Ledeau Facility, Fourth Floor – Containment – 7:15 AM
The hallway trembled with each echoing boom from above. Smoke curled through vents as the first wave of private security operatives pressed into the bowels of the estate. Their black uniforms and mirrored visors reflected the red emergency lights in the corridors.
Somewhere down the tunnel, Director Renneté's voice crackled through every operative's earpiece:
> Renneté (over comm): "Wolf, Canessane — status?"
Brendon pressed his back to the wall beside a collapsed stasis pod, pistol trained ahead. His boots slipped in spilled coolant. Beside him, Matt readied a flashbang; Christopher knelt over Réa, shielding her with his back while the uplink device blinked its final bars of progress.
Brendon (whisper): "We're pinned. Four hostiles at the south entrance, two by the broken tanks."
Renneté (firm): "Copy. Gray and Elen are on perimeter — hold your ground. Extraction team is inbound in ninety seconds."
Brendon clicked off his mic. He turned to Matt, voice low:
"We need to clear the path before extraction team comes."
Matt loaded the flashbang into his launcher quietly, sliding along the wall like water. He caught Brendon's eye.
Matt: "On three?"
Brendon nodded. Matt counted silently — one, two —
Matt (upon three): "Flash out!"
A brilliant white bloom swallowed the hallway. Hostiles staggered, firearms swinging wildly. Brendon vaulted forward, firing two precise rounds that cracked through helmets. Matt surged past him, swinging his SMG buttstock into the jaw of a staggered guard. The man crumpled.
Christopher backed away with Réa in his arms, but she waved him off.
Réa (grimacing): "Keep going. I'm — almost — done."
He hesitated, then pressed a hand to her wound, smearing blood on his sleeve.
Christopher: "Bleed on my shirt again, and I'll—"
He cut himself off as another burst of fire spattered sparks off the server racks. A tracer round hissed past Réa's ear.
Renneté (over comm): "Mrs. Renneté to Wolf — can you hear me what's going on?"
Brendon glanced back. Four of the rescued captives stood at the stairwell entrance, cloaked in shadows, one boy beside them laying, probably dead. One of the older boys, eyes rimmed with fever, looked up at him.
Captive: "Sir… please save us!"
Brendon's face hardened. He lifted his pistol.
Brendon: "Lancer, cover the Fus —"
But Matt had already dropped into a crouch, SMG roared as it spat lead into two newer hostiles trying to flank from the broken tanks by the wall. A third guard threw a grenade — Matt's reflexes flashed. He kicked the grenade back; it detonated against the concrete ceiling, raining debris.
Matt (into comm): "Clear on my side. When does the evacuation coming?"
Renneté: "Holding — ETA sixty seconds. You need to move now."
Brendon spun and swept the hallway with his pistol. Two guards backed into his sights. Both went down, one sliding on the floor, the other pitching over a broken pod. He stamped forward and yanked Matt to his feet.
Brendon: "Let's go!"
He pointed to the stairwell. The captives shuffled past him, boarding the flight of stairs. Isla lingered at the back, fingers flickering with electric arcs as she helped an older woman in a tattered coat.
Isla (softly): "You'll be safe now. Go."
The older woman tried to speak, but the sob caught in her throat. Isla gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, then sprinted after Brendon and Matt.
---
Third Floor Landing – 7:17 AM
The stairwell landing was a gauntlet. A team of seven shadow-ops guards waited, rifles trained. They'd sealed the door behind them.
Renneté (over comm, urgent): "Wolf, they're blocking your exit. Two stairwells open — east and west. Use east."
Brendon: "Copy that. East it is."
He nodded to Matt, then to Christopher, who left Réa by an emergency ladder entrance. Brendon kicked the heavy door open; it groaned. A hail of bullets spattered the metal. Brendon ducked low, pistol firing three rapid shots, picking off the two closest.
Matt barreled through beside him, SMG bucking in his grip. He dropped another pair, then slid on his knees, sweeping the legs of the nearest two. Brendon finished them with headshots. Only one remained, staring at them over a kid's cage.
