Amina was still slick with a cold, oily sweat from the sync, the metallic echo of the masked man's threat vibrating in her skull like a tuning fork. The knowledge she held—the murder file—was useless without proof, and she had forgotten the CORE's golden rule: they never wait.
As she zipped up the last panel of her matte-black stealth suit, the first, sickeningly polite knock landed on the reinforced front door.
Instinct took over, raw and sharp. The satchel on her hip felt heavy and comforting. Three switchblades, silver and wickedly sharp, flew out of the bag on their own accord. They snapped into a low, humming orbit around her head, vibrating with a kinetic charge from her Psychic-Implant.
She focused, pushing her senses through the wall. 'Five men.' They weren't standard CORE security detail; they were assassins. They weren't here for an extraction. Amina's eyes narrowed as her neck began to itch. 'Something is off. Why do they feel... different?'
"Three, two, one." The countdown was a cold, arrogant taunt.
BOOM.
The front door, the supporting frame, and a wide swath of the concrete wall disintegrated inward in a deafening concussion of dust and pulverized synthetic rock.
"Find her!" a man's voice barked, distorted by a comms unit.
Amina didn't hesitate. 'This is stupid. I never thought this through.'
She sprinted toward the window, throwing a violent kinetic shove with the Implant. The frame warped and exploded outward, showering shards of glass onto the artificial green lawn below. She leaped, tucking and rolling as she hit the ground running. Her lungs were already beginning to burn, the mental exhaustion from the deep dive catching up to her physical frame.
It took the assassins mere seconds to realize their prey had escaped the blast. They spilled out of the breach—four massive, hulking figures in baggy leather and one sleeker shape in a charcoal stealth suit: the Agent.
Amina pumped her legs, the absurdity of the situation sticking in her throat. She had a vague idea of the murderer, but no physical evidence—and now she was a fugitive.
Her Passive Feel—the Implant's low-grade danger sense—suddenly became a paralyzing vice at the back of her neck. MOVE!
Instinctively, she ducked her head violently to the side. A high-velocity bullet ripped through the air where her temple had been a millisecond before, punching a crater into the concrete pavement with a sound like a wet cough. She glanced back as she ran. The Agent was already leveling his smoking suppressed pistol for a second shot.
Amina kept up the pace, her boots slapping against the composite road. The pursuers weren't breaking a sweat; they were gliding with a powerful, unnerving grace. She was already panting like a dog.
Then, something struck her in the small of her back—a sharp, stunning impact that knocked the wind clean out of her. Electric tendrils erupted from the point of contact, wrapping around her limbs and torso like stinging vipers. She tumbled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, caught in a paralyzing electric bolas net.
They were on her in an instant. Four towering figures and the charcoal Agent loomed over her.
"Black Sparrow," the Agent addressed her, his voice a freezing void. "You're under custody for—"
He didn't finish.
Amina forced her mind past the agonizing electric shocks. One of the switchblades in her orbit flew forward—a blur of lethal steel. The Agent's eyes widened with disbelief. A massive figure shoved his bulk between the Agent and the blade. The switchblade deflected, blasting into a nearby lamppost with a screech of torn metal.
"Stop her!" the Agent bellowed.
Amina summoned the remaining two blades, the kinetic energy slicing through the electric straps of the net like butter. She scrambled to her feet, free but surrounded. The Brawlers lunged.
Amina grit her teeth. 'God, so fast.'
She had only ever seen Brawlers at a distance—working in deep-cavern factories or acting as high-priced bodyguards. She had never seen them up close, and certainly never seen them trying to kill her. They moved too fast, too deliberately. Terror was a cold, unfamiliar knot in her stomach.
She closed her eyes, pushing a wave of heat from the Implant. It spread from her neck to her forehead. She shoved it outward, crossing her fists in an 'X' over her chest. The Brawlers made impact not with her body, but with an invisible barrier—a rippling field of pure repulsion. They stopped dead, grunting as they strained against the unseen wall.
Amina scowled. Having an implant didn't give her the lungs of an athlete. She was a researcher, a programmer —not a soldier meant to fight demons.
The Brawlers struggled against the forcefield, their muscles bulging with demented might. One Brawler, who seemed to be the leader, didn't move with the animalistic frenzy of the others. He exuded the cold, calculated logic of a seasoned killer. He tore through the rippling field, his enormous, gloved hand snapping shut around Amina's throat.
Dread flooded her heart. She lashed out with a switchblade, the steel catching the Brawler's visor and tearing it away.
What she saw beneath made her blood run cold.
The man had blood-red eyes set in sockets of pitch black. While most Brawlers had empty, vacant gazes, this one's eyes were filled with a hungry madness and a demented, predatory rage. He bared his teeth—huge, elongated canines like a wild beast.
With a grunt, he threw her. Amina flew backward, her world spinning until she collided with the side of an apartment block. She burst through the thin internal wall and rolled to a stomach-churning stop in a dark, empty corridor.
