys. The console pinged.
Data transfer complete.
A loud crack. The doorframe buckled.
"That's it! Move!" she shouted, grabbing the drive.
Adam pulled her toward the emergency shaft. The lab erupted behind them—metal and flame. Shouts chased them down the tunnel.
They sprinted through the underground corridor, dodging wires and debris. The air stank of mold and ozone.
"Where's this go?" Adam's voice strained.
"North district. Old water control. Forty blocks. Stash there."
Adam winced, tripping over a pipe. His energy flickered, weak.
"The ping didn't just alert them," he said. "It's messing with me. I'm not stable."
They turned a corner—and froze.
Two mercs. Weapons ready.
Adam shoved Eliza aside and launched a pulse. One man flew back, armor sparking. The second rushed in with a baton.
Adam stepped in, caught the swing, twisted, and dropped him with a punch to the ribs.
Panting, Adam leaned on the wall.
"You good?" Eliza asked.
"Yeah," he lied. His hand trembled.
He picked up a helmet.
"These suits—mine. Tweaked versions. Designed to absorb antimatter."
Eliza frowned. "So someone's digging in old closets."
"Or got a key to one."
They moved fast. No time to dwell.
The tunnel narrowed, sloping upward. A low vibration buzzed the walls. Lights flickered.
Adam paused. "You feel that?"
"Not from them," Eliza said. "Something else."
They climbed. Adam reached the hatch first and listened.
Silence.
He opened it.
A man stood waiting.
Clean clothes. Civilian. A faintly humming grav-knife in his hand.
He smiled, calm. "Glad you made it."
Adam stepped between him and Eliza. "Who are you?"
The man's eyes didn't smile. "Let's just say... I lit the path they followed."
[To Be Continued]
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