The crowd erupted with relentless force. Irregular alphas with hardware-lined faces ziplined in from the terraces. Computerized scanning systems reddened the pupils of their left eyes. Behind them, omegas wielded combat rifles. They had been trained. Every single one of them.
“Who are they?” Lucas whispered.
“I don’t want to find out,” Killian muttered.
Tripping over th
eir feet, they ran toward the hazy lights of the nightclub. But when they arrived, the building was a searing pile of rubble. Everywhere they turned, death clung to the earth like an impossible stain.
Before they could react, a series of bombs in the city sent tremors through the asphalt. They watched in silence as half of the metropolis fell into a torrent of flame. The smell of burning human flesh wafted into their noses, but it was the screams of panic that their senses focused on first.
Lucas held his breath and stood listening. Finally, as if it were planned, the defense sirens spread the tones of chaos.
Lucas ran through the decimated club, and Killian soon followed. Wren was everywhere. Her head, limbs, body fragments… everywhere.
“Copies?” Lucas asked.
Killian carefully kneeled his head down and took hold of the soppy clump of hair from a dismembered head. The eyes were angled oddly. “Copies.”
Lucas swallowed and looked through the steel wiring that held half of the building up. The Ouroboros had started to fire back. The city was a warzone.
“There’s no way out of the city. We’re trapped,” Lucas said.
Killian stood and clutched his rifle close to his chest. “We’re soldiers,” he said. “If we die tonight, we’ll be better off for it.”
“You saw those people… are they from the southern regions?” Lucas asked.
“The Republic,” he said.
“No fucking way,” Lucas muttered.
“Time to start believing. Right now is our chance to help out,” he said. “We use this as an opportunity. Let’s go.”
Walking outside the demolished building, Lucas felt the crunch of glass beneath his boots. He inhaled the smoky scent of death and gritted his teeth. It had been so long since he punished and killed. At least this time, he had an excuse.
Lucas followed as Killian ran into the chaotic streets. Bullets fell like rain, puckering the surface of the weathered buildings behind them. Feet carrying them to safety, they fired into the oblivion of smoke and motionless, screaming humans.
Step by step, they ran onto the train platform, abruptly stopping when they reached the last step. The platform was quiet and empty, and the roof muffled the cracks of firing from above.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Lucas whispered to himself, bouncing on the edges of his heels. “Where are we going?”
Killian panted and winced in pain. Reaching around his triceps, he felt the torn tissue and trickling blood. Another bomb exploded, sending the exit of the station tumbling into the pipes below.
“The barracks,” Killian muttered and held his hand up to block the debris.
Lucas threw off his pack and dove to the floor when he noticed the wound. “You’re hit.”
“Don’t fucking worry about it,” Killian grunted.
Digging through his bag, Lucas pulled out a first aid kit. Fumbling at the edges of the case, he opened it and pulled out a small syringe. “We have to get the bullet out and cauterize the wound,” he said. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”
“Like hell, I will,” he said.
Overhead, the sound of helicopters rang out. Both of them looked toward the outside to see a set of figures slowly enclose around them. A blinding light cast before their eyes.
A firm and commanding voice reverberated against the walls of the platform. “Put down your weapons.”
Lucas sighed. With the weight of the world on his shoulders, he sank into a pit of despair. They had lost.