Hydra's challenge was a blade twisting in my gut. Face me, coward! Or watch your friend die! He was forcing my hand, turning my loyalty into a weapon against me. The choice was impossible. If I abandoned Hydra, he would free himself and come after us both. If I stayed to fight him, Anya would die.
But I was not the same player who had frozen in fear on the rooftops of District 7. I had learned. I had adapted. I chose to save Anya. But I would do it on my own terms.
I could not win this alone. I needed my teammate.
I made my decision in a split second. I would not just run away from Hydra. I would create chaos.
I switched weapons. The S-12 shotgun disappeared, and the long, heavy form of the Phantom sniper rifle materialized in my hands. In this close-quarters lab, it was a foolish weapon to use. It was slow, clumsy, and difficult to aim. It was the last thing anyone would expect.
I sent Anya a quick, frantic message, my thoughts a blur.
[GET READY. CREATE AN OPENING.]
Then, I did something completely insane. I ran towards one of the large, intact glass vats and vaulted on top of it. It was a slippery, unstable platform, but it gave me a clear view of the entire lab. It also made me the single most visible target in the room.
"HERE I AM!" I roared, my voice raw.
Every enemy looked at me. Hydra, stuck in his pool of goo, bellowed with rage and began to slog his way towards my vat. The three Red Team soldiers who had Anya pinned down turned their rifles on me. Bullets started pinging off the glass around my feet.
I ignored them all. I ignored Hydra. I ignored the soldiers shooting at me. My focus was absolute. I dropped to one knee on top of the vat, stabilizing my position. I raised the Phantom rifle.
I looked through the scope, my vision narrowing. I was not aiming at the enemies near Anya. I was aiming above them. Along the high ceiling of the lab, I saw what I was looking for: a large, thick pipe, painted with bright red warning stripes. An emergency coolant line. In games, red pipes almost always meant one thing. Explosive. I was betting my life, and Anya's, that the rules of this world were the same.
I held my breath. The world in my scope became perfectly still. The crosshairs settled on the red pipe.
I squeezed the trigger.
The sniper rifle roared, its deep boom echoing through the lab like a clap of thunder.
My high-caliber bullet crossed the room in an instant. It hit the pipe. The metal ruptured.
It did not explode with fire. It ruptured with a piercing hiss that quickly became a deafening roar. A massive cloud of white, pressurized gas vented downwards, directly onto the three soldiers who were firing at me. It was a cryo-blast. A wave of intense, freezing cold.
A system notification confirmed my gamble. [ENEMIES SUFFERING FROM CRYO-BLAST. ACCURACY AND MOVEMENT SPEED HEAVILY REDUCED.]
The gas was not lethal, but it was debilitating. It created a thick, swirling fog, obscuring vision. The intense cold caused frost to form on their armor and weapons, making them stiff and slow.
Anya did not waste the opportunity. She was a true veteran. She charged out of the freezing fog like a ghost, her weak P-19 pistol barking. Pop. Pop. She was fast and precise. The first disoriented soldier fell, a bullet hole in his helmet. Pop. Pop. Pop. The second one turned too slowly, his movements stiff from the cold. He fell next.
The third soldier, seeing his teammates die, panicked. He turned and ran, disappearing into the maze of vats. The immediate threat to Anya was gone. The tide had turned.
But I had made myself a target. As I was focused on the shot, one of the cryo-blasted soldiers had managed to fire a final, wild burst. A bullet hit me hard in the leg. The pain was sharp and searing.
My [REACTIVE PLATING] skill activated. The blue, hexagonal shield shimmered into existence around me just as the bullet hit. The damage was reduced, but the force of the impact was still enough to knock me off balance. I tumbled off the top of the slippery vat, landing hard on the floor below. The shield saved me from a fatal injury, but I was still hurt.
Hydra had finally freed himself from the goo. He had seen my trick with the pipe. He was no longer just angry. He was incandescent with fury. He let out a wordless roar of pure hatred and charged at me, his chainsword revving to its highest pitch.
I pushed myself to my feet, my leg screaming in protest. I switched back to my shotgun. There was no more room for tricks. No more clever plans. The final duel had begun.
Hydra was a tank. A true boss character. My shotgun blasts, which would kill a normal player in one or two hits, seemed to only annoy him. I fired. BOOM. The pellets slammed into his heavy chest piece. Sparks flew, but he did not even slow down. His health bar, which had appeared above his head, barely moved. [HYDRA HP: 180/200].
His chainsword was a terrifying blur of motion. He swung it in wide, devastating arcs. Every swing that I dodged tore through a glass vat or chewed a deep gash in the metal floor. The sound was a constant, high-pitched scream of tearing metal. If even one of those swings connected, I was dead. There was no surviving a direct hit from that weapon.
I was faster than him. I was more agile. I dodged and weaved, firing my shotgun whenever I had an opening. But it was not enough. He was a wall of armor and health, and he was slowly, relentlessly, backing me into a corner.
I fired again. BOOM. Another blast to his chest. He grunted, finally showing a sign of damage. [HYDRA HP: 155/200].
I tried to reload. My hands fumbled with the shells. He saw his chance. He lunged forward, faster than I expected. His chainsword came down in a vicious overhead chop. I threw myself to the side, landing badly on my injured leg. The pain was blinding.
I looked down at my shotgun. My HUD flashed with the worst possible message at the worst possible time. It was a blinking, angry red.
[AMMO: 0/12]
I was out. Completely empty. I was defenseless at close range.
Hydra saw it. He saw the look of panic in my eyes. He saw my empty shotgun. A slow, triumphant grin spread across his face. His chainsword revved, the sound a victorious roar.
"No more toys, little man?" he taunted. He stalked forward, cornering me against a large, undamaged glass vat. There was nowhere left to run.
Anya shouted from across the lab, her voice filled with alarm. "Leo, watch out!" But she was too far away. The last remaining Red Team soldier had engaged her again. She could not help me.
Hydra stood over me, a giant shadow of spiked armor and roaring machinery. He raised his chainsword high for the final, killing blow.
"This is the price for killing a brother of Ouroboros!" he roared.