The power was gone.
Adanna stood frozen in the dark, laptop screen flickering its warning:
Connection interrupted. Threat detected.
Outside, a vehicle idled. Then another. Footsteps echoed across her driveway.
Her pulse slammed in her throat.
She yanked the flash drive from the laptop and shoved it into her bra, heart racing as she slid to the floor and crawled to the nearest window.
Three black SUVs. No logos. No plates.
Men in tactical gear spilled out, moving like shadows with rifles and comms gear. This wasn't police. This wasn't military.
This was a clean-up team.
She didn't wait.
Adanna darted toward the back door, silently disabling the alarm Malcolm had taught her to bypass. She slipped into the backyard just as the front door shattered open with a crash.
"CLEAR THE ROOMS," a voice ordered inside.
She didn't stop. She ran barefoot into the dew-soaked grass, through the neighbor's gate, and into the alley. Her lungs burned. Her legs screamed. But adrenaline kept her moving.
Every step felt like a countdown.
Two blocks away, she ducked into an old community gym. It hadn't been used in years, but Malcolm had once stashed supplies there — an emergency kit, burner phones, cash. He was paranoid even before Red Clay.
She found the loose floorboard under the old weight bench and pried it open. A small duffel bag sat inside.
She grabbed it and unzipped it with trembling fingers. A prepaid phone. A flashbang grenade. Two stacks of hundred-dollar bills. One passport under the name Alana Rivers.
And a folded note.
If you're here, it means they're already close. Don't go to the police. Don't trust anyone. Get to the safe zone. – M.
The safe zone.
She remembered — Malcolm had mentioned it once. A storage unit on the edge of town, registered under a fake construction company. Inside was supposed to be a backup system, a way to finish the upload if all else failed.
It was her last chance.
The storage facility sat behind a truck yard, surrounded by rusted fences and broken lights. Adanna paid the security guard cash — a bribe, really — and headed for Unit 36C.
Inside was a dusty metal box, hooked to a portable generator and a satellite uplink.
She slammed the flash drive in and watched the system boot up.
Welcome, M.H.
Secure protocol initiated.
The upload resumed.
41%… 56%… 68%…
She waited, sweat dripping down her back, heart in her throat.
Then a click behind her.
Adanna spun.
Vanessa.
Gun drawn. Face bruised. Eyes burning.
"Move," she growled.
Adanna didn't. "You won't shoot me."
Vanessa stepped forward. "I don't need to. I just need that drive."
"The upload's almost done," Adanna said, bluffing. "Kill me, and it still goes public."
Vanessa paused. Her eyes flicked to the screen.
83%…
She gritted her teeth. "You have no idea what you're doing. Red Clay goes public, and it doesn't take them down — it sets off a war."
Adanna's hands curled into fists. "Maybe it's time someone lit the match."
The two women stared each other down, seconds ticking away.
Then Vanessa lowered the gun.
"God help us all," she muttered.
99%… 100%.
UPLOAD COMPLETE. Backup transmission initialized.
It was done.
The files had been sent to multiple outlets, encrypted and timestamped. Red Clay wasn't a secret anymore.
Adanna collapsed against the wall, shaking with relief and exhaustion.
Vanessa turned without a word and disappeared into the dark.
An hour later, her phone buzzed.
A news alert.
Then another.
Then another.
"Leaked files expose global surveillance conspiracy."
"Red Clay: Government insiders named in data warfare scandal."
"Private citizens' minds mapped and sold—massive data abuse uncovered."
The world was waking up.
And for the first time in weeks, Adanna allowed herself to breathe.
But she knew this wasn't over.
Exposing the truth was one thing.
Surviving it… was another.