CROSSFIRE

Panicked cries erupted from the marching mob as Will crashed into them. In the tangle of limbs, bodies lay scattered across the snowy road, halting the procession. People sprawled on the pavement, groaning in pain, their voices muffled as if underwater. Will gasped as his vision began swimming before his eyes, his head rocking back and forth. Someone was clutching his shoulder, shaking him. Through bleary eyes, he saw Remy and Becca leaning over him, their faces twisted in panic as they called out. Amid the din, he caught the words:

"—Get up!"

Will groaned as he tried to push himself upward, but his limbs refused to cooperate—heavy, unresponsive, they lay dead, anchored to the ground.

"Can't… move," he gasped, fighting through the paralysis. The yellow signature within him sang, rushing through his channels, taking over.

"Becca!" Remy shouted as he hoisted Will from the ground. Without hesitation, Becca rushed to join him, and together they half-carried, half-dragged Will deeper into the swarm of panicked bodies. The crowd pressed in from all sides, roughly jolting Will while the yellow signature raged in his system. It writhed within his channels, its presence overwhelming. His hands trembled as he struggled to suppress it, but the more he fought, the stronger it seemed to grow.

Coughing violently, Will fought to stay conscious as his channels burned.

"Damn it, Will!" Remy hissed as he hoisted one of Will's arms over his shoulder while Becca pressed close, examining his blood-soaked coat.

"How is it?" Remy asked.

"Not good!" Becca replied, her eyes wide with panic as she applied pressure to the wound. "We need to get him out of here!"

Remy grunted with effort, pulling Will forward through the crushing crowd, while Crowley's suitcase swung from his other shoulder.

"The bullet… we need to remove it," he panted. "Find a place."

He looked around wildly. "Someplace... any place."

"Stop!" Will gasped, clutching at them and cutting their panicked tirade short. Raising a trembling finger, he pointed behind him. "They're coming."

There, up high, past the crowd, was a glint of metal. Silhouetted against the fractured light of the rooftops, the tall cyborg leader leaped from building to building, its glowing eyes scanning the crowd below.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Remy cursed. Without hesitation, Remy and Becca ducked deeper into the pressing crowd as the throng surged like a living tide crashing around them. Remy struggled to navigate the mass with Will dangling off his shoulder. To make matters worse, Crowley's briefcase kept snagging on countless flailing arms and elbows, pulling them in different directions. Becca gasped, nearly losing her grip on Will.

"Remy!" Becca called out, but he didn't answer. Remy was looking around wildly, searching, his fingers tight around Will.

"Remy!" Becca yelled again.

"What?!" came a distracted reply as he continued scanning the dense mass of bodies.

"We can't just slip out of the crowd and disappear," Becca insisted, pressing hard on Will's bleeding wound. "He can't run—not in this condition."

Remy's breathing was ragged as he looked at Will as though looking for confirmation. "Will?"

Gritting his teeth, Will forced out the words. "I need... time. The damn shard is fighting me."

Another flare surged through him, and his field flickered erratically.

Remy hesitated, then suggested, "Or you could use your prosthetic to suppress it."

Will's eyes flickered with conflict. "It'll run the power dry…" he said, breathing fast. The prosthetic had been operational for quite a while, resisting radiation and keeping the suppression sequence running. After the dampening pulse, it could only keep him going for a few precious minutes before going offline.

"We're running out of options," Remy said grimly.

Before Will could fully process his next move, a new wave of screams erupted from the crowd. The trio's attention snapped toward the source of the noise.

"What the—" Becca began, but her words were cut short.

Gunfire tore through the air like a whip, its staccato bursts mowing down the panicked masses. Screams escalated as people scrambled for cover, only to be caught in the relentless hail of bullets. Bodies fell in heaps; chaos reigned as the crowd was torn apart by the indiscriminate assault.

"Oh God," Becca gasped, horror etched in her eyes.

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"They really did it," Remy muttered in disbelief as the wave of hysteria swept over them. The mob surged forward like a tidal wave, desperate to escape the gunfire. Amid the bedlam, the cyborgs continued their relentless assault, leaving behind a trail of bodies and despair.

Will clenched his teeth. A few dead miners were a small price to pay for the unfeeling automatons. Their pursuers knew that he was in no condition to make a run for it like the others in the mob. While they mowed down the stragglers, he would remain stuck here—ripe for the picking.

The yellow signature began its assault anew, sending tendrils of psionic energy arcing outward, reaching out to connect to the Hive. Summoning every ounce of strength, Will fought to suppress the signature, to keep it from extending its reach. But a stray elbow crashed into him, jolting him out of his concentration. The panicked bodies around them surged forward, a living, crushing force.

Remy cursed under his breath as he tried to hold Will in place, but it was a losing battle against the crushing mass. More gunfire erupted, and the swarm of people pressed in like a relentless tide. Will's grip on Remy faltered; he was shoved aside in the chaotic crush until he stumbled and fell, the mob crashing over him without mercy.

"Will!" Remy's cry barely pierced the clamor of chaos.

In a desperate instinct, Will raised his shimmering field to shield himself—but it flickered briefly before being overwhelmed by the crushing tide of boots and bodies. The crowd rolled over him like a living wave. He curled into a ball, trying to protect his head, when a brutal foot collided with him. Dazed, his field refocused only on his battered neck and skull, his instincts failing as he was trampled.

