CHAPTER 287: FIRE AND STEEL [ 3 ]

One of the figures spoke through a throat filter, their voice stripped of any gender. "You shouldn’t be here."

Ethan smirked, muttering under his breath, "Good news,we brought party favors."

"Quiet," Gunner snapped, his focus unwavering.

The lead elite took a cautious step forward..not aggressive, just testing the waters.

Then Stone fired.

The X5 round struck center mass. It should have sent a man sprawling. Instead, this one bent slightly before straightening up again.

A shimmer danced across its armor like heat waves on asphalt. The elite lifted its rifle and returned fire.

Stone instinctively bent sideways as the round whizzed past him, missing by mere inches.

The shot hit the pillar behind him with a splintering crack that echoed in the air.

"Reactive lattice," Silas observed coolly. "They’re using top-tier plates. You’ll need double-taps or aim for the joints."

Gunner’s jaw tightened in determination. "New plan: Elara, target their right knee. Mireille, go for throat seams. Rask, you hit center twice."

"Copy that," Mireille replied confidently.

"Got it," Rask echoed.

In perfect synchrony, they sprang into action.

Holt unleashed a flashbang that exploded like thunderclaps,blinding white light engulfed them before reality slammed back into focus.

Mireille was already moving left; knife in one hand and rifle in the other.

She fired once at an elite’s visor,cracking it and then finished with her blade.

Rask targeted the center elite next; he fired twice after the lattice flicker faded,the second shot found flesh and sent the man crashing against a console with sparks flying everywhere.

Lyra leaped over the control island to engage one of the agile flankers mid-air. They collided like two forces of nature grappling for dominance.

The flanker swung a shock baton; she expertly caught his wrist, twisted it hard, and hurled him face-first into the table edge where his baton skittered away from him.

She kneed his helmet twice,fast and furious but despite her efforts, his visor held firm as his head bounced back defiantly.

Vance absorbed a round to his thigh plate but pressed on relentlessly like an unstoppable force,a linebacker charging ahead!

He shoulder-checked one elite into glass surrounding a cylinder; cracks spiderwebbed outward like frost forming on winter mornings.

He hammered down on that man’s wrist until the rifle clattered away before seizing both sides of his helmet and slamming it repeatedly against the glass, determined to meld them together into one shape! On the fourth strike, the visor shattered; that man didn’t get back up again.

Ethan had no business being where he was caught between two elite firing lanes but he charged ahead anyway.

With adrenaline pumping through his veins, Ethan sprinted low, the Ghostveil dampers in his suit screeching warnings as he darted across deadly arcs of gunfire.

A bullet zipped past him, grazing his ribs like a ghostly whisper.

He dove, rolled, and emerged beneath a catwalk just in time to confront an enemy flanker aiming down at him.

Quick as lightning,Ethan countered with the Viper-9, slicing through the sling before driving the blade into the armor seam at the man’s hip and dragging it upward. Blood flowed swiftly in sterile rooms.

"Left high!" Silas shouted. "Two more coming from the east!"

"Skyfang?" Stone asked reflexively.

"Busy making friends outside," Silas replied with a hint of sarcasm. "No eyes on thirty."

"Then we do it the old way," Gunner said firmly.

Two elite soldiers pressed hard against Gunner’s line as he stepped forward to confront them head-on.

His first two shots found their mark in the left-hand elite’s chest; the lattice shimmered briefly before collapsing.

The third shot sent him crashing backward like a tree that had already chosen its fall.

The second elite spun around to target Gunner’s head; quick-thinking Stone kicked the rifle aside with his boot, seized it by the barrel, and twisted with all his might.

The man held on,strong but his elbow didn’t survive intact; it cracked like dry wood under pressure.

Without hesitation, Stone reversed grip on his X5 and drove its stock into the man’s throat. Finally, he made a sound,a desperate gasp.

"Bravo, status?" Gunner panted between breaths.

"Busy," Holt replied dryly as he took a measured shot that clipped an elevated shooter’s knee seam, sending him tumbling down to a lower platform where Lyra finished him off with two precise rounds under the chin.

