Chapter 234
Tricked
"Did you hear something?" Masie said with a frown, her head tilting slightly in the direction of the sound. It had been faint—like a snap or a crack—but it was enough to make her chest tighten.
Derren glanced over at her with a raised brow. "What? I didn't hear shit. Did you imagine it?"
Masie didn't respond right away. Her frown deepened as she kept staring toward the source of the sound. Something didn't sit right. It wasn't just the noise—there was a strange weight pressing against her chest now, like a warning. An unease she couldn't explain.
"I don't know," she muttered. "It sounded like… something. And now I've got this feeling." She turned to face Derren more fully. "Should we go take a quick check? I've got a bad feeling…"
Derren's face twisted into a grimace. He folded his arms and let out an annoyed breath. "Oh come on. It's probably nothing. It won't take more than a few seconds, and if anything really happened out there, they'd have shouted or let off a gunshot. There's no need to get jumpy."
His words were calm, even confident—but they didn't help.
Masie bit her lip, still staring at the warehouse entrance. The feeling only grew stronger by the second, crawling down her spine like a chill.
Something was wrong.
She just didn't know what.
Derren ignored her and walked deeper into the warehouse. His footsteps echoed faintly as he stepped past the threshold, and almost immediately the atmosphere shifted.
Outside, the warehouse had looked abandoned—weather-worn corrugated steel, dirt-streaked windows, and rust flaking off the hinges. But inside… it was almost the opposite.
The concrete floor was unnaturally clean, with wide drains built subtly into the surface at regular intervals. Overhead, industrial lights buzzed faintly in long rows, their cold white glare bathing everything in a sterile, almost surgical brightness. The air inside was cool and dry—recycled through a humming ventilation system that ran like clockwork along the rafters.
To the left, steel tables were lined in long, neat rows—metal trays, scales, and various bits of unfamiliar equipment laid out in disturbingly precise configurations. Plastic canisters were stacked nearby, each labelled with meaningless strings of letters and numbers. Clear glass tubes fed into black hoses that disappeared into the walls.
Further along, metal shelves held dozens of sealed vacuum bags filled with fine white or tan powders, each labeled with hand-scrawled codes and taped over with multiple layers of opaque wrap. Digital monitors on the side walls blinked softly with graphs, timers, and temperature readouts. There was even a climate-controlled storage room near the back, locked tight behind a reinforced glass door.
A few workstations had protective gloves and aprons hanging beside them, untouched but ready. There were ventilation hoods hanging over several metal sinks, and odd-smelling residues clung faintly to some of the equipment—just enough to burn slightly at the back of the throat if you breathed too deeply.
In one corner, stacked nearly to the ceiling, was a towering mass of brown, unmarked packages. They were sealed tightly in thick wrapping tape, uniform in shape and size, and each one perfectly aligned like they were just waiting to be picked up or delivered elsewhere.
Derren didn't linger long. He moved toward one of the utility racks near the back wall, rummaging briefly before pulling out a small plastic can of lighter fluid and an old metal lighter. Both items were easy to find—too easy. A place like this would need flame sources for maintenance, repairs, or emergency burns. And judging by the faint chemical smells and sterilized surfaces, there were likely other reasons they kept flammable materials close at hand.
Their intent wasn't to destroy the truck completely—that would've been unrealistic with what they had. But it didn't need to burn to ashes. Setting the interior on fire would be enough. The flames could melt the electronics, fry any tracking systems, and leave it useless. That alone would buy them time… or at least slow down whoever was chasing them.
Masie remained near the entrance, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She hadn't moved since he walked off. Her eyes scanned the room, her expression twisted into something between disgust and quiet dread. The longer she stood there, the more her shoulders tensed.
"Why did we even come to this place?" she asked slowly, her voice thick with distaste. It wasn't just discomfort—it was personal. Her lips curled slightly as she looked around at the silent equipment, the packages, the hidden machinery humming beneath the silence.
Derren returned to her side and didn't answer right away. He flicked the lighter once, testing it, then pocketed both items before speaking. "We had no choice," he said simply. "It was the closest place. And the path formation here gives us the edge if anyone tries to make a move."
He paused, then looked at her directly. "I know you don't like it. But this is what you signed up for."
Masie turned away from his gaze, her eyes low, her fists clenched tight at her sides. "No," she muttered under her breath, barely audible. "No… it isn't."
Derren shook his head, exhaling. "Anyways," he said flatly, "let's get out of here."
They quickly exited the warehouse—and were immediately met with silence.
Not just quiet, but a heavy, unnatural kind of silence that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The kind that meant something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Masie felt her heart drop. Her steps faltered for half a second. They had only been inside for a little more than a minute… and now everyone was gone.
Derren stepped in close beside her, his eyes wide and scanning the open space in front of them. His voice cracked under his rising panic. "Where is everyone!? Did they get them!? Where did they go!?"
Masie was just as shaken. She tried to stay calm, but her breath was shallow and her pulse thundered in her ears. The truck was still there—but there was no sign of the others.
It confirmed one thing without a doubt: someone was here. An enemy.
And they had already made their move.
She grabbed Derren's arm tightly. "We have to go. Come quick. We don't know where they are!" Her voice was urgent but low, her eyes scanning every corner of the lot as she pulled him with her.
Behind them was the water—There would be no escape in that direction. Their only path forward was the way they'd come.
Right past the truck.
They moved fast, but not recklessly, with their guns raised. Their eyes flickered to every shadow, every corner. The open space now felt like a trap, and somewhere out there, the hidden enemy was watching.
Waiting.
They got closer to the truck, cautiously making their way along the edge of the path. Just as they rounded the corner, Derren suddenly stopped and pointed. His voice jumped with surprise.
"Wait—look! Over there!"
Near the back of the truck, slumped on the ground, were the other three. They were tied up—wrists bound roughly with rope that looked like it had been scavenged from nearby supplies. Their heads were down, faces partially obscured, but they were clearly conscious and breathing.
Derren let out a relieved, half-panicked shout. "Guys! What's wrong with you!? Why are you tied up!?" He immediately started moving toward them, his pace quickening.
But Masie didn't move.
She didn't feel relief. If anything, her dread spiked even harder. Her body locked up, her breath caught in her throat.
Something was wrong.
Why were they tied up like that? she thought. If someone could subdue all three of them so easily, where were they now? Why leave them alive? Why leave them here in plain sight?
And the rope—why use something so ordinary? If it was an ascender, why not kill them or drag them away? Why take the time to bind them and then vanish?
Was this a trap? A distraction? Were they even really unconscious—or just bait?
Masie's eyes darted across the surrounding area, heart pounding. Her instincts screamed at her.
Something wasn't right.
And she had the terrible feeling that whatever had done this … was still watching them.
Masie suddenly threw out her hand and shouted, "Wait! We're being tricked!"
Her voice cracked through the stillness like a whip.
Derren froze mid-step, blinking in confusion, just starting to turn back toward her. But before either of them could move—
Bang!
The sound of a fierce gunshot split the air.
Masie's scream caught in her throat as a hot, piercing pain exploded through her right thigh. Her leg gave out immediately, and she collapsed to the ground with a grunt, the world tilting sideways as the ground rushed up to meet her.
She had been shot.
The impact left her breathless. Her hands scrambled against the dirt, instinctively clutching at the wound as blood began to soak through her pants. The pain was sharp, blinding—and for a split second, everything else faded except the fire in her leg and the distant ringing in her ears.
Masie could only stay down, the pain burning too sharply to move.