The woods exhaled a damp chill as dawn crept through the trees, painting the sky a bruised gray. Aadi leaned heavily on a gnarled branch, its rough bark biting into his palm, his stitched calf throbbing with every heartbeat, blood crusting the gauze. The hum in his chest pulsed unevenly, a defiant flicker against the weight of their wounds and the looming trap at east ridge. Manisha sat against a tree, her broken arm cradled in a makeshift sling torn from her shirt, her thigh wrapped tight but still seeping blood. Neha knelt beside her, notebook open on the dirt, her bruised temple a stark purple, blood flaking from her nose as she traced Ramesh's sketch of the ridge with a trembling finger. Shade's body lay a few yards away, a crumpled heap, his blood-soaked blade glinting faintly—a grim reminder of how close they'd come.
The pistol weighed heavy in Aadi's hand, its clip half-empty, the medkit's painkiller dulling his agony but not his dread. Kael's warning—"East ridge, 3 a.m.? You're walking into a trap"—looped in his skull, tangling with Shade's taunts and the hum's restless buzz. Cell 7 was baiting them, Axiom's jaws poised to snap, but Ramesh's notebook—142.7, 4-7-2-9—was their only thread. The hum urged him forward—hit them, break them, reset if it failed.
"We can't stay," Aadi said, voice rough, the hum steadying his resolve. "They'll track Shade's signal—or Kael's. East ridge by noon, like we planned."
Manisha looked up, her smirk faint through the pain, her braid frayed and dirt-streaked. "Noon? We're barely standing, Aadi. My arm's bust, your leg's a mess, and Neha's seeing double. Are you sure about this trap?"
Neha adjusted the notebook, her voice soft but firm despite the wince creasing her face. "It's a trap, but it's also real. Ramesh's code got us out—his intel's solid. Cell 7's drop is there. We hit it, we hurt them."
Aadi nodded, gripping the branch tighter. "Exactly. They expect us to run, not fight. I'm bait—draw them in. You two flank, use the ridge's cover. If it goes bad, I reset."
Manisha snorted, wincing as she shifted her arm. "You and that reset. Hope it's got enough juice for this shitshow."
"It will," Aadi said, the hum a vow—it has to. "Let's move. Patch what we can, head out."
They worked fast, the medkit's scraps stretched thin. Aadi rewrapped his calf, blood soaking the fresh gauze, the painkiller's edge fading. Manisha taped her thigh tighter, her broken arm useless but her grip on the rusted pipe fierce. Neha bound her head with a strip of cloth, her fingers steady as she pocketed the notebook, the pistol's spare clip tucked in her belt. They left Shade's body behind, his milky eye staring at nothing, and limped north toward the ridge, the river's murmur guiding them through the mist.
By noon, the east ridge rose ahead—a jagged spine of wooded hills, its trails choked with roots and loose rock, the river snaking below a steep drop. The air was heavy, clouds thickening, a faint rumble of thunder in the distance. Aadi crouched behind a boulder, the pistol ready, his calf screaming but braced against the ground. Manisha and Neha hid in a thicket to his left, the pipe and notebook their only weapons, their faces set with grim resolve.
The ridge was quiet—too quiet, like the biscuit factory's eerie hush. No birds, no wind, just the hum's restless buzz and the faint crackle of static in Aadi's pocket—the comms unit, powered by a scavenged battery from the medkit, tuned to 142.7. A voice flickered through, clipped and low: "Cell 7, perimeter secure. Quarry expected—hold for signal."
Aadi's stomach twisted, the hum spiking—they're here. "They know we're coming," he whispered, signaling Manisha and Neha. "Stay low, wait for my move."
Neha nodded, her pencil scribbling a quick map in the dirt—trails, a clearing, a rocky outcrop. "That clearing," she murmured, pointing. "Likely spot for the drop—open, but flanked by cover. We hit from the sides."
Manisha gripped the pipe, her good hand steady. "I'll take left—smash anything that moves.
Neha, you're right. Aadi, don't screw this up."
He flashed a strained grin, the hum a war drum. "No promises. Ready?"
They spread out, creeping through the brush, the ridge's uneven ground a maze of roots and stone. Aadi limped to the clearing's edge, his silhouette deliberate—bait, make them bite. The hum guided him, scars flaring as he spotted movement: three figures in dark gear, rifles slung, unloading crates in the clearing. No Kael, no Shade—just Cell 7, their trap primed.
Aadi stepped into view, pistol raised, voice loud. "Axiom! Drop it, or I shoot!"
The figures spun, rifles snapping up, but hesitated—they want me alive. "Kid's here!" one barked into a radio, voice tense. "Hold fire—command's orders."
Aadi fired, aiming wide—a warning shot that splintered a crate, wood flying. The hum roared, urging chaos—draw them out. The operatives scattered, two diving for cover, the third raising a rifle. Manisha burst from the left, pipe swinging—metal cracked against a helmet, the operative crumpling with a groan. Neha hurled a rock from the right, missing but forcing the second to duck, giving Aadi a clear shot—he fired, grazing the operative's shoulder, blood spraying.
"Flank them!" Aadi shouted, limping forward, his calf buckling but driven by the hum. Manisha charged, pipe smashing a crate—papers spilled, a laptop skidding across the dirt. Neha grabbed it, stuffing it into her jacket, her eyes wide but focused.
The third operative rallied, firing a burst—bullets tore through the brush, one grazing Aadi's arm, blood welling hot. He dropped behind a rock, the hum screaming—reset's close. Manisha swung again, but the operative caught the pipe, wrenching it free and slamming a fist into her jaw—she fell, blood streaming, her broken arm useless.
"Manisha!" Aadi fired, clipping the operative's leg—they stumbled, cursing, but drew a knife, advancing on her. Neha tackled them, a desperate lunge—her small frame no match, but enough to slow them. Aadi crawled forward, pistol shaking, the hum a frantic wail—not again.
A new voice crackled through the comms unit—cold, female, the same from the holding cell. "Cell 7, secure the boy—kill the others. No delays."
Aadi's blood froze, the hum roaring—no, not them. He stood, ignoring his leg's agony, and fired—headshot, clean, the operative dropping. The clearing fell silent, crates scattered, blood pooling in the dirt. Manisha groaned, clutching her jaw, Neha panting beside her, the laptop clutched tight.
"We got it," Neha gasped, holding up the laptop. "Intel—has to be."
Aadi limped to them, the hum settling, but a rustle in the trees snapped his head up—more shadows, rifles glinting. The trap was closing. "Run!" he yelled, shoving Manisha toward the trail. "Down the ridge—now!"
They stumbled forward, Neha supporting Manisha, Aadi covering their rear, pistol raised. Bullets cracked behind them, splintering bark—he fired back, blind, the hum guiding his aim. His calf gave out, and he fell, rolling down a slope, pain blinding—reset, do it. The hum surged, a spark igniting—darkness clawed in, his scream fading as the world unraveled.