Within him, the yellow signature slipped from his control. Its tendrils of psionic energy rushed through his channels with manic glee. Shadows bloomed behind his eyes as the connection locked in place—an oppressive darkness threatening to drown his mind. Amid the chaos, the sound of approaching cyborgs—mechanical, relentless—grew louder, their heavy steps promising impending doom.

"Will!" Becca's voice rang out again as she and Remy battled their way through the mass of bodies.

Through a haze of pain and shock, Will's vision blurred into a montage of shifting shadows. Every time he tried to rise, the surging crowd knocked him down anew. His limbs, heavy and unresponsive, fought a desperate, futile battle. Amid the turmoil, he sensed the cyborg leader's presence drawing inexorably closer, its glowing orange eyes fixed solely on him.

Then, a stray foot caught on his prone form, sending a domino cascade of bodies tumbling over him. Breath drained from his lungs as the crushing weight of the crowd and the cacophony of chaos reduced his world to a blur of pain and suffocation.

"Get off!" Remy bellowed, swinging his briefcase with raw force as he waded into the fray. With his field flaring in a desperate burst, he fought beneath the pile of bodies, determined to reach Will. Finally, Remy's grip found Will, and he hauled him free from the crushing mass. Panting and disoriented, Will staggered as his protective field flickered weakly.

In the midst of chaos, Will's battered senses struggled to distinguish reality from a fevered dream. Pain blossomed with every heartbeat, and he felt himself slipping in and out of consciousness. Amid the clamor, Remy's urgent voice cut through the haze: "We have to leave now—while the militia holds the cyborgs at bay."

Will's eyes, half-lidded and clouded by agony, registered the flicker of movement in the crowd. Through the swirling mass of fleeing civilians, he noticed the militiamen open fire on the cyborgs, forcing them back momentarily.

"Where is their leader?" Becca asked.

Remy spun around, his eyes widening as he saw a lone, tall cyborg striding purposefully through the throng, effortlessly parting the panicked crowd. Its glowing eyes were fixed on Will. In a frantic search for his weapon, Remy patted his hip—and found his holster empty.

"Shit, my gun!" he cursed. Quickly, he glanced at Becca, who still clutched her pistol. "Take the shot! Do it now!"

Becca's face turned ashen. Her eyes darted across the sea of civilians, their shifting forms caught between her and the relentless cyborg. If she missed...

Her hand shook uncontrollably as she raised the pistol; her finger hovered over the trigger, paralyzed by indecision. Meanwhile, the cyborg calmly raised a massive revolver, as if inviting the confrontation.

Before Will could fully process what was happening, a forceful hand yanked him aside. A split second later, a thunderous shot rang out.

Remy, who had positioned himself between Will and the cyborg, jerked violently as the bullet shattered his protective field. He stumbled backward, blood blossoming across his chest. The briefcase he'd been clutching clattered to the ground, bursting open as its contents—the infils—fluttered in the wind.

"No!" Will screamed, his voice raw with anguish, as Remy collapsed against him, blood staining both their coats. Remy's labored breaths were barely audible. "Get… out of here," he rasped.

Fury and despair warred within Will as his heart pounded against his ribs. His vision turned a deep, seething red, and blood trickled from his eyes while his internal field surged uncontrollably. Amid the chaos, he caught a horrifying glimpse: Becca, her face etched with determination, raised her gun at the towering cyborg—only to be cut down by a hail of gunfire. Her protective field shattered, and she crumpled to the ground beside Remy.

A maelstrom of shadows and invading psionic tendrils swarmed Will's mind. With every ounce of strength, he fought the foreign signature writhing inside him. Summoning a surge of raw energy, he sent a violent wave of psions coursing down his channels, nearly burning them out.

With titanic effort, he was able to move again. Gasping, Will tore himself from the disorienting fugue. The screams of the crowd and the pounding of heavy footsteps filled his ears as he saw the cyborg striding relentlessly toward him, its massive frame throwing civilians aside like rag dolls.

Will dragged Remy and Becca along with the fleeing crowd. His mind raced, desperate for a solution as the cyborg drew ever closer. The enemy's weapon rose, its intent unmistakable.

Frantic, Will reached for the shard within him—he needed something, anything. If he could track the bullet before it left the chamber, he could dodge and buy a few more seconds. He reached for the shard, but the chaotic energy inside was too wild, too unpredictable, and his activation faltered. Nothing came. The cyborg had its gun raised, ready to fire.

A deafening bang split the chaos—a thunderous impact accompanied by a blinding flash of steel that cut through the maelstrom of gunfire and screams. For an agonizing heartbeat, Will braced for searing pain, but instead, an uncanny calm washed over him. As his vision cleared, he caught sight of a fluttering gray cloak blocking his view.

Will's eyes widened. The undercover military operative who'd been tailing them since their entry into Derbent stood before him. A powerful field radiated from the figure, and with a wave of his hand, the rest of his team engaged the cyborgs.

Clutching Remy and Becca, Will stared in shock as the gray-cloaked man turned around, his field eerily familiar. Slowly, he lowered his balaclava, revealing a familiar, grinning face.

"Hey there, cuz! Need a hand?"

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