The map in the Cleanroom was a storm.
Three glowing threads — Rotterdam, Lagos, Hong Kong — snaked across the world toward the same red point. The lines pulsed faster now, the 72‑hour window shrinking with every heartbeat. Around them, other icons moved like sharks in deep water — Tier‑1 operators, each closing in on the same destination.
Operator: All packages within final approach. Estimated convergence: 2 hours.
Mitya stood in the white horizon, watching the lines draw closer. The System's plan was precise: all three packages would arrive within minutes of each other, be transferred to a single transport, and vanish into the Cleanroom for delivery. But the map told him something else — the predators were already in position.
The drop point was an abandoned freight terminal on the outskirts of a city whose name the System didn't speak aloud. The place was a skeleton of rusted steel and broken glass, the air thick with the smell of oil and rain. Cargo cranes loomed like dead giants over the cracked concrete.
Mitya arrived first, the Hong Kong case still sealed and heavy in his hands. The terminal was quiet, but not empty. His HUD tagged faint heat signatures in the shadows — too still to be rats, too disciplined to be vagrants.
Operator: Surveillance confirmed. Unknown affiliation.
He moved to the rendezvous zone — a patch of open ground between two derelict warehouses. The System overlaid the incoming routes: Vega from the north with the Rotterdam core, the Lagos team from the south with the encryption module. Both were minutes out.
The first to appear was Vega, stepping from the shadows with the core slung in a reinforced pack. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes scanned the perimeter the same way his did. She gave a single nod, and they moved to cover opposite arcs.
The Lagos team arrived next, their vehicle rolling to a stop with the low growl of a tuned engine. One operative stayed behind the wheel, the other carried the module in a shock‑proof case. They crossed the open ground quickly, eyes flicking to the rooftops.
For a moment, all three packages were in one place. The System's voice was steady.
Operator: Initiate transfer.
The shimmer of the Cleanroom began to form around the cargo — and that was when the first shot cracked through the air.
It came from high and to the east, the sound sharp and flat. The Lagos operative staggered, the case slipping from his hands. Mitya dropped to a knee, scanning for the shooter. The System tagged the muzzle flash — 300 meters, rooftop, suppressed rifle.
Operator: Tier‑1 operator codename: Wraith. Specialty: long‑range interdiction.
The shimmer collapsed. The cargo was still here, still vulnerable.
The second shot came from the west, but it wasn't aimed at them — it was aimed at the Rotterdam pack. Vega spun, the round sparking off the steel frame. Another icon lit up in Mitya's HUD.
Operator: Tier‑1 operator codename: Hound. Specialty: close‑quarters assault.
The shadows around the terminal shifted. Figures emerged — fast, disciplined, moving in pairs. Not random scavengers. Professionals.
Mitya's mind split into two tracks — one following the System's tactical overlays, the other running his own instincts. The System wanted him to hold position, defend the cargo until the Cleanroom could re‑engage. But the map showed the predators closing from all sides. Holding meant being surrounded.
He keyed the Lagos driver. "Move the vehicle to the west gate. Keep the engine hot."
To Vega: "We're splitting the packages."
The System's voice cut in.
Operator: Deviation from plan will reduce extraction efficiency.
"Efficiency won't matter if we're dead," Mitya said.
They moved fast. Vega took the Rotterdam core and vanished into the north warehouse, using the maze of rusted machinery for cover. Mitya grabbed the Hong Kong case and the wounded Lagos operative, hauling them toward the south wall. The uninjured Lagos operative scooped up the encryption module and fell in behind.
Gunfire echoed through the terminal — short, controlled bursts. The predators weren't wasting ammunition. They were herding.
A shadow detached itself from the corner ahead — tall, lean, moving with the fluidity of someone who'd done this a hundred times. Kestrel.
She didn't have a weapon in her hands, but her eyes locked on the Hong Kong case. "You're making this harder than it needs to be," she said.
"You should've stayed in Hong Kong," Mitya replied.
She smiled faintly. "And miss the finale?"
The System overlaid her threat profile, but Mitya didn't need it. He shifted his grip on the case, keeping it between them. The Lagos operative moved to flank, but Kestrel's gaze flicked to him and he froze — something in her posture promising violence.
From the north, a burst of gunfire — Vega's position. The System tagged multiple hostiles converging on her.
Operator: Recommend regroup.
"Negative," Mitya said. "We keep moving."
They reached the south wall. The Lagos driver had the vehicle idling, the rear doors open. Mitya shoved the wounded operative inside, then the case. The uninjured operative slid the encryption module in beside it.
Kestrel was still there, ten meters away, watching. She didn't move to stop them. Instead, she tilted her head, as if memorizing the moment.
"See you at the drop," she said again, and melted back into the shadows.
The vehicle roared away, tires spitting water. Mitya watched it vanish into the rain, then turned back toward the terminal. Vega was still inside, and the Rotterdam core with her.
The System's voice was urgent now.
Operator: Northern package at risk. Hostile count: six. Tier‑1 presence confirmed.
He moved, keeping low, weaving through the skeletal remains of the freight cranes. The air smelled of rust and cordite. Ahead, muzzle flashes lit the gloom.
Vega was pinned behind a stack of shipping containers, the pack with the core strapped to her back. Two hostiles were closing from the left, another pair from the right. Mitya came in from behind, dropping the left‑side pair with quick, precise shots. Vega took the opening, moving to cover him as he advanced.
A figure stepped into view at the far end of the aisle — broad‑shouldered, armored, a shotgun in his hands. The System tagged him instantly.
Operator: Tier‑1 operator codename: Hound.
Hound moved with brutal efficiency, firing once, twice, the blasts chewing into the steel around them. Mitya ducked back, signaling Vega to move. They cut through a side passage, the sound of boots pounding after them.
The north gate was ahead — and beyond it, the faint shimmer of the Cleanroom starting to form again. The System's voice was clipped.
Operator: All packages within extraction range. Initiate transfer now.
They broke into the open. The shimmer expanded, enveloping them. For a moment, the world was white noise and static — then the cargo was gone, pulled into the Cleanroom's secure space.
The gunfire stopped.
Back in the Cleanroom, the map showed all three packages converging on the red point in the abstract space of the System's network. The predators' icons faded, their pursuit cut off by the extraction.
Operator: Priority contract complete. Reward: 250,000.00. Tier‑1 access granted.
Mitya stood in the white horizon, the numbers updating in his vision. Vega was there too, silent as ever. The System's voice was calm again, as if the chaos of the last hour had never happened.
Operator: Welcome to Tier‑1.
He didn't answer. The map was still in his mind — the sharks circling, the way Kestrel had let him go, the knowledge that in this arena, survival was never the end. It was just the start of the next hunt.