The reinforced door slammed shut behind them with a heavy clang, sealing them inside. Sol's breath came in ragged bursts, his chest rising and falling as the weight of the last few minutes pressed down on him. The air in the safehouse was different—stale, metallic, but solid. It smelled of rust, old wiring, and oil, but there were no whispers in the dark, no unseen horrors lurking just beyond the edge of his senses.
Safe. For now.
Gru muttered something under his breath as he secured the last lock, his gnarled fingers dancing across the security panel with mechanical efficiency. Sol couldn't tell if the goblin was cursing or praying. Maybe both.
The dim blue holo-lights flickered to life, casting ghostly shadows against the metallic walls. The safehouse was small, barely more than a storage room packed with crates, loose scrap, and old tech. The air was thick with dust and the faint hum of hidden ventilation systems keeping it from growing stale.
Sol slumped against the nearest crate, his body finally giving in to the exhaustion gnawing at his muscles. His hands trembled slightly as he flexed his fingers, brushing against the cool metal of his bag's strap—a small, tangible anchor in a sea of chaos. His head still ached from the horrors of the tunnel.
But he had made it.
For the first time since stepping into the underground, he allowed himself a second to breathe.
Then he turned to Gru. "You knew about that thing in the tunnel, didn't you?"
Gru stiffened but didn't turn around. Instead, he kept working, double-checking the locks, his movements slightly too controlled. He hesitated for just a second.
"I told you not to acknowledge it."
Sol clenched his jaw. His ACE System had detected nothing—nothing at all. That terrified him more than anything.
"That's not an answer," Sol pressed, voice hoarse.
Finally, Gru turned, his sharp eyes unreadable in the dim light. "You're better off not knowing, kid." His voice was lower than usual, almost cautious. "There are things in this city older than the slums, older than the people who think they run it. The tunnels ain't just for hiding. Sometimes, they're feeding grounds."
Sol's stomach churned at the implication. Feeding grounds. He wanted to argue, demand more details, but a deep exhaustion settled over him—the kind that came from more than just physical strain. He wasn't ready for the truth. Not yet.
Instead, he swallowed hard and changed the subject. "So… where exactly are we?"
Gru motioned to the room. "One of Darik's backup safehouses. She's got plenty, but this one's out of the way enough that DreamCorp won't sniff it out immediately. You'll rest here until she's done setting up your exit."
Just as Sol began to let himself breathe, a sharp vibration pulsed through his interface.
A notification from one of his spiders still scouting the city above.
His fingers twitched as he accessed the live feed. The grainy night vision flickered to life, and his blood turned cold.
A small squad, moving carefully just above them. Their formation was tight, precise—trained hunters tracking something specific. Their leader was speaking into his comm, his words muffled through the static of the feed. Sol adjusted the volume.
"—confirmed signs of movement underground. Possible survivor. Holding position for further orders."
Sol's pulse spiked.
Then his heart sank further as another movement flickered at the edge of the spider's vision.
Serik's Vultures.
A second group, moving like shadows, tracking DreamCorp's movements but staying just out of sight. They weren't here to fight them. Not yet.
They were waiting.
Sol cursed under his breath as he listened in on a private encrypted channel one of his spiders had intercepted.
"Boss, we've got eyes on DreamCorp closing in on something underground. Orders?"
Serik's voice came through after a beat, his tone sharp with frustration.
"If they find the rat first, I want to know immediately. No mistakes. If they take him, we follow and intercept. If we get a clear shot first, we bury him before they can."
Sol's fingernails dug into his palm.
They were running out of time.
And then—the final knife to his already fraying nerves.
A third presence.
Another flicker on the spider's feed—this time from an adjacent rooftop, watching both DreamCorp and the Vultures from above. Sol frowned. They weren't moving like gangsters or corporate grunts. Their posture, their discipline—it was different. Too refined. Too controlled. Whoever they were, they had their own agenda, tracking DreamCorp and the Vultures from the shadows.
His spider's feed struggled to maintain a lock on them before the figures disappeared, melting into the cityscape with eerie precision. Sol clenched his fists. A third party meant more complications. He had no idea who they were, what they wanted, or if they were even after him. But if they were watching DreamCorp and the Vultures, it meant they were just as invested in this hunt.
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay calm. His mind was already working at full speed, processing variables, calculating escape options.
DreamCorp.
Serik's Vultures.
And now this unknown faction.
They were all here, circling like vultures.
If Sol didn't make his move soon, there wouldn't be a move left to make.
\---
Far above, nestled in the shadow of a towering spire, the Strix Marauders watched in silence. Their leader, Valka Solholm, peered through her visor, scanning the converging forces below with cold calculation.
"Tch. DreamCorp's getting sloppy," Jex muttered, adjusting his rifle's sights. "Took 'em too damn long to sniff out his trail. If that kid's smart, he's already three steps ahead."
Valka didn't respond immediately. Her piercing gaze remained locked on the scene below. She wasn't interested in DreamCorp's incompetence. What intrigued her was the boy.
"He's unpredictable," she finally said. "And desperate. That makes him dangerous."
Jex scoffed. "Dangerous? He's a rat scurrying through the filth."
Valka turned slightly, fixing him with a sharp glare. "A rat that outplayed DreamCorp and slipped through Serik's fingers. A rat that's still breathing when he should be buried. You should know better than to underestimate survivors."
Jex huffed but said nothing.
Valka shifted her gaze back to the safehouse. "Keep watching. We move when I say. If DreamCorp or the Vultures flush him out, we'll be there to collect what's left."
Jex grinned. "And if they don't?"
Valka's expression remained unreadable. "Then we see just how resourceful this Sol really is."
The Marauders settled back into position, waiting. Watching.
The hunt wasn't over yet.