The injured officer's breathing was shallow, uneven, each inhale sounding like it scraped through his chest.
Still—
His hand lifted.
Trembling.
"Hand it to me… K-4."
K-4 stepped forward.
Tall.
Broad.
White hair matted with blood and grime, beard streaked the same. His face looked older than it had any right to in that moment, lined deeper by what stood in front of them.
He didn't speak.
Just reached down and placed the device into the man's hand.
Olynk opened his mouth—
Stopped.
Because he knew.
They all did.
It was faster.
No debate followed.
No hesitation.
Each of them moved past the injured man, one by one, giving brief nods, a hand on his shoulder, a glance that said enough.
No words.
The firing resumed as the others began moving.
They fell back toward the stairs, boots hitting broken flooring in quick succession.
The injured officer watched them go.
Managed a small smile.
Barely there.
His head shifted just enough to acknowledge them.
—
