"Beware the storyteller with a huge grievance and an artistic license." ― Joyce Rachelle

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Jonan had never sweated so much while doing nothing.

He stood still as a statue in the shadow of a darkened service alcove, his eyes fixed on the echoing corridor beyond. Harsh white lighting flickered intermittently above, casting sickly glows over the cold, concrete floor. The hallway smelled like chemicals and gunpowder. His fingers twitched at his side, close to his belt pouch where a flash grenade waited, just in case.

"I'm definitely not the only outsider here tonight," he muttered under his breath, brushing a few strands of singed blonde hair out of his eyes.

How many times had he ducked behind rusting utility carts, slipped into supply closets, or crept along the unlit maintenance rails just to avoid patrols tonight? Too many.

He'd nearly walked straight into a squad earlier—a line of helmeted hunters storming down the passage, shouting about "a breach on Level 1," and "kill on sight." Their heavy boots echoed off the steel walls, marching like the beat of war drums.

Even with Allen's help, even with a scrounged-together map of the facility… Getting this far had taken everything.

Allen. Jonan clenched his jaw.

"There's something in that facility that is not right," Allen had warned in a low voice, back when Jonan had asked Allen to help him to dig into the Veridale facility. "It's too hidden. Not on the records. Not in the books. Even my hunter contact doesn't know anything about it. Something is wrong about it, Jonan. Get what you need, and get out."

He had. And he was still here.

The hallway stretched ahead, faintly illuminated by the reddish glow of emergency lights. Somewhere in the distance, a scream echoed.

Jonan didn't flinch. He was used to the sounds of fear.

But what shook him was the familiarity. He'd heard screams like that before—in places like the Arvenlow riots, when Gifted were burned alive in the town square. He heard it in the voice of that boy during the Glastor incident, who begged the ESA to help, but they were ordered not to interfere.

The ESA was losing its soul. And Jonan had been too much of a coward to do something. Until now.

Footsteps. Closer now.

He waited, heart hammering. Another patrol? No, only one person. Heavy footfalls. Boots. They passed by.

Jonan exhaled softly and slid out of the alcove, sticking close to the wall. He moved fast, soundless, stepping in the spaces between metal grates. He turned right, then left, descending a rusted stairwell two flights down. His mind ran the facility's blueprints like a mental overlay.

Archives and data storage… Northeast quadrant, behind two levels of clearance.

He'd brought a cracked hunter badge he'd lifted from a corpse near Bellinor two months ago. It wasn't active, but the scanner didn't know that.

He reached a nondescript black door, labeled only with a code: S3-BL-42. A retina scanner flickered beside it. Jonan inserted a small bypass device into the control panel, the screen glitching once before turning green.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The door hissed open. Cold air rushed past him.

He stepped inside.

Rows and rows of metal server racks stood like a silent army in the gloom. There was no guard here. No camera. Only a single console pulsing quietly in the center.

Jonan sat in the cracked leather chair before it, pulled a blank data card from his pouch, and slid it into the port.

The terminal lit up.

ACCESSING SYSTEM…

RECOGNISED: LEVEL 3 ARCHIVE NODE

COMMAND PROMPT UNLOCKED.

His fingers flew across the keyboard.

"Come on, come on…" Jonan hissed, typing commands into the console as his heart pounded against his ribs.

COMMENCING UPLOAD…

A mechanical voice droned, and the loading bar blinked to life. 1%… 2%… slowly crawling.

Jonan's eyes flickered to the door. Still shut.

The walls felt like they were breathing. Every creak made him tense. He could still hear it. Gunfire below. Shouts. Explosions. The dull reverberation of walls shaking.

Whoever the intruders were, they were good. No, not just good. Exceptional. It took something feral, something unrelenting, to break into a hunter facility this secure.

Only one name came to mind.

"Aegis," Jonan whispered. His brows knit tightly together.

He remembered the first reports. Team Alpha was newly formed then, and was set on the case to pursue Aegis when they made their first emergence.

An insurgent faction of Gifted fighters—ghosts, some called them. Warriors, others whispered. And monsters, said the media. Their numbers were small, but their precision was…terrifying.

They only struck where it hurt—black sites, corrupt officials, hunter convoys. And they always vanished without a trace. Yet despite it being three years, maybe four years since their first emergence, no one knew who they are. All that is known about them is that their leader is named Zero.