Remaining Operative: "You won't—"
Brendon shot him mid-sentence.
They spilled into the east stairwell, each level a spray of spent casings. Once on the second floor, Isla paused.
Isla: "Wait—"
She laid hands on the railing. Sparks flared, and a shock wave rolled backward, sending two more guards flying. One slammed into the wall; another collapsed into unconsciousness. The railing bent under the force — Isla's control nearly outstripped her strength.
Matt (picking her up): "Wow! Easy, Izzy. Let's keep moving."
Réa (through comm): "Mr. Wolf, I've got visuals on the chopper. Land is clear on the north field."
Renneté: "All teams converge on the north exit. Weapons hot. No hostiles past that point."
Brendon and Matt reached the ground floor door, but it was jammed. Brendon slammed his shoulder into it; a cracking sound. The door didn't budge.
Brendon (into comm): "Door's locked. West stairwell is blown out. We need an override."
Réa: "Let me see. I think I can power down the emergency lock. Ten seconds. You need to be ready."
Tension crackled like static. Brendon scanned the corridor.
Brendon: "I can blow it."
Christopher: "Negative — too close to the hybrids."
The door's lock disengaged with a click. Renneté's voice came in calm, almost brittle under the chaos.
Réa: "Guys exit is clear."
Renneté: "Team. Run now."
They flung the door open and spilled into the cold morning air of the estate's underground courtyard.
---
Courtyard – 7:19 AM
Dawn light painted the courtyard in pale yellows and grays. The hybrid survivors poured out of the hatch, hobbling with relief, some crying, some staring at the sky with disbelief. One by one, they were herded toward waiting transport coaches, their faces etched in thin smiles.
Brendon and Matt covered the rear guard. Isla perched on the low wall, shielding the last two survivors — a teenage boy who clung to her sleeve, and a woman with hollowed cheeks. Christopher and Réa brought up the rear.
Then gunfire erupted from the shadows of the vineyard walls. A squad of shadow-ops had maneuvered through the grape rows, trapping them.
Renneté (over comm): "They slipped through. Provide covering fire; evac vehicles are five meters ahead."
Brendon raised his pistol and fired at the first sniper's muzzle flash. Matt sprinted forward, crouched, and unleashed a three-second burst that sent one operative sprawling. Christopher dropped behind cover, working to load Réa into the final coach. She pressed a hand to her side, blood oozing through her coat.
Réa (hoarsely): "Get the drives… get them to broadcast…"
Isla leapt off the wall, sparks flickering across her arms as she formed a barrier of electricity, deflecting three incoming rounds. The teenage boy followed her lead, eyes alight strangely with newfound power.
Isla: "Hurry!"
Brendon and Matt rallied the surviving agents. With synchronized precision, they laid down suppressive fire. Brendon's pistol barked; Matt's SMG roared. Two operatives went down, one diving into a row of vines. Another charged with a crushed riot shield — Brendon sidestepped and delivered a pistol-whip that sent the man reeling.
Renneté (urgent): "Wolf, three hostiles moving to flank from your six!"
Brendon spun, firing blind rounds, then slammed a fresh mag into his weapon.
Brendon: "Not on my watch."
He kicked gravel at the man closing in, then vaulted onto the coach's bumper to gain height. Matt covered him, stepping on the coach floor as Brendon extended to shoot the final operative in the skull.
At that moment, the chopper descended, dust swirling in its wake. The coach engines roared to life. Mrs. Renneté's field agents waved flares.
Renneté (over comm, triumphant): "Load up! Now!"
Brendon dove back off the coach. Matt scooped up the bleeding Réa. Christopher slammed the hatch shut behind them. The coach pulled away, kicking up dirt and gravel, weaving through the vineyard toward the extraction zone.
Brendon staggered onto the tarmac, then collapsed against a vineyard post, lungs burning.
He looked up as the coach reached the chopper, its blades chopping the dawn sky. One by one, the survivors and agents climbed aboard. Brendon watched until the last door closed.
He brushed his hands across his face, blood and sweat mingling.
Brendon (quietly informs in the comm): "We managed to get everyone out."