Red strobes painted the hallway in blood light.
Argus ran full-tilt, boots hammering steel floors, drive clutched tight in his fist. Alarms screamed through the MANTIS facility shrill, pulsing, layered with mechanical warning tones. Every door he passed sealed behind him with a hydraulic hiss.
Three guards rounded the corner behind him. Shouts. Boots. One of them fired. A round sparked off the railing two inches from his ribs.
No way out the front. Too many cameras. Too many eyes.
He skidded into a side corridor marked "Utility Access Authorized Only." No hesitation. He slammed his shoulder into the release bar and ducked through.
The door closed behind him, slower than he liked. No time to lock it.
Steam hissed all around thick pipes ran the length of the maintenance tunnel, leaking heat and sweat into the dark. The floor gritted under his boots. Half-lit. No signage. A maze of metal and warning labels.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
They were following.
Argus didn't slow.
He took a sharp left into a narrow passage where the steam ran hotter. Dense fog coated the air, thick enough to mask his silhouette. A valve handle stuck out from the pipe at shoulder height. He didn't think just grabbed and twisted hard.
A blast of white-hot steam erupted from the side, flooding the walkway behind him.
The first guard screamed.
Argus kept moving.
The second guard came through blindly, gun up. Argus waited for the shadow to clear the pipe corner then moved. Fast. Low.
He tackled the man at the knees. Slammed him into the wall. The rifle clattered down the tunnel. Argus kneed the man in the ribs twice, cracked him with an elbow, and stripped the sidearm from his holster. Plastic. Lightweight. Chambered.
Not perfect. Enough.
The last guard's boots thundered behind him now, closing fast. Argus turned and fired once down the tunnel no kill shot. Just a warning. The sound echoed like a punch. The guard dropped to cover.
That bought him seconds. Maybe less.
He ripped the side pack off the unconscious guard and sprinted toward the junction door ahead. It was locked. Clearance only.
He rifled through the pack extra mags, cuffs, an encrypted proximity badge.
Perfect.
He pressed it to the door's reader.
ACCESS GRANTED – LEVEL 3 VERIFIED
The panel turned green. The door hissed open.
He moved through and slammed it behind him.
Silence. Dim overheads. This hallway was newer. Cleaner. Not for maintenance.
He was in the core now right beneath the surveillance deck.
His breath came in short bursts. The heat under his collar felt alive. Sweat soaked through the back of his shirt. He leaned against the wall, checking the drive still green. Still intact.
He took a step forward
And froze.
A voice echoed from above. Overhead speakers.
Smooth. Calm. Icy.
"Attention, all security units. Subject Lawson is no longer in play. ID confirmed: Argus Cutter."
His name hit like a blade.
"Active threat protocol is in effect. Terminate on sight."
The hallway lights shifted from white to red.
Motion sensors activated behind him.
He ran.
Ahead, a security stairwell loomed. He took the steps three at a time, not stopping until he hit the upper-level landing. He pushed into a side access hallway this one lined with storage and emergency kits.
No cameras here. Too deep in infrastructure.
He ducked into a supply alcove. No weapons. Just uniforms, empty gear crates, and backup vests.
His hands shook once.
He gripped the edge of a crate, forced the tremor down.
He wasn't just burned now.
He was dead again.
Officially.
Worse he was buried under someone else's name.
A beeping started from the pack he stole.
Not his comm.
He yanked it open. A palm-sized MANTIS relay device glowed bright blue. It pulsed once. Then again.
A tracking beacon.
They'd been watching him the second he grabbed the gear.
"Dumb," he muttered. "Too fast. Too easy."
He smashed it against the wall. Hard. Until it cracked.
Then he tossed it down a side shaft and kept moving.
The stairwell ahead led to the loading deck. He heard the sound of rolling wheels, voices, engine hum.
One more door between him and open air.
He checked the badge again. Still active.
He pushed it to the exit panel.
ACCESS GRANTED – LOADING BAY 2
The door slid open just wide enough.
He slipped out.
And stopped.
Three guards patrolled the loading dock perimeter, rifles ready.
But what caught his eye wasn't them.
It was the security van pulling in through the secondary gate painted matte black. Side door slid open mid-roll.
Inside:
Metal crates.
Armored cables.
And four drones, their optics glowing red as they powered up.
Face-scanning tech. Riot-coded AI.
The last word he caught from the earpiece of the closest guard chilled him.
"Activate sweep. Primary target: Cutter. Classify as internal ghost."