Rask bled from a thin line along his cheek where a round had grazed him through softened lattice armor,it only seemed to make him meaner.

He zeroed in on the biggest elite still standing and treated him like an assignment: two shots to the chest, one to the leg, one straight to the face.

The last shot shattered through the visor cleanly; what lay behind it did something heads shouldn’t do.

"Two left," Silas called out.

Mireille faced one of them in a narrow lane wedged between towering cylinders,no rifles could fit there now.

As he lunged for her throat, she let him grab her because she wanted his arms occupied.

With fierce determination, she slammed her forehead into his visor,the crack looked inconsequential but felt monumental within her skull.

She slid her hand up through his grip until she found that vulnerable seam at his jaw hinge,the knife went in smoothly without so much as a whimper from him as she lowered him like a partner who’d had too much to drink and pivoted with her pistol to shoot the last target.

That last elite soldier slipped back through the eastern doorway,smart enough to create some distance but foolish to think that space alone would keep him safe.

He covered his retreat with disciplined fire, sending three shots their way, each one a new problem.

Vance managed to block one with his armor and dropped to a knee for stability.

Ethan deflected another by shoving a nearby cart sideways; the cart screamed as it rolled, absorbing the bullet with a sound like a bell fading away.

The third shot traced a bright line across Gunner’s visor, vanishing before it could reach his eyes.

With swift precision, he fired back, hitting the elite in the shoulder and spinning him around.

The man disappeared through the door not fleeing, but not putting up a fight either.

"Don’t chase," Gunner commanded as Stone instinctively leaned forward. "Our mission is right here."

Silas updated their HUDs with urgency. "More hostiles incoming from the north hall, thirty seconds out. They’re equipped with heavier armor."

He paused—a rare moment of hesitation for Silas before continuing, "And... biolocks are disengaging in the inner core."

Suddenly, the control island beeped ominously.

A series of locks thudded behind the far wall as if something was awakening.

A seam appeared where there had been none before, and the wall parted like an eye blinking open.

What lay beyond wasn’t pristine or sterile; instead, dark walls loomed under soft lighting, pulsating gently from machines older than anything outside this room.

Rows of containment units hummed quietly like they were holding their breath in anticipation. In the center stood a reinforced cylinder resembling an altar adorned with symbols that conveyed danger disguised as research, no translation needed.

"Core containment," Stone said reverently, his voice shifting as if he’d entered a sacred space. "That’s our heart."

"Alpha, Bravo, Charlie," Gunner ordered sharply while keeping his gaze fixed on the new doorway and lifting his rifle high. "Stack up and prepare to move."

Then something shifted in the shadows of the core not machinery but figures...men? No... something masquerading as men.

Taller by an inch in their armor and broader at the shoulders, their visors sported vertical blue scars running down their centers like eerie pupils.

Their rifles weren’t standard issue; these were longer and leaner,crafted for precision and sinister intent.

Eight figures emerged: four on solid ground, two on an overhead catwalk, and two more stepping forward just enough to catch glimmers of light on their boots.

Ethan let out a small appreciative sound: "Looks like they’ve saved the good wine for special occasions."

Mireille’s voice cut through confidently: "Those aren’t just hired guns."

"No," Gunner replied firmly. "They’re not ones who venture outside."

The lead figure stepped forward, his voice slicing through the air like a hot knife through butter,clear, warm, and almost inviting.

"Whatever you think you’re stopping," he said, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth, "you’re late."

Gunner shot back with unwavering confidence. "We’re never late."

With that, he raised his hand,a signal and in perfect unison, the team lifted their rifles. Eight muzzles now pointed steadily at their target.

The core hummed softly in the background, a low and patient sound that seemed to echo the weight of countless confrontations it had witnessed before.

"On my shot," Gunner commanded not too loud, not too soft,just dripping with certainty.

The man across from him tilted his head slightly, as if contemplating what it felt like to stand on the precipice of such conviction.

In that electric moment, everything else faded away; the world shrank down to a single breath.

Gunner inhaled deeply.

"Now."