Seventy.
The door slams open.
“Freeze!” a voice barks.
I don’t.
I yank the device free at eighty-two percent, the transfer cutting abruptly as I pivot, firing before they can close distance.
The first shot drops the lead guard, the second forces the others back, buying me half a second of space.
“Not enough,” I mutter, moving.
More flood in behind them.
Too many.
Too fast.
“Yeah,” I breathe. “That’s not great.”
I fire again, adjusting angles, trying to break through, but they’re coordinated, disciplined, their movement tightening around me instead of scattering.
“Drop it!” one of them shouts.
“Not happening,” I shoot back, backing toward the far side of the room.
The exit’s already cut off.
They push in.
Closer.
“Alright,” I mutter, shifting my stance. “We’re doing this the hard way.”
I move to break through?—
And something hits me from the side.
Hard.
The impact knocks the breath out of me, my shoulder slamming into the console as the weapon is torn from my grip.
“Down!” someone barks.
I swing anyway, driving an elbow back, catching someone in the chest, but it’s not enough.
Hands grab, force, overwhelm.
“Yeah,” I grunt, fighting against it. “That’s a lot of you.”
A strike lands across my ribs, sharp enough to disrupt my balance, and they take advantage immediately, driving me down, pinning my arms, locking me into the floor.
“Stay down!” a voice snaps.
“Not really my style,” I mutter, even as the pressure increases.
A boot presses into my back, forcing me flat.
