04-05-2025, 06:52 PM
The gang moved like a strike team on a mission—tight, purposeful. As the last of the sunlight bled from the sky and the city lights behind them dimmed into a haze, Grym kept to the shadows, trailing them at the edge of visibility. Their flashlights swept wide arcs ahead, and she stayed far enough back that only the glow from their beams guided her footing. Just enough light to follow. Just enough not to fall.
She crouched near the factory’s gaping entrance, pausing at the crumbling threshold. From here, the city’s glow wouldn’t reach inside, it would be nothing but black and blacker. She slipped her hand into her pack, pulled out her Land Warriors, and settled them over her eyes. The world lit up in muted greens and ghostly shapes. Cracked pavement. Gutted machines. Metal sharp.
Then, footsteps behind her.
She turned fast, her hand already brushing the grip of her sidearm, but when her night-vision lenses locked onto the figure, she relaxed by inches. The man from the petrol station. Civilian. He’d followed her as she had the others. So focused on what was ahead, she didn’t think to check behind. That was the kind of mistake that killed Atharim.
When he spoke, his words were strange, like he was quoting something he didn’t fully understand. She shook her head. “This is too dangerous. Turn back.” Her voice was low, firm, no room for argument.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Grym grimaced. The last thing she needed was a tagalong, especially one who didn’t know what he was walking into.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But stay quiet. And don’t fall behind.” She turned toward the dark ahead. “That crew’s walking into something they don’t understand.”
Inside the factory, the world narrowed to what her goggles could see: corridors choked with rusted machinery, collapsed beams, jagged edges like teeth. One wrong step could mean a shredded leg or a severed artery. Grym kept low, precise, her every move calculated. She knew how old places like this liked to kill.
They moved silently past twisted conveyor belts and rust-flaked tanks. The air smelled like iron and rot, faint and wrong.
Then they saw them scattered across the floor. Bones. She knelt, plucked one from the grime. Small. Hollow. She sniffed it, turned it in her fingers. Dry. Old.
Some kind of scavenger, maybe a possum or a raccoon. Others were larger, but she didn’t linger. The gang ahead was still on the move. If she fell behind, she’d lose them in this maze of steel and silence.
Still, the unease was crawling up her spine. Bones this deep inside? Something lived here and something hunted here. Suddenly, she raised a hand and froze in place, stopping the civilian behind her with a silent signal. Ahead, the gang had stopped moving.
They were spinning in tight circles, flashlights sweeping wildly across the factory floor. Shouts—muffled, tense. Something was wrong. Grym ducked low behind a crumpled support beam, staying clear of the searchlights. Her breath slowed as her eyes scanned the factory interior, flicking between the men and the shadows beyond their reach. No gunfire. No visible enemy. Just panic.
She adjusted the focus on her goggles, eyes narrowing. She wasn't sure what they were looking for—but she was sure of one thing: they were in a lair.
Of what? Bear, dog, or monster remained to be seen.
She crouched near the factory’s gaping entrance, pausing at the crumbling threshold. From here, the city’s glow wouldn’t reach inside, it would be nothing but black and blacker. She slipped her hand into her pack, pulled out her Land Warriors, and settled them over her eyes. The world lit up in muted greens and ghostly shapes. Cracked pavement. Gutted machines. Metal sharp.
Then, footsteps behind her.
She turned fast, her hand already brushing the grip of her sidearm, but when her night-vision lenses locked onto the figure, she relaxed by inches. The man from the petrol station. Civilian. He’d followed her as she had the others. So focused on what was ahead, she didn’t think to check behind. That was the kind of mistake that killed Atharim.
When he spoke, his words were strange, like he was quoting something he didn’t fully understand. She shook her head. “This is too dangerous. Turn back.” Her voice was low, firm, no room for argument.
But he didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Grym grimaced. The last thing she needed was a tagalong, especially one who didn’t know what he was walking into.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But stay quiet. And don’t fall behind.” She turned toward the dark ahead. “That crew’s walking into something they don’t understand.”
Inside the factory, the world narrowed to what her goggles could see: corridors choked with rusted machinery, collapsed beams, jagged edges like teeth. One wrong step could mean a shredded leg or a severed artery. Grym kept low, precise, her every move calculated. She knew how old places like this liked to kill.
They moved silently past twisted conveyor belts and rust-flaked tanks. The air smelled like iron and rot, faint and wrong.
Then they saw them scattered across the floor. Bones. She knelt, plucked one from the grime. Small. Hollow. She sniffed it, turned it in her fingers. Dry. Old.
Some kind of scavenger, maybe a possum or a raccoon. Others were larger, but she didn’t linger. The gang ahead was still on the move. If she fell behind, she’d lose them in this maze of steel and silence.
Still, the unease was crawling up her spine. Bones this deep inside? Something lived here and something hunted here. Suddenly, she raised a hand and froze in place, stopping the civilian behind her with a silent signal. Ahead, the gang had stopped moving.
They were spinning in tight circles, flashlights sweeping wildly across the factory floor. Shouts—muffled, tense. Something was wrong. Grym ducked low behind a crumpled support beam, staying clear of the searchlights. Her breath slowed as her eyes scanned the factory interior, flicking between the men and the shadows beyond their reach. No gunfire. No visible enemy. Just panic.
She adjusted the focus on her goggles, eyes narrowing. She wasn't sure what they were looking for—but she was sure of one thing: they were in a lair.
Of what? Bear, dog, or monster remained to be seen.
‡‡ GRYM ‡‡