CHAPTER 261: RED SILENCE

The room was still.

No static. No flickering. Just a frozen monitor.

Subject 3830’s body slumped beside the one she loved. The pistol still dangled from her fingers. Her expression was peaceful. Like she’d already left long before the bullet did its job.

I didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

I just stared at the monitor.

A smear of blood had started to darken on her temple. It didn’t spread far. The floor caught it.

I didn’t blink.

Not when her hand finally fell.

Not when the lights in the room overhead flickered and dimmed.

Not when the auto-feed timed out and the monitor went dark.

Just one word echoed.

Gone.

She was gone.

And this time, I hadn’t been too late.

This time, I’d simply been useless as there was nothing I could do, but watch her kill someone before ending her own life.

I stood.

My hands fell to my sides, still sticky with blood. Not mine. Not today. My shirt clung to my chest. My boots left red prints behind me as I walked. The corridor beyond the surveillance room was quiet. The alarms had stopped some time ago. The guards, too. Either dead or smart enough to run.

The halls felt abandoned.

Lights flickered overhead. Loose wire sparked near a collapsed vent. I walked past it. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t react.

I just walked.

The scent of metal filled the air.

It wasn’t long before I heard them.

Grunts. The thud of fists into flesh. The clang of metal colliding with reinforced armor. A low hiss of pain. Then a body slammed hard into the wall. Another crash followed—something breaking. Glass? Bone? I didn’t know. Didn’t stop.

I turned the corner.

And saw them.

Anthony stood with his stance squared, rifle braced against his shoulder, breath ragged and sharp. A crimson line carved down the side of his temple, the blood weaving past his brow and catching on the edge of his jaw. Without hesitation, he fired—a single, precise shot into the base of a soldier’s skull as the man crawled across the floor, dragging one shattered arm behind him.

To the side, Evelyn and Alexis had a second guard pinned.

Evelyn moved first—her fist cracked hard against the man’s visor, sending spiderweb fractures across the reinforced glass. Before the guard could react, Alexis pivoted low, sweeping his legs out from under him. He collapsed with a grunt. She was already following through—her boot slammed into his throat with enough force to crush cartilage.

Sienna stood at the perimeter, scanning the hall, guarding their backs. Her hands were up, ready to strike, but she hadn’t needed to. Not yet.

Camille lay slumped against her side. Eyes closed. Breathing shallow.

The team was efficient. No wasted motion. No hesitation.

Their jobs—titles—skills.

All restored.

The second 3829 died, the suppression lifted. They were back to their full strength. And it showed.

But the moment I stepped into view—

Camille jolted upright.

Her limbs seized before her eyes even opened. When they did, they locked straight on me. No sound had alerted her. No movement. Just presence.

Me.

Sienna turned. Her expression tightened. Alexis looked next—her mouth parted in a quiet gasp. Evelyn’s head shifted subtly under the blindfold, as if drawn by a weight she couldn’t explain. Then Anthony.

All eyes.

On me.

And not one of them spoke.

Blood soaked me from collar to boot. Dried and wet. Thick and clinging. It matted my hair. Painted my arms. Not a scratch on me. Not a bruise. Just—

Red.

A color that wasn’t originally mine.

Alexis inhaled sharply. Her hand covered her mouth. "That’s not yours," she whispered.

Her voice trembled.

Sienna took a step forward, cautious. "Rey..."

I didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink.

Camille stared. Frozen. Her lips parted slightly, but no words came. Her eyes filled with something between horror and disbelief.

Evelyn’s blindfold turned. Her breath caught.

Then she reached out, instinctively, pulling on her only source of vision—Psychological Insight.

She stumbled.

Her knees bent.

Her stomach heaved.

And then she gagged. Hard. One hand slammed against the wall for balance. "No—no, that’s not right. That’s not right. What the hell is this?"

Her face twisted. She didn’t even look in my direction anymore.

Couldn’t.

Anthony’s rifle lowered, slow. His voice, barely audible: "Boss?"

I gave a nod.

Just one.

It was enough.

They didn’t ask more.

We moved.

Or rather—they moved.

I walked behind them. No orders. No planning. Just motion.

The next hallway was darker. Overhead lights buzzed and flickered, catching on debris littering the ground. Smoke drifted in from a side corridor. We passed it in silence.

At the end of the corridor, a steel panel blinked with broken red text.

PERSONAL EFFECTS STORAGE.

Anthony stepped forward. Jammed a boot into the corner. The hinges cracked. He forced it open with a grunt.

Inside—disarray.

Most shelves were stripped. Others half-looted.

But some things had been missed.

In the back, my bag sat untouched. The one from the island. Coiled rope. A thermal shirt. My firestarter. I reached for it in silence.

Sienna found her satchel next. Worn, torn, but still zipped.

Alexis retrieved her glasses and the small diagnostic case she’d stashed under her coat lining when we were first taken.

Camille limped forward and grabbed a folded wrap of fabric—tools she’d made out of scrap back on the beach. They were tied with string and speckled in ash.

Anthony crouched near a locked case. Swiped a code. It blinked once. Opened.

He pulled out:

- A matte black rifle

- Two spare magazines

- A GPS beacon

- Four wrist-mounted trackers

- A sealed communications relay, blinking blue

- An orange Hawaiian shirt

He powered on the beacon. His thumb tapped across the screen.

A small green light flickered to life.

His eyes narrowed.

"We’re in northern Europe," he said finally. "Cliffs aren’t far. Ocean’s nearby. There’s a safe zone east—maybe two kilometers out. I’m sending a ping to the extraction team."

Sienna let out a shaky breath.

Alexis exhaled, slower. "So we’re not underground anymore. That’s good."

Anthony nodded. "They said ten minutes."

Preparation began. Camille, already waning, laid back on a folded sheet. Alexis unrolled a clean cloth and wrapped it around her shoulders, helping her breathe easier. Sienna scrubbed blood from her own arms using wipes from a med kit, jaw tight.

No one spoke.

Not about me.

Not about 3830.

I stood near the exit.

Still.

Unmoving.

I didn’t wipe the blood off.

Didn’t even look down at it.

Alexis kept sneaking glances—her expression unreadable.

Evelyn stayed farthest away. Blindfold secure, arms folded, breathing shallow. Without Psychological Insight, she couldn’t even locate me in the room. She didn’t try.

And I was glad.

Because even a second more might’ve broken her.

Sienna drifted over.

Her steps were quiet. Careful.

She reached out. Just enough for her fingers to graze the edge of my sleeve.

"Rey?"

I turned my head. Slowly.

Her throat moved as she swallowed.

"Are you okay?"

The silence stretched.

I didn’t answer.

Couldn’t.

The words were gone.

Nothing in me reached for them.

Nothing tried.

So I said nothing.

And this time—

I didn’t break the silence.