“They’re rotating positions,” Vihl says over comms, his tone quieter than usual.
I don’t respond immediately, because I can see it unfolding in front of me. The timing isn’t off, and the resistance isn’t stronger than expected, but it’s placed differently, like the structure itself is guiding us where it wants us to go.
“Secondary team, report,” I say.
“Delayed,” comes the answer. “Route’s tighter than expected.”
The words settle heavier than they should, because the route wasn’t supposed to matter this much. It was an option, not the focus, and now it’s dragging the timing just enough to disrupt the flow.
I press forward anyway, forcing the push, because breaking momentum here costs more than maintaining it, and for a moment it looks like it might still hold. We break through another line, the defenders staggering back just enough to createspace, and I step into it without hesitation, forcing the advance deeper into the structure.
“Keep pressure,” I say.
The space opens ahead, then tightens behind us without warning, the sound of movement shifting in a way that doesn’t belong to retreat.
“Rear contact,” someone shouts, the word cutting through comms with a sharpness that doesn’t belong there.
I slow just enough to feel the change, the air behind us carrying a different weight, footsteps layered over the echo of our own.
“Confirm,” I say.
“Rear contact confirmed,” another voice answers. “They’re hitting from behind.”
I turn slightly, catching movement at the edge of the corridor, shadows shifting where there shouldn’t be any, and the realization settles in cold and immediate as the structure reveals itself not as something we’re breaking through, but something we’ve already been guided into.
“They’re channeling us,” Vihl says.
“I see it,” I reply, my voice lower now as the air tightens around us.
The corridor doesn’t change physically, but it feels narrower, the angles collapsing into choke points that force my crew closer together. Shots echo harder now, louder, less contained, each impact sending sharp vibrations through the walls and into the floor beneath us.
“Casualty,” someone says.
The word lands flat, practiced, but the timing cuts deeper than the sound of it.
“Location,” I ask.
“Forward unit.”
I don’t slow, even as the rhythm continues to shift around us.
“Keep moving,” I say.
We push again, breaking through another layer, but the cost is visible now in the way movement stutters, in the way spacing collapses, in the way voices on comms carry more strain than they should.
“They’re not trying to stop us,” Vihl says.
“No,” I reply, forcing my way into the next opening.
“They’re shaping us.”
The words settle into place as everything around me confirms them, every path narrowing just enough, every opening pulling us deeper into a structure that isn’t reacting, but guiding.
“Extract target and pull back,” I order.
“That’s not the plan,” someone says.
“It is now,” I reply.
