“Twenty-eight Veinrunners. Fully geared.”

  Razan’s voice cut through the room like a blade.

  For a moment nobody moved.

  Arin blinked. “Twenty-eight?”

  Razan pointed toward the entrance windows. “Outside. Right now.”

  Marek frowned slightly, his mind already trying to categorize what he’d heard.

  “Maybe they’re security,” he said. “After what happened earlier, it would make sense to increase patrol presence.”

  Razan shook his head immediately.

  “No.”

  Marek raised an eyebrow. “You counted them from a window.”

  “I counted them,” Razan replied. “And they weren’t standing like guards.”

  Arin leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

  Razan exhaled slowly.

  “They’re moving in formation. Gear packs. Rifles. Command spacing.”

  His eyes hardened.

  “That’s not security.”

  Lsael whistled softly.

  “So what is it?”

  Razan looked back toward the rain-soaked window.

  “That’s a strike team.”

  Silence settled over the bench.

  Arin rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

  “Strike team… for what?”

  No one answered.

  Razan stood.

  “We need a better view.”

  Marek followed his gaze toward the upper floors of the facility.

  “The roof.”

  Razan nodded once.

  Without another word they moved.

  ---

  The stairwell smelled like damp metal and disinfectant.

  Dim lights buzzed overhead as they climbed.

  Boots echoed softly against the concrete steps.

  Arin glanced down the stairwell once.

  “Just saying,” he muttered quietly, “if this is illegal, I’d like to register mild concern.”

  Lsael smirked. “Relax. We’re witnesses. That makes us legally curious.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Pretty sure that’s not a thing,” Arin said.

  Razan kept climbing.

  Fast.

  Focused.

  Something in his posture had changed.

  He wasn’t guessing anymore.

  He knew something was wrong.

  Marek noticed it too.

  “What do you think they’re hunting?” he asked quietly.

  Razan didn’t answer.

  They reached the final ladder.

  A rusted hatch above them led to the rooftop.

  Razan pushed it open.

  Cold rain spilled through the opening.

  One by one they climbed out.

  ---

  The rooftop stretched wide and empty beneath a grey sky.

  Wind pushed rain sideways across the concrete.

  Floodlights from the facility grounds cast long white beams through the mist.

  Razan walked straight to the edge.

  “Here,” he said.

  The others joined him.

  Below them the deployment zone was fully visible now.

  Vehicles lined the perimeter.

  Floodlights illuminated the center of the road.

  And there—

  twenty-eight Veinrunners stood in formation.

  Black tactical armor.

  Weapons ready.

  Some knelt near equipment crates while others scanned rooftops and alleyways through visor optics.

  Arin’s voice came out quieter than usual.

  “Oh.”

  Marek leaned forward slightly.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “No,” he murmured.

  “What?” Arin asked.

  Marek pointed.

  “Look at their insignia.”

  Razan followed his gaze.

  A symbol etched into the shoulder plating.

  Marek exhaled slowly.

  “They’re not standard units.”

  Lsael frowned.

  “Meaning?”

  Marek said the words carefully.

  “Those are Tier Two Veinrunners.”

  That landed like a stone.

  Even Arin knew what that meant.

  Tier Two.

  Elite government combat units.

  The kind sent when normal forces failed.

  “Why send Tier Two for something in Sector Four?” Arin whispered.

  No one answered.

  Below them, the soldiers began spreading outward.

  A coordinated search pattern.

  Rifles sweeping alleyways.

  One Veinrunner spoke into a comm unit.

  Another deployed a small drone.

  Razan’s jaw tightened.

  “They’re hunting something.”

  Marek nodded slowly.

  “Yes.”

  Then—

  something moved.

  At first it looked like a trick of the rain.

  A shadow crossing between floodlights.

  One of the Veinrunners noticed it too.

  He turned.

  Raised his rifle.

  “Contact—”

  The word never finished.

  Red lightning exploded across the street.