Jonan had once called them terrorists. But after tonight…

He clenched a fist.

Now, it seems to Jonan that Aegis might be their best hope, if they want to save Eldario.

And then there was Kailey.

Jonan saw her again in his mind's eye—sitting in that café in downtown Delbrück, sipping something warm, head down in a worn book. Quiet. Kind. Strange. And dangerous.

He'd known, even then, that she wasn't normal. No civilian moved like she did—eyes constantly scanning, spine straight, and her footsteps silent even on marble.

She hadn't told him much. But she didn't need to. He could feel the fire in her.

Was she here?

UPLOAD COMPLETE.

The mechanical voice jolted him back. Jonan snatched the data card, slipping it into an impact-proof case and locking it tight. He rose from the chair.

That's when it happened.

BOOM.

The entire room shook. A concussive wave slammed into the doorframe, and Jonan had to grab the terminal to steady himself. His ears rang. Sirens howled. Red lights stuttered to life. Smoke drifted from the ceiling vents.

That was no gunshot. That was a bomb.

Upper level detonation, Jonan calculated instantly. High yield. Must've collapsed part of the structure. Enough to destabilise…

He didn't finish the thought.

Because the second he stepped into the hallway, he slammed straight into someone.

A black helmet. Hunter insignia. Jonan cursed.

The man staggered back, raising a gun. "An intruder?!"

Jonan didn't hesitate. He slammed his elbow into the man's wrist, knocking the pistol sideways. A shot rang out, clipping the wall. The hunter kicked at him, but Jonan twisted low, catching the man's leg and sweeping him down hard. The hunter grunted but rolled, drawing a dagger.

"I knew there were more of you!" The hunter snarled. "Who are you working with?!"

Jonan didn't answer. His cap shadowed most of his face.

"Answer me, bastard!" The hunter jabbed forward.

Another explosion rocked the corridor—the northern wing. A burst of fire rushed through the far end of the hall, nearly melting the steel grates. It lit the walls in flickering orange. The heat scorched Jonan's cheek.

"They planted explosives," The hunter growled, ducking behind a support beam. "What's the big deal, huh? You freak lovers trying to be heroes now? What, you think they're people?"

Jonan's eye twitched.

The hunter laughed, sharp and venomous. "You think those monsters upstairs deserve mercy? They're not even human. They were made to be hunted. Every single one of them."

Jonan's knuckles turned white.

That's when the wall behind him caved.

A thunderous blast tore through the concrete, flinging Jonan forward. He hit the ground hard, his ribs shrieking. Something sharp bit into his side. He looked down.

Blood. His blood.

The hunter was laughing. "Oh? Did that sting?"

He raised his weapon again. However, Jonan drew first.

His gun was small, sleek, and unmarked—no serials, no history. Black market. Nothing that can trace back to him. Jonan fired at the hunter.

The hunter staggered, clutching his shoulder. Jonan was, however, already moving, using the opening to dive down the corridor.

Alarms screamed louder. Ceiling tiles crashed down behind him. Smoke stung his eyes. Another explosion echoed. It sounded closer.

He turned a corner, skidded, and kicked open a hatch. The shaft. Thank the stars. He lunged inside, dragging his body through the narrow metal duct. Pain flared with every movement.

"Come on… Come on, come on…" Jonan grunted, gritting his teeth as fire flashed behind him.

The shaft trembled. Somewhere above, a structural beam gave way with a shriek. Debris rained down. A pipe snapped. Hot steam hissed and scalded the side of his neck. He kept crawling.

Another explosion. He slammed his head into the side of the duct but kept moving, panting, one arm clutching his side.

And then…

Air.

Cool, night air.

He saw the end. The grated shaft opened out over a steep drop, and beyond it, the lake.

Jonan pulled himself through, blood dripping from his side. Flames lit the facility behind him. The walls were glowing. Something collapsed with a deafening roar. The fire painted the lake crimson.

He climbed onto the support beam just outside the shaft, shaking, smoke and ash clinging to his back.

His long ponytail was half-scorched.

Jonan didn't think.

He jumped.

The air howled in his ears, the lake rising to meet him like salvation.

And behind him, the Veridale facility exploded—a bloom of orange and red tearing into the sky. Shattered glass, twisted steel, and a roar that swallowed the stars.

Jonan hit the water like a hammer and vanished beneath the surface.

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