Argus dropped flat behind a stacked shipment pallet. The drone in the van whirred to life, its red eye blinking across the bay like a searchlight.
Internal ghost.
Not rogue. Not missing. Ghost.
That meant they'd scrubbed him already from department records, badge networks, maybe even surveillance blacklists. He didn't exist. He was just a threat moving through their system.
No ID.
No backup.
No warning to the next guy pulling the trigger.
A metal locker room door sat ten feet away, half-cracked, fluorescent light bleeding through. Argus crouched low and slid through the gap.
No one inside.
Two open lockers. Uniforms inside.
One was MANTIS-branded coveralls. The kind the warehouse techs wore. Ball cap stuffed into the bottom shelf. No badge.
The other had a black security vest with name tape: STEVENS. Inside the pocket another proximity card, still warm.
Argus stripped fast. Switched coats, tossed the wet button-up, slipped into the coveralls and vest. He shoved the drive into his sock, flattened it inside the boot heel. It fit snug. Tighter than he liked.
Footsteps passed outside the locker room.
A drone chirped.
Argus held his breath.
It didn't pause.
Didn't scan.
Yet.
He pulled the cap low and stepped back out. Calm. Chin tucked. Neutral face.
He walked toward the loading ramp like he belonged there.
Two guards passed him near the side of the van. Neither gave him a second glance. They were focused on the drone team pulling sensor crates into place.
A voice crackled in one of their earpieces. "Thermal scan complete. 83% coverage. Begin phase two sweep."
Argus kept walking.
At the end of the loading bay sat a delivery truck engine off, back open, half-filled with sealed boxes. Logo read: EVANS & CO. Tactical Freight.
Standard contract run. Civilian tag.
Low security.
He climbed in the back, slid a crate forward, ducked behind it.
No cameras inside.
The back doors were still wide. Too wide.
If he shut them now, it would draw attention.
So he waited.
Thirty seconds.
Sixty.
A worker passed by, yelled to someone near the security desk.
Argus made his move.
He hit the release on the back door latch quiet and jumped down the second the bay lights dimmed in response to a nearby sensor sweep.
He slipped along the back wall toward the exit ramp.
Security had eyes on the drones. Not the delivery lanes.
His stolen badge buzzed in his pocket. The sensor on the side gate blinked green.
He walked through the gap in the barrier like a man on break.
No alarms.
No shouts.
He was out.
Almost.
Ten steps forward.
A black ops van pulled in from the side gate.
Doors slid open.
Four men in matte-grey MANTIS armor stepped out tall, silent, armed with stun guns and sidearms.
One of them was scanning.
A short-range facial recon unit. Custom-coded.
Argus kept his head down.
Kept walking.
Then the scanner beeped.
One of the men turned sharply.
"Hey."
Argus didn't stop.
"Badge?"
He held up the card without turning.
"Face scan required," the soldier said.
Argus stopped now. Turned halfway. Kept the cap low.
"System's slow," he muttered. "Same issue upstairs."
The man stepped closer. "Protocol says we clear you now or detain."
Argus's fingers drifted toward his boot.
Another soldier stepped forward right hand resting on the stun gun. The scanner beeped again. Louder.
MATCH INCONCLUSIVE: PROCESSING RETRY
The guard stepped closer.
Then
Bwoosh.
A jet of white foam sprayed from behind the scanning terminal.
One of the drones misfired.
Another worker legit this time screamed and dropped a crate. Sparks flew.
"System fault!" someone yelled.
In the split second of chaos, Argus moved.
Elbowed the guard in the jaw. Hard. Turned. Snatched the scanner unit mid-air and slammed it into the other one's throat.
Both dropped.
He sprinted for the truck.
A shot cracked behind him.
He dove into the cabin, slammed the door, twisted the key still in the ignition.
The engine roared to life.
Tires screamed against wet concrete.
He gunned it through the partially closed gate, sparks flying as the mirrors scraped the barrier.
The side-view camera caught the first two drones lifting off chasing him.
But he was already gone.
Almost.
The in-dash screen blinked.
Not GPS.
A linked MANTIS device embedded in the console. Activated by ignition.
DEVICE PAIRED
SYNCED SUBJECT: DETECTIVE CHEN
Argus's stomach dropped.
They weren't tracking him anymore.
They were using the truck to follow her.
His knuckles clenched around the wheel. The drive was still hidden. But now they had Chen flagged and the countdown had already started.
He couldn't go dark.
He had to go louder than ever.