'Thank God for the suit.'
Amina scrambled up, ignoring the sharp, stabbing pain in her ribs. Run. She ran until the pounding footsteps and the Agent's muffled orders were lost to the sound of her own heaving breaths.
She dropped into a crouch in a shadowed alcove, her mind racing. 'Brawlers. Super-soldiers.' She had heard the rumors of the CORE's experiments, but now the nightmare was breathing down her neck.
"Stupid. Always jumping headfirst," she hissed at herself. She needed shelter. She needed Timi.
Amina forced herself into a jog. eventually she reached her friend's house. A soft pulse from the Implant and the lock snicked open. She slipped inside the small, stuffy room where Timi was sleeping soundly. Amina quickly clamped a hand over the woman's mouth.
"Shhh, it's me, Amina," she whispered. "I'll take my hand away. Be chill. Got it?"
Timi nodded frantically. Amina slowly removed her hand.
"Ami," Timi whispered, her voice trembling. "What are you wearing? What happened?"
"There's a bounty on my head," Amina said flatly.
"What? You're a library girl!" Timi hissed. "I know you, you would never do anything wrong!"
Amina looked dead into her eyes. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
"No, I'm your best friend!" Timi countered, panic rising. "I know everything about you!"
"Everything?" Amina stretched out her arm. A ceramic mug on the bedside table flew across the room, soundlessly settling into her palm.
"Okay, not everything," Timi conceded with a defeated sigh. "You're a Psylink."
Amina nodded.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Timi asked, her voice small and hurt.
"Baba was the only one who knew," Amina said.
Timi stared at her, her gaze eventually shifting into a deep, painful understanding. "And he died because of that knowledge."
The silence in the room became an oppressive weight.
"He didn't die in an accident. He was murdered," Amina told her, the words tasting like ash. "After he planted this Implant, they killed him during the project he was supposed to lead. He was... he was conscious through the whole thing. He died from the shock."
"Chai, Ami," Timi whispered, her voice breaking. She pulled Amina into a fierce, rib-crushing hug. "It must have been so hard on you."
"It is," Amina said, her voice finally shaking. "And now the CORE knows I know. They sent assassins. I shook them off, but I can't hide forever. I don't know what to do."
Timi pulled back, her lips a thin, determined line. "You can hide here. I'll protect you until we think of something."
"No," Amina said, shaking her head violently. "They'll track me. I can't risk you, Timi. I'm leaving."
"Where?" Timi grabbed her arms, shaking her. "Where will you go?"
"I DON'T KNOW!" Amina finally snapped, the pent-up tears bursting free. "I don't know, but I can't stay here! I'm sorry."
Timi stared at her for a long time. "Then you came to say goodbye."
Amina nodded, biting her lower lip until she tasted copper. Timi breathed deeply and let out a curse.
"Be safe, Amina. I'll pack you some food, some meds... other things."
Amina watched her, the pain unbearable. She started sobbing like a child, the reality of the separation crushing her. Timi was the only family she had left.
Timi rubbed her head. "I'll notify Bola about your departure, okay?"
They embraced one last time, fiercely. Timi handed her a small go-bag, which Amina stuffed into her satchel. She gave Timi one final look in the shadowed room. Amina turned and headed for the window.
"Ami," Timi called out.
Amina turned back.
"I love you."
"I love you too," Amina whispered. "Thank you for everything. Bye for now."
Amina ducked through the window and sprinted into the darkness. She didn't know where she was going, only that it had to be far from Timi. As she ran, she looked back one last time. Timi was framed in the window, waving. Amina forced a painful smile and kept running, the cool subterranean breeze drying the tears on her cheeks.
"I'll come back," Amina whispered. "I'll come back for you."
As if the universe were listening, a sharp, paralyzing jolt of pain erupted at the back of her neck. The Implant didn't scream a warning of pursuit—it screamed of destruction.
Amina skidded to a halt, turning around. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she began running blindly back toward her friend's home. Timi. Timi. Timi.
As if her fears had been summoned by the CORE's malice, a brilliant, terrifying flash erupted from the distance. A missile had struck the third floor of Timi's apartment block, vaporizing the corner of the building. Then came the sound—a deep, deafening CRACK that shook the cavern floor.
The shockwave hit Amina like a physical fist, throwing her backward. She hit her head on the pavement, and the world went cold.
Amina snapped back to reality. Her mind felt thick, buried in fog, before it cleared with a single, agonizing word: "Timi."
She scrambled to her feet, limping toward the blazing ruins. She climbed over the hot rubble, her hands searching through the debris. The smell of burning synthetic rock and something else—something horribly, distinctly familiar—made bile rise in her throat.
Timi was gone.
Amina fell to her knees, staring at the incomprehensible carnage. Timi, her sister, was gone because of her.
She was so lost in the grief that her Passive Feel failed her. She didn't even register the figures surrounding her until she heard the cold, distinct snick of a gun cocking directly in front of her face.