The control room was a hive of tension. Four agents crowded in front of the flickering wall of CCTV screens, their eyes glued to every angle of the HelixCross building. Most screens showed empty hallways or shocked employees ducking behind desks. But three feeds held their rapt attention: the stairwell, the fourth-floor corridor, and the now-devastated parking structure.
"Jesus Christ," Marcus whispered..
"Back it up. Ten seconds," an agent barked.
They watched again, disbelieving. Anne Ryker—CEO, former hostage, alleged victim—fighting like a professional operative. Her movements were fluid, brutal. She moved with the kind of lethal grace that spoke of years of training, not boardroom etiquette.
She disarmed one of the agents. Shot out the cameras. Crashed through the stairwell door. Vanished into the chaos.
"Get back up on the ground. Lock down every exit," one of the agents ordered into his radio. "y is not a civilian. Repeat: not a civilian."
In the far corner of the room, Marcus stood frozen, his face pale under the screen's glow. He leaned in close to one of the feeds, watching her figure disappear into the smog and flame of the parking structure.
On screen, a security camera caught the blur of Anne vaulting into a matte black security SUV, her frame graceful and violent. One of the agents—her victim—stumbled back clutching his ribs as she jammed the stolen key into the ignition and spun the wheel hard. Tires screamed.
"She's in Dalton's vehicle," someone said.
"And heading for exit ramp four," another voice chimed.
Marcus stood frozen by the wall of monitors.
The SUV shot out of the underground garage like a bullet escaping a barrel. Anne gripped the wheel tight, her knuckles bloodless against the leather. The dashboard lit up with alerts: unauthorized access, GPS tracking, external comms disabled. She didn't care.
In the rearview, two black sedans tore out after her.
A sharp breath left her lungs as she swerved onto the freeway ramp, merging with mid-afternoon traffic under an iron-grey sky. Her mind was clear, terrifyingly clear. Every nerve felt electric. Every motion is measured.
The SUV's engine roared beneath her as she accelerated past a cluster of civilian cars. She flicked her wrist, shifting lanes with inch-perfect precision. Horns blared in her wake.
The black sedans surged forward, weaving between cars like predators. The first one came up fast on her left. Anne leaned into the turn, clipped the median, and slammed the passenger side into the attacker's front wheel. The vehicle wobbled, veered wide, and spun into a divider with a concussive crunch of metal.
One down.
The second sedan was more patient, keeping distance. She could almost feel their coordination tightening — not just pursuit, but containment.
She reached over to the glove box and ripped it open. Empty. Of course.
A gunshot shattered her side mirror.
They were shooting now.
She hit the brakes just long enough to let the second car draw near, then wrenched the steering wheel to the right, using the SUV's bulk to sideswipe it across two lanes. The impact jolted her teeth, but the second sedan was momentarily stunned.
She used the momentum to cut across the highway, taking an exit ramp onto a more rural route — narrower lanes, fewer eyes.
A third vehicle, previously unmarked, joined the pursuit from a side street. Sleek, low, armored.
Anne's heart hammered, but her hands remained steady. She took a hard left into a wooded bypass road, tires barely holding traction. Her breath caught as bullets pinged off the back of the vehicle.
They were gaining.
A quick calculation. She reached down, pulled the emergency brake, and swung the car in a violent fishtail around a blind corner. The SUV shuddered and groaned as it slammed into an old metal gate and plowed through brush. Branches slapped the windshield.
Behind her, engines howled.
She found the service road she remembered—a forgotten stretch of maintenance path once used during HelixCross's early construction. She'd studied it, years ago. Back then, it was curiosity. Now it was survival.
Ahead, the road narrowed again, funnelling between two cement walls flanked by crumbling fencing. A dead end.
Or so it looked.
She didn't slow down.
The black car rounded the corner behind her—and that was when she made her move.
She unclipped her seatbelt, aimed the wheel dead center toward the wall, then threw open the driver's side door and dove.
She hit the ground hard. Pain erupted in her shoulder as she rolled through gravel and brush. The SUV hit the wall head-on with a thunderous explosion, fireball licking the sky.
The enemy vehicle skidded, unprepared for the sudden collision. Metal screamed against concrete. The explosion rocked it sideways. Shrapnel peppered the air.
Anne crouched behind a concrete barrier twenty yards away, blood trickling down her temple. Her coat was torn. Her breath was shallow.
And then, silence.
Smoke thickened. Flames danced.
She stood, slowly. No movement from the other vehicles. She turned and disappeared into the woods, leaving the chaos behind.
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Back in the control room, Marcus stared at the final image on the monitors: the wreckage of the SUV, its remains twisted and burning.
"She's dead," one of the agents said, too quickly.
Marcus leaned forward. He narrowed his eyes at the edges of the smoke. A second set of tire tracks. A heat signature. A body missing.
He whispered, almost reverently, "She escaped."
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The empty road stretched ahead.
Anne took the first exit off the main highway and followed a forgotten county road into the woods. The trees closed in like sentries, tall and dark and quiet.
She slowed. Pulled off to a gravel shoulder. Killed the lights.
Then she opened the door and stepped out, barefoot on broken stone, her breath fogging in the early evening air.
Her pulse was still racing, but her eyes were steady.
In the silence that followed, she heard it: the low hum of another engine.
Out of the shadows, another SUV pulled up alongside her. This one was matte gray, unmarked. The window rolled down.
A man in the passenger seat looked at her through mirrored shades.
It was December.
"Welcome back, Agent April," he said, his voice smooth, assured, like this moment had been fated all along.
April exhaled slowly.
Then she opened the door and got in.
The SUV rolled silently into the trees.