  A Veinrunner dropped instantly.

  The formation snapped into motion.

  “CONTACT!”

  Rifles lifted.

  Orders shouted.

  But Panther was already moving.

  Not running.

  Flowing.

  Red Vein erupted along his limbs like burning electricity.

  Not the calm glow of normal Vein.

  This was violent.

  Wild.

  Every movement cracked the air like thunder.

  Panther struck again.

  A soldier fired.

  The bullet never reached its target.

  Panther appeared beside him in a flash of red lightning.

  One motion.

  Neck snapped.

  Body dropped.

  Another Veinrunner lunged forward with a Vein-forged blade.

  Panther vanished.

  Reappeared behind him.

  The blade clattered to the pavement as the soldier collapsed.

  Three more soldiers moved together.

  Perfect coordination.

  One fired.

  Two advanced.

  Panther didn’t slow.

  Red lightning tore across the street.

  In the time it took for a blink—

  two bodies fell.

  The third fired wildly.

  Panther’s hand struck the rifle.

  The weapon twisted free mid-shot.

  Panther fired once.

  The soldier dropped.

  On the rooftop—

  no one breathed.

  Marek’s lips moved silently.

  Counting.

  Panther moved again.

  Red lightning.

  Impact.

  A Veinrunner slammed into a wall hard enough to crack concrete.

  Another tried to flank.

  Panther kicked a metal barrier.

  It flipped sideways.

  Crushed him.

  Rifles fired from three directions.

  Panther’s silhouette flashed red.

  Bullets struck pavement.

  Nothing else.

  Another body fell.

  Another.

  Another.

  The formation collapsed.

  What had been a coordinated strike team seconds ago now looked like chaos.

  Panther moved through them like a storm.

  Every motion precise.

  Every strike final.

  Red thunder flashed again.

  Then again.

  Bodies dropped faster than the mind could track.

  On the rooftop—

  Marek whispered hoarsely.

  “…thirty-two…”

  Arin blinked.

  “What?”

  “Seconds.”

  Below them the last Veinrunner fired his rifle desperately.

  Panther closed the distance in a single flash.

  The rifle fell.

  The soldier followed.

  Silence.

  Rain fell across the street.

  Bodies lay scattered beneath the floodlights.

  Twenty-eight Tier Two Veinrunners.

  Dead.

  Marek’s voice came out hollow.

  “…forty-seven seconds.”

  No one spoke.

  Panther stood alone among the bodies.

  Rain slid across the black armor.

  The red Vein faded slowly from his limbs.

  Arin swallowed.

  “Oh my god.”

  Razan stared.

  Even he had no words.

  Twenty-eight elite soldiers.

  Gone.

  Just like that.

  Then—

  Panther moved.

  Slowly.

  Deliberately.

  He lifted his head.

  Looked up.

  Directly at the rooftop.

  At them.

  Keene felt it immediately.

  That pressure again.

  Recognition.

  The panther mask tilted slightly.

  Inside that silent helmet—

  a thought passed.

  Not today.

  Panther stepped backward.

  Shadow swallowed him.

  Gone.

  Just like that.

  For several seconds nobody moved.

  Then Arin whispered.

  “…he saw us.”

  Razan grabbed Keene’s shoulder.

  “Move.”

  No argument.

  They turned and ran for the hatch.

  Boots slammed against metal as they dropped into the stairwell.

  Hearts pounding.

  Arin nearly slipped on the ladder.

  “What the hell was that?!” he gasped.

  No one answered.

  Because they all knew.

  Below them, twenty-eight Tier Two Veinrunners lay dead in the rain.

  And the thing that killed them—

  had looked directly at Keene.

  Then chosen to leave.

  Razan shoved the stairwell door open.

  “Keep moving!”

  They ran down the steps two at a time.

  Behind them the rooftop hatch slammed shut.

  Above them the rain kept falling.

  And somewhere in the city—

  the hunter was still out there.