Page 140 of Fractured Loyalties
“No flanking. No cover. They’re not worried about being seen.”
Because they’re not supposed to hide. They’re supposed to be noticed.
I whisper into the bead, “Second position. Now.”
“Copy.”
The comm clicks again. Gone.
My gut twists. Not from fear. From recognition. This isn’t just a funnel—it’s a psych map. Vale’s trying to predict my responses. Herd me into a single inevitable choice. A dead end I won’t see until I’ve already bled into it.
I spot it two minutes later.
A north egress tunnel—metal-gated, camo-netted, staged like an easy out.
I don’t touch it. I just pivot slightly, enough to keep it in my periphery, and count to five.
The explosion detonates inside the tunnel itself, a directional blast from a vent hidden in the support frame. Not enough to bring the place down—just a staged collapse that kicks debris outward and shreds the illusion of escape.
A bluff dressed like sabotage.
“Nice try,” I mutter.
Dust curls down from the ceiling like breath from a dying thing.
Vale’s message is clear: every path I think I carve for myself, he already mapped the exit wounds.
Except he forgot one thing.
I don’t run forward blindly anymore. I map beneath the map.
I track left along the inner wall, fingers grazing the ridged steel, past the settling dust and into a gap—a hidden seam in thelayout, missed on first glance. A maintenance hatch disguised as overflow drainage. I drop into it fast.
The tunnel twists. Narrows. Then opens.
Not into another hall.
Into a room.
High ceiling. Arched. Reinforced beams sloped like a cathedral spine. The hum of an old generator behind a grated mesh wall. Light flickers. Faint. Artificial. Blue-tinged and ugly.
And there—waiting in the center—a single drone hovers. Watching.
I freeze.
A single shape waits ahead. Not hidden.
Drone.
Hovering ten feet off the floor. Silent. Black shell. Streamlined. New gen.
It doesn’t engage.
Just rotates once.
Watches.
A screen beside it pings alive. Static. Then an image.
