Fifteen minutes earlier.
The lower levels of the facility groaned beneath the weight of chaos. Sirens pulsed in waves through the dim corridors, not with urgency—but with exhaustion, like the systems themselves had grown tired of screaming. The flicker of red emergency lighting gave the place a blood-washed glow.
Subject 3830 moved through it like a blade.
She was barefoot. Silent. And hunting.
She passed the open doors of abandoned labs, overturned desks, smashed monitors. The guards had already swept through these wings. She could hear their boots echoing through adjacent halls, barking orders as they searched for the others. But she wasn't interested in them.
She wanted one man.
She turned a corner, and the hairs on her arms rose. Her breath slowed. Her skills were fluctuating at a stronger rate—a sense that a job title was at play. It was his.
And it told her he was close.
She entered a cafeteria through a side access door.
It was empty. For now.
