Time stopped.
Mia's pulse thundered in her ears as Langford leveled the pistol at Alex's head. The deputy mayor looked composed, almost serene, like a man delivering a eulogy.
"I have to admit," Langford said, voice echoing off the metal beams, "I hoped you'd all come. Halvorsen promised you'd run. That you'd break. But here you are."
Halvorsen didn't speak. He didn't need to. He stood behind Langford, hands clasped behind his back, his sharp suit immaculate even in the warehouse gloom. The shadows loved him—wrapped around his form like loyalty.
Alex didn't move. His wrists were still bound, but he held his chin high. "You were always the coward behind the curtain," he said. "Still letting others hold the gun."
Langford smiled faintly. "Not always."
Mia raised her phone higher, trying to keep recording, her thumb hovering over the silent panic signal. If she could trigger it, their remaining allies outside—if they hadn't been caught—might still intervene.
Halvorsen finally stepped forward. "Enough."
The warehouse fell silent.
"I was going to let you burn out quietly," he said, addressing all of them. "Your little video stunt. Your righteous little broadcast. It was… spirited. But clumsy."
He looked at Emily.
"Your voice shook, you know. People noticed. People laughed."
Emily stiffened, but didn't respond. Her hand gripped her satchel tight.
"You've stirred up a mess. But a controlled mess. Fires burn. And then we rebuild. Stronger."
Mia's voice cut through the tension. "That's the difference between you and us. We're not trying to rebuild your house. We're trying to tear it down."
Halvorsen gave her a long, unreadable look. "Idealism. So romantic. So fragile."
Then he turned to Alex.
"Tell them, would you?" he said, gesturing to Langford. "Tell them what you told me. Or shall I?"
Alex didn't answer. But his jaw clenched.
Halvorsen stepped closer.
"Alex was mine before he was yours. A long time ago. You think this all started with your little movement? No. It started with a deal. A desperate one. Your friend sold you all out long before your broadcast ever aired."
"Shut up," Alex muttered.
"Truth burns brighter than lies, doesn't it?" Halvorsen said.
Mia felt the shift in the air.
Emily turned to her, whispering, "What do we do?"
"Distract. Scatter," Mia whispered back. "We're not making it out as a group."
"Someone's getting shot," Marla added. "He's going to make an example."
Langford's finger hovered over the trigger.
Mia took a breath. "Wait—"
Too late.
A gunshot cracked through the air.
Alex stumbled—but Langford had fired into the ground beside him.
A warning.
But it was enough.
Mia hit the panic trigger.
The lights in the warehouse flickered—then shut off entirely.
Darkness fell like a trap.
Shouts erupted. Footsteps. Screams.
Mia dropped to the ground, crawling behind the nearest crate. Emily dove behind a forklift, Marla vanished into the shadows. Only Alex remained standing, motionless, until Langford screamed again—
"Get the lights back on! Kill them if you have to!"
Gunfire burst blindly across the warehouse.
Mia's mind raced. They couldn't win in a shootout. But they didn't need to. They just needed evidence—that machine in the center. The thing Halvorsen was loading. It hummed like it was alive.
She crawled toward it, heart pounding.
"Emily!" she called. "Camera—now!"
Emily threw her the phone.
Mia skidded beside the tarp, tearing it back.
What lay beneath was worse than she expected.
Rows of surveillance servers. Labeled faces on rotating displays. Phone transcripts. Location logs. Real-time behavior prediction.
"God," she whispered. "It's not just about money. He's building a control net."
She snapped photo after photo, hands shaking. Files. Names. Data maps tracking social media activity, protest groups, dissenters. The system wasn't just for watching, it was for silencing.
Flashlights flared across the far end of the depot. Halvorsen's voice was low now, urgent.
"They're at the core. Go!"
Mia ducked behind the server stack.
And then—Alex appeared beside her.
"I'm going to end this," he said, eyes wild.
"You don't owe us anything," she replied.
He shook his head. "No. But I owe him."
He looked toward Halvorsen.
"I let him build this. I helped him fund the prototypes. I buried the first names. I thought I could play both sides. But I didn't see it clearly—until you made the town look up."
He reached into his jacket.
Mia tensed. "What are you"
Alex held up a small black detonator.
Mia's breath caught.
"You'll die," she said.
He smiled sadly. "So will the machine."
Then he stood and ran, straight into the open.
Shouts erupted. Flashlights snapped toward him. Langford screamed, "Shoot him!"
But Alex didn't stop.
He sprinted toward the central server array,Mia's recordings clutched in one hand, the detonator in the other.
Halvorsen turned eyes wide for the first time.
"No!"
Alex pressed the trigger.
The explosion wasn't cinematic.
It was real. Loud. Brutal. Ugly.
A shockwave tore through the depot, throwing Mia backward. The server stack exploded into fire. Lights shattered. Steel screamed.
Then smoke.
Mia coughed, disoriented. Something hot dripped down her face. Emily was dragging her behind a crate. Marla was screaming into her transmitter, calling for extraction.
Alex was gone.
The machine was gone.
Halvorsen was
Mia looked up.
He was limping, bloodied but alive, being dragged away by Langford and two guards.
"No!" she rasped.
Emily grabbed her wrist. "We have to go. Now."
They emerged into the night as backup arrived.
Members of the resistance—scattered but furious—descended on the depot. Sirens blared. Helicopters spun overhead. The fire raged behind them, chewing at the warehouse roof like vengeance.
Mia didn't look back.
She couldn't.
They ran through the dark, through brush and briar and mud, until the noise faded.
Until all that remained was smoke and silence.
Hours later, they hid in the ruins of a schoolhouse just outside town.
Emily cleaned Mia's head wound with a strip of cloth. Marla monitored the emergency broadcast lines.
Mia sat in silence.
She stared at her phone, cracked, but intact. Still holding the photos. Still holding the truth.
Emily looked at her. "You okay?"
"No."
She didn't pretend.
"Alex didn't redeem himself," Mia added quietly. "He atoned. That's different."
Emily nodded. "But he gave us the proof."
Mia looked toward the eastern sky. Dawn was approaching, casting gray across the rubble.
"Then we'd better make it count."