The Veins weren't supposed to erupt like this. Crates toppled, metal screeched, and shadows ran wild along the damp walls. The air smelled of burned oil, wet concrete, and something coppery that set my teeth on edge.
clatter… bang… drip… hum…
A shout rang out, sharp, almost human, almost machine. Two factions collided, bodies tumbling into overturned carts, boots scraping against slick floors. Sparks leapt from a damaged conduit overhead, reflecting in puddles that trembled like liquid mirrors.
I froze, letting the chaos wash over me, noting the patterns beneath the panic. One lieutenant barked orders, his voice swallowed by another's counter-command. A runner tripped over a crate, scattering papers and scraps like debris from a storm. Every move, every hesitation was data.
clatter… bang… drip… hum…
I ducked behind a leaning stack of pallets, heart thudding, boots pressed against the cold concrete. A flicker of light caught a loose pipe above just long enough to signal a path forward. I shifted, silent, a ghost among screaming shapes. No loyalty, no allegiance just observation.
A fireball of sparks erupted near the far wall. I counted three bodies diving aside, two crates crushed, a brief lull, and then the scream of metal twisting under force. The Veins were alive, reacting to every shove, every strike, every misstep.
clatter… bang… drip… hum…
I moved with the current, pretending to follow orders, nodding at commanders I didn't recognize, echoing the faction chatter. Each misstep around me was an advantage I cataloged: the weak link, the open flank, the subtle signs of overconfidence. I was invisible because I was aware.
The chaos ebbed and surged. Dust and sparks hung like smoke in the dim light, each flicker revealing and concealing. I caught a shadow along the wall, too deliberate, too quick. Jonas? No. Maybe Elliot. Or just another mask in the swarm. Doesn't matter. Every glance, every half-step mattered.
clatter… bang… drip… hum…
By the time the Veins settled into tense silence again, I had memorized paths, positions, and weak points. Crates smoldered, papers floated in puddles, and a distant alarm finally cut the stillness. I exhaled, letting my eyes sweep the scene one last time.
If they burn each other, I could slip through clean. Or not. The gamble was constant, the stakes rising with every heartbeat. And I'd be ready. Observing. Calculating. Waiting.