The room explodes into motion as everyone scatters to their gear. I feel that familiar mix of nerves and excitement coursing through my veins.
All of our masks and Avidian are locked in the trunk, and we’re suited up in full black tactical gear as we cram into the SUV. We went over the game plan until we could recite it in our sleep, and now as we drive toward the gutter zone and away from the desolate forest, the car is silent except for the hum of tires on cracked asphalt. The calm before the storm settles over us, and I try to calm my racing thoughts and focus on controlling my breathing.
Malachi navigates through increasingly rundown streets. Thirty minutes of urban decay later, he pulls into an empty parking lot and puts the car in park. The engine ticks as it cools.
I stare out the window at the towering concrete monuments around us—skyscrapers with darkened windows, some floors completely gutted, others flickering with the glow of illegal fires. I thought the city we hit in the South was big, but this place dwarfs it. The buildings seem to lean in on us, castinglong shadows even in the dim streetlight. I suddenly feel very small and have to shake off the anxiety starting to fester in my chest.
We all get out, boots crunching on snow and debris. The air tastes stale and carries the faint scent of burned trash. At the back of the car, we strap on our weapons with practiced efficiency—knives, tactical gear, everything we might need to survive what’s coming. Bash hands out our masks and explains which colored caps correspond to which Avidian, going over the operation sequence one final time even though we all know it by heart.
We can’t drive into the gutter zone because it’s barricaded on all sides—rusted shipping containers stacked three high, topped with coils of razor wire. It’s like stepping from one world into another. Only a few blocks behind us, the corporate district gleams with chrome and glass, every window blazing with artificial daylight even at this hour. But here, where the asphalt crumbles into potholes deep enough to swallow a tire, reality shifts. Half the streetlights flicker sporadically or hang dark entirely, casting the crumbling facades in pools of amber and shadow. Windows stare down at us like hollow eye sockets, some boarded up with scrap metal, others glowing with the orange flicker of barrel fires.
“Remember, we may be here to do good, but the people beyond those walls don’t know that,” Malachi says, his voice carrying the weight of experience. “They will see us as a threat, and there is no reasoning with desperate people who have nothing left to lose.”
“We don’t want to kill any civilians, but we will if it’s a choice between them or us,” Cade adds, checking his weapon one final time. Aurora bumps my shoulder, her touch grounding me through the tactical gear.
We’ve trained for this. I’m stronger than I’ve ever been.We’ve planned every contingency. It’s going to be okay. The mantra loops in my head, but my pulse hammers against my throat.
“Mask up and stay in pairs. Only talk through comms from here on out. I’ll cut the power grid once we breach the perimeter,” Bash says, his voice already taking on that clipped, professional tone that means we’re switching to mission mode.
I look down at the mask in my hands, all matte black polymer that feels deceptively light, its surface broken only by the seven Avidian vials arranged in a perfect arc across the front. Each vial swirls with its beautiful galaxy-like glow. The technology that could mean the difference between life and death tonight.
I strap it on, feeling the seal form around my face. When I push the button for the tactical visor, my world transforms—overlays showing team positions, comm indicators, and that faint green tint of night vision that will let us navigate the darkness Bash is about to plunge this place into.
Through the enhanced display, I watch my teammates become anonymous shadows in black tactical gear. Only their eyes remain human behind the masks, and even those seem different now, harder, focused, ready for war.
We reach the barricade, and Malachi is the first to climb over. I’m right behind him. The shipping container groans under our weight as we scale it, the corrugated metal slick with condensation and grime and ice. He cuts through the razor wire at the top, the sharp twang of severed metal echoing in the night air as he clears a path wide enough for our bodies.
He drops climbing rope on both sides—military grade, black as the night around us. I grip it tight, feeling the rough fibers bite into my gloves as I rappel down the interior face of the barricade. The gutter zone spreads out below me like a festering wound in the city’s flesh. Buildings lean at impossibleangles, their facades crumbling like diseased skin. Some structures have collapsed entirely, leaving skeletal frames reaching toward the sky like desperate fingers.
When I’m close enough to the ground, I release the rope and drop the final few feet, landing in a crouch on broken pavement littered with snow and debris I don’t want to identify. Malachi’s hand finds my shoulder immediately, steadying me as my boots find purchase among the rubble.
Above us, Aurora begins her descent, moving with the fluid grace of someone who’s done this before. I turn away, watching Malachi’s back while scanning our immediate surroundings. The smell here is overwhelming—human waste, rotting garbage, burned plastic, and underneath it all, something metallic that might be blood.
In the distance, a trash fire burns in a rusted barrel. Figures move in and out of the light, too far away to make out clearly but close enough to remind us we’re not alone.
Bash’s gift kicks in.
The power grid dies with an almost audible sigh, every functioning streetlight, every flickering neon sign, every dim bulb in every broken window going dark simultaneously. The transformation is absolute, one moment, we’re in a diseased urban landscape, and the next, we’re plunged into a darkness so complete it feels solid.
Only that single trash fire remains, a lonely beacon of orange flame at the end of what used to be a street, now a river of snow and shadows flowing between the hulking shapes of abandoned buildings.
The Viridian woman suddenly appears in my mask, her voice echoing inside my head. “Betrayal comes from within. You’re closer to the truth.” I stumble backward into Aurora.
She catches me and moves around until our eyes meet through our visors. The woman’s gone, vanished as quickly asshe appeared, leaving only the green glow of night vision and Aurora’s concerned gaze. Her eyebrows pinch together as she takes me in, searching for signs of what just happened.
I nod, assuring her I’m all right, though my heart is hammering against my ribs. Betrayal comes from within. Aurora turns back to the others, but her body language stays alert, protective.
We fan out but stick close to one another as Malachi leads us toward this fucking old pizza place we’re supposed to find. I swear if I’ve led everyone here and Viktor is lying, I’m going to make sure the spirits torture him for eternity.
Malachi turns left before we reach the trash fire at the end of the street, and I’m thankful because walking past those shadowy figures seemed like asking for trouble. The road we turn down is pitch black, not a flicker of light anywhere as we move down the center, scanning the crumbling buildings on either side through our night vision.
We make it a couple blocks, then turn again. That’s when I hear someone whistle from high above, followed by the sharp crash of breaking glass.
All of us freeze. Then bottles start raining down from the windows above—glass, trash, chunks of concrete, anything they can get their hands on.
“Shit,” I hiss as something hard connects with my shoulder, sending pain shooting down my arm. A molotov cocktail hits the pavement right in front of me and explodes in a burst of orange flame. I stumble backward, throwing my arm up to shield my face from the heat and flying glass.
Crude yelling echoes from the darkness above, voices telling us we don’t belong, to get the hell out of their territory. I remember Bash’s warning. Don’t try to reason with desperate people. Just get out.
