Above ground, the base was a mess of chaos. Sirens blared, casting a red hue over the sterile corridors. Emergency lights flickered, creating a strobe effect that disoriented more than it illuminated.
Automated drones buzzed overhead, their sensors scanning for any unauthorised movement. The air was thick with tension, every creak and groan of the facility amplifying the group's anxiety.
Ima led the group, her fingers dancing over a portable terminal. Miles flanked her, his eyes darting to every shadow. Naomi kept close to the children, a boy and a girl between seven and ten, whispering reassurances. They had packed as little as they could easily move within these conditions. Sam and Mike brought up the rear, their weapons drawn, senses heightened.
Patrols moved with mechanical precision, their boots striking the metal floors in unison. The sound was too crisp, too predictable. It made it easier to hide… but also reminded them how little room they had for error.
