Empty cans of cheap energy drinks, stale snack wrappers, and open soldering kits surrounded her chair like artifacts of a long war.
She hadn’t slept a wink in days.
"...They’re using ability holders now... Blac Corporation must’ve reinforced their firewalls with live psychic nodes..."
She muttered under her breath.
Each syllable sounded more hoarse than the last.
Her dry eyes barely blinked as she dragged a block of malicious code from one screen to another.
She frowned fiercely, trying to punch a hole through Blac Corporation’s systems again.
But it appeared they were ready for her this ti.
Though it wouldn’t last long.
Psychics cost way too much, even for the world’s richest conglorates to keep them hired permanently on server duty.
She just had to wait them out. Be patient, and strike when the contract expired.
With a slow, agonizingly creaking motion, she stood up.
Her stiff bones popped.
Her neglected muscles protested as she stretched, turning away from the blinding screens.
A soft whirr echoed as she tapped a hidden panel on the wall beside her.
Shhhk-CHUNK.
A sleek bed panel slid out from a vertical slab of reinforced alloy.
It descended like a morgue shelf—cold, hard, and clinical.
This bunker was her entire world. Her digital cathedral.
Her warzone.
And her grave, if she ever slipped up.
But just as she reached up to pull her oversized hoodie over her head, intending to strip down to her bare skin for sleep...
A shrill, ear-piercing ALARM sliced through the quiet air.
BWEEP—BWEEP—BWEEP—
Her heart jackhamred against her ribs.
"What—!?"
Her voice cracked.
She spun around so fast the baggy hoodie slipped off one pale shoulder, exposing the thin black strap of her worn-out bra against her collarbone.
Eyes wide, fingers trembling, she scrambled back to the central terminal.
Raw panic hijacked her exhaustion.
"No—no—what the hell?! How—?!"
CCTV feeds began lighting up across the main ultra-wide display.
They flashed a violent crimson red as external motion detectors triggered one by one.
South tunnel breach.
North tunnel breach.
Hatchpoint C compromised.
She clenched her teeth, scrolling frantically through feed after feed.
She muttered in broken, hyperventilating bursts.
"How can soone—no one—no one knows this place. It’s impossible."
"Blac Corp? No. No, no, no—they don’t know where I am. I’m protected."
"The Syndicate... they promised I was off-radar—"
Her frantic words froze in her throat as the final, clearest feed expanded on the screen.
A dozen black-clad figures stord through one of her reinforced, supposedly impenetrable entrances.
They weren’t governnt agents.
No shiny badges. No obvious insignias.
Just lethal, high-tech, state-of-the-art equipnt.
They wore ballistic helts with glowing AI HUDs.
Their rifles were rigged with advanced recoil suppressors, and heavy energy dampeners were built directly into their tactical armor.
Her entire petite body locked up in terror.
"...They’re here for ..."
The realization punched her chest hollow.
She staggered back, her breath hitching as her eyes locked on the live feed. The heavily ard intruders were already marching down the final corridor leading to her sanctuary.
Then, pure adrenaline kicked in. She moved. Fast.
Bolting toward the east wall, her bare feet slapped against the cold floor. She slamd her palm against a hidden panel.
A section of the steel wall hissed open, revealing a dark, narrow tunnel lined with carbon sh.
She dove in headfirst. The rough sh scraped against her bare knees and the exposed skin of her thighs as she crawled as fast as her trembling body would allow.
Her breath ca in ragged, sharp gasps. Her chest heaved, straining the worn fabric of her bra beneath her slipping hoodie.
Her pupils trembled, darting in the dark like a cornered animal.
’How?!’
’How did they find ?!’
’Why now?!’
She tumbled out into the ergency chamber—a steel box no larger than a prison cell.
In the center hung the suit she’d spent agonizing months building.
It rested on a rack like a dormant soldier: high-tech armored plating fused with flexible cybernetic sh. It featured gauntlets ard with lethal taser prongs, shoulder guards designed to deflect heavy rounds, a compact shield generator on the left arm, and a sleek RPG launcher clipped to the back.
She stripped her hoodie off and suited up in seconds.
The cold, synthetic sh tightened around her petite curves, vacuum-sealing against her flushed skin with a soft hiss. The heavy helt locked into place.
Power surged through the internal lining. Her HUD lit up, splashing her panicked face with the glow of vitals, scrambled GPS coordinates, and escape routes.
With one final, terrified glance toward the breached base, she bit her soft lip.
No ti to look back.
The hidden hatch at the end of the chamber hissed open, revealing a steep tunnel angled upward—leading straight to a camouflaged outcropping in the barren desert above.
She swung her leg over her sleek black hoverbike. It was a beast of a machine, powered by hybrid fuel and coated in radar-absorbing stealth paint.
The engine roared to life between her thighs. Tires kicked up a storm of dust and sparks as she gunned the throttle.
VROOOOOM
She tore blindly through the narrow shaft, bursting out into the freezing, moonlit desert.
The sheer force of the wind whipped at her, sand slicing across her visor like tiny knives. The underground bunker that had been her entire life was now just a fading, insignificant speck swallowed by the vast night.
’N-no, how can soone know the location... it’s impossible,’ she hissed.
She risked a glance over her shoulder, pushing the bike to its absolute limit, her mind racing to comprehend the breach.
’How do they have those rigs!? Are they A-1 military!?’
The massive engine roared directly beneath her crotch, vibrating fiercely against her sensitive center as the wheels tore across the dunes.
They were like chanical hellhounds snapping at her heels. Thick dust clouded her rear-view.
Cold sweat pooled between her breasts and dripped into her eyes. Every erratic heartbeat echoed with mounting dread.
Behind her, the pursuing black armored vehicle didn’t slow down. It hunted her—steady, calculated, and relentless.
A sudden, high-pitched beep scread inside her helt.
[Target Lock Acquired.]
"Shit—no, no—"
She yanked the handlebars, veering hard to the left.
Too late.
KRA-KOOM!
A compact missile detonated just to her right. The concussive wave flung her lightweight body sideways.
The heavy bike scraped aggressively across the slope of a dune as she gritted her teeth, her slender arms trembling as she barely held on.
"You want that bad, huh?" she growled.
A thin trickle of warm blood leaked from the corner of her mouth, staining her chin inside the helt. Her throat was raw from days without proper hydration.
"Bastards..."
She swerved the heavy bike, reached back, and unclipped the RPG.
Twisting her torso, the tight suit stretching taut over her chest, she fired blindly over her shoulder.
BOOM.
One of the pursuing drones spiraled down in a ball of bright orange fire.
But a second drone zipped right through the smoke, as fast and erratic as a wasp. Gunfire crackled through the night air.
Two heavy rounds slamd brutally into her left shoulder guard, shattering the plating.
"Aghhh—!"
The sharp, piercing agony made her vision blur into a watery ss. Her small hand spasd on the throttle.
She lost total control.
The bike bucked and flipped.
CRASH—!!
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