A muted hum filled Lucy's ears, dull and heavy, as the world slowly came back into focus. Something felt off—the ground beneath her was cold and unyielding, while the air around her felt thick with an indescribable weight. Her mind appeared to be on the brink of a harsh reality. Waves of pain surged from her abdomen, a harsh reminder that she was, indeed, alive. Her head throbbed insistently, each beat reverberating through her skull like a curse.

  Light trickled into her vision, fractured and broken, like shards of glass trying to piece together a picture that had long been destroyed. Gradually, a more distinct image emerged, the distant murmur of voices sharpening into something she could recognize. She lay on the cold floor, utterly drained, her exhaustion pressing down on her like an invisible weight. She wanted to move, to pull herself up, but her body wouldn't cooperate. Her muscles felt heavy as lead, and the burning pain from her wound acted like an anchor, keeping her trapped on the floor. Even the slightest movement sent a sharp, searing pain through her torso, pulling a low groan from her lips.

  And then she heard it—the voice. Sharp. Mocking. It was all too familiar.

  "Oh, look," Vance drawled, his tone laced with cruel amusement.

  "She's finally awake."

  Her blurred vision cleared a bit more, revealing a figure standing over her. His silhouette was a grotesque blend of arrogance and malice. He spread his arms wide, his smile stretching across his face in a theatrical display of cruelty.

  "Ah, what's the matter?" He sneered, tilting his head as if he were genuinely interested.

  "Can't move?"

  Lucy parted her lips, but no words came out. Her throat was parched, her voice trapped in the same abyss as her strength. The boot slammed down before she could gather the strength to reply.

  The impact of his kick hit her abdomen like a sledgehammer, sending a wave of blinding pain coursing through her body. In an instant, her lungs emptied as a violent surge of agony washed over her. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, her vision blurred once more, and her body jerked under the weight of the blow. The pain remained a sharp, unrelenting agony that seemed to last forever. The kick left her utterly paralyzed, preventing her from even crying out.

  "Leave her alone, c'mon, man!"

  Wolfgang shouted, his voice thick with anger and desperation as he called out from across the room.

  Vance turned sharply toward him, his expression darkening immediately. He moved swiftly across the space, almost like someone who had done this too many times before. Wolfgang felt a sickening crack as a .45 Auto Pistol's butt struck his face, the cold metal brutally colliding with bone.

  "Enough from you!" Vance growled, his words dripping with malice.

  Wolfgang groaned, his head snapping to the side from the force of the blow. Blood trickled from a fresh cut on his temple, trailing down his cheek in a slow, morbid line before pooling at his jaw and dripping onto the hard floor below.

  Vance crouched down in front of him, moving with an almost predatory grace. He locked eyes with Wolfgang, lowering his voice to a quiet, almost comforting tone.

  "I'd say you're fortunate you serve a greater purpose," Vance said, his words sweet yet sinister.

  He leaned in, his breath warm against Wolfgang's bloodied face.

  "But you'll find no serendipity in what comes next."

  A chilling grin spread across his face, an unsettling contrast to the malice in his gaze. He straightened up smoothly, turning his attention back to Lucy, who lay crumpled on the floor. Her body curled, as if trying to shield itself from the burning pain in her abdomen. She gasped shallowly, her trembling hand pressing weakly against her wound, desperately trying to ease the agony. Every rise and fall of her chest was a struggle. The sight seemed to bring Vance a twisted pleasure. He glanced back at Wolfgang, his grin widening, his voice light and disturbingly playful.

  "But don't worry," he said with a tone that felt like he was sharing a private joke.

  "We'll make sure you both get the care you deserve."

  His icy, uncontrollable laughter reverberated off the walls and added to the tension in the room.

  Lucy's vision blurred, her consciousness flickering as she teetered on the brink of darkness. But she fought against the pull of unconsciousness, clawing her way back. With trembling arms braced against the floor, she pushed up with what little strength she had left. Pain pulsed sharply from her stomach, but she forced herself upward. The effort left her gasping, her ribs protesting with every shallow breath. Her body trembled, her strength nearly gone, and the fire in her eyes had dimmed, but it was still there.

  "Just kill us already," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of defiance and despair.

