Page 18 of Galactic Sentinels: Vol 2
“Look—I get it. Procedures matter. But right now? Logan and the others could be dying. Vlad and I are going to room 5C. You handle 5A and 5B. If they’re clear, join us.”
He nods, a little stunned. Then he moves.
We rush to the lab.
The moment the door opens, I know we’re in trouble.
The air is thick—oppressive. My visor flares warnings: elevated CO2, toxic particulates, O2 dangerously low.
Everything’s been tossed—tables overturned, med units smashed.
Jason and Xenon are slumped against the far wall. Conscious, barely.
“They were just waking up after the implant update,” Jason wheezes, pointing to the two figures lying on the floor. “Logan and Igor—they were thrown. They haven’t come to.”
I’m already at Logan’s side. Vlad rushes to Igor.
Logan’s arm is bent wrong—definitely broken. Blood streaks down from his temple.
“Logan? Come on, man, nap’s over. Don’t make me do this hero thing alone.”
Nothing.
I scan him—irregular pulse, low oxygen saturation. Not good.
Without hesitation, I pull off my mask and snap it onto his face.
The second I inhale, I feel the burn in my lungs. The air is filthy.
“We need clean air now,” I say through clenched teeth. “He’s not gonna last long in this.”
“I’m calling it in,” Vlad says, fingers flying over his comm. “Melissa, we’ve got a situation. Logan’s critical, air’s unbreathable. Ayden gave him his mask. We need evac. Now.”
I can’t hear her reply, but Vlad’s face says it all. Not yet.
“Okay,” he mutters. “Oscar, is the rest of the sector safe? We need to restore systems before reinforcements can come in.”
Jason and Xenon are out cold now. Probably passed out from the lack of oxygen.
I glance at Logan’s vitals again. Slight improvement. I inhale two quick breaths from the mask before slipping it back over his mouth.
Then—hummm—a faint vibration runs through the walls.
Airflow.
“The system’s restarting,” Vlad confirms. “Air should clear soon.”
“Melissa says we’ve got about 14 minutes until the oxygen’s back to safe levels,” Oscar adds.
“Not fast enough,” I whisper, watching Logan’s chest rise slowly. “But we’ll hold.”
We sit in silence—minutes dragging by like hours.
When my visor finally flashes green—Air Quality Acceptable—I nearly collapse.
A second later, the lab doors hiss open.
Medics flood the room, hauling equipment, masks, stretchers.
