The impact slams into him hard enough to twist his body, the sound of it echoing sharp against the walls as he stumbles backward.
“No—” I start, reaching for him.
He hits the ground.
Doesn’t get back up.
The world narrows.
Sound distorts.
“Loose ends,” Driscoll says calmly, adjusting his grip on the weapon.
Rage hits clean and immediate, cutting through everything else.
“You just signed your own confession,” I snap, raising my weapon.
“Did I?” he asks.
The alarms trigger.
Loud.
Sharp.
Red lights flood the room as the system reacts, lockdown protocols slamming into place.
“Yeah,” I breathe, backing toward the exit. “You really did.”
He steps forward.
“Drop it,” he orders.
I don’t.
Instead, I fire.
Not to hit him.
To break the console behind him.
The shot sparks, the system flickering violently as data streams glitch across the displays.
“Contain her,” he snaps.
I move.
Fast.
The door’s already closing, but I hit it at the right angle, slipping through the narrowing gap as the lockdown seals behind me.
“Stop her!” someone shouts.
“Yeah,” I mutter, sprinting down the corridor. “You can try.”
The base erupts into motion around me, boots hitting the floor, voices overlapping, commands firing off in rapid succession.
I don’t slow.