  Her blurry vision took in the grim scene that surrounded her—the harsh reality of her life now. Wolfgang was kneeling across from her, his head lowered as if the weight of everything had finally brought him down. He wouldn't look her in the eye. His hands rested limply on his thighs, fingers twitching slightly as if they longed to move but had forgotten how. He breathed shallowly, each breath ragged, as if it were his final struggle. Ian stood off to the side, a mere shadow of himself, lost and fragile. He felt so absent. He seemed oblivious to the turmoil around him. He was close to Anne, who was perched on a table at the far end of the room, her dark eyes observing everything with a chilling detachment. Anne's fingers absently stroked the plasma pistol beside her, a casual, almost familiar gesture. The faint memory of its green glow haunted Lucy, a reminder of the destruction it had wrought and the fleeting hope it had offered before everything fell apart. Just behind Ian stood Justin, his grip sturdy around a rifle that her foggy mind barely recognized. Jericho had mentioned weapons like that—Chinese assault rifles.

  "They'll tear through anything," he'd claimed with a smirk.

  That memory feels like someone else's story now—a life she could never get back.

  William sat a bit farther away, awkwardly balanced on an overturned bucket while tending to his arm where she had shot him. Blood soaked the rag he pressed against the wound, but his expression showed acceptance rather than rage. He didn't so much as glance her way. His face bore the scars of deep inner turmoil, marked by the heavy burden of doubting every decision he'd made.

  And then there was Vance.

  With his sharp and unpredictable steps, he paced the room, breaking the station's silence only with his incoherent mutterings. His eyes shone with a wild intensity, a volatile mix of rage and something even more dangerous: conviction. Lucy barely registered his words, just a jumble of anger and righteousness. She didn't care what he had to say.

  Her attention shifted, drawn to the body lying just a few feet away.

  Holly.

  Her eyes, blank and lifeless, stared into nothing, while her throat lay ravaged, a gruesome remnant of Lucy's own making. Her memory replayed the horrifying image of Holly's demise in an unending, merciless loop. The sensation of Holly's warm blood on her face, the gurgling sound of her lungs, and the dreadful, metallic taste of flesh and iron lingered in her mouth—like a second skin, a nightmare she couldn't wake up from.

  But then, something near Holly's still form caught her eye.

  It was an unusual backpack, an odd yet clever piece of wasteland craftsmanship. At its core was a rusty motorcycle gas tank, pitted with dents and decay; its surface had valves, vents, and gauges. One dial looked like an old speedometer, the numbers so faded they were nearly impossible to read. Pipes and hoses twisted away from the tank, leading to a weapon resting next to it. She couldn't tear her gaze away. It was like nothing she had ever encountered, yet its parts seemed oddly familiar. They had sharpened the blade, crudely fashioned from an old lawnmower, to a lethal point. A motorcycle handbrake, its rubber grip weathered and cracked, served as the handguard. It looked hastily thrown together from rust and desperation, but its design had a violent elegance—something aggressively beautiful that hinted at deadly intent.

  Without warning, a memory emerged, her ears ringing with Moira's bright voice. She could picture the woman standing proudly in Craterside Supply, arms spread wide, celebrating some beaten-down piece of inventive genius.

  "A marvel of Wasteland ingenuity!" Moira had declared, her enthusiasm contagious.

  "Dangerous, effective, and just the right amount of crazy!"

  Lucy blinked, the memory fading as swiftly as it had arrived. Her eyes returned to the weapon, a flicker of something igniting in her chest. She glanced at Vance, then at Anne and Justin. They were all armed, their presence threatening violence. The weight of their stares and the gleam of their weapons felt suffocating, driving home how outmatched she was.

  However, the weapon captivated her attention. If only she could reach it.

  Lucy's fingers flexed against the cold floor, the pulse of survival coursing through her, pushing her past the agony and despair. Hope shone through that blade, which was more than just a weapon. It was a tenuous, frantic flicker of optimism. And in the Wasteland, sometimes, that's all you need. While the pain continued to gnaw at her, a new feeling began to emerge—a growing spark of defiance. It simmered beneath the surface, fueling her urge to fight back even when everything felt hopeless. Vance approached, his movements deliberate yet brimming with barely restrained rage. His expression was a storm of sorrow and anger, his composure strained to a breaking point. His shadow, looming large over the grimy floor, cast a dark pall over her as he knelt beside her.

  He jerked his head toward Holly's corpse, a cruel sneer forming on his lips.

  "Enjoying the view?"

  He spat, his voice thick with malice. The sarcasm cut through the air, charged with an anger that seemed ready to explode.

  Lucy barely had time to grasp what he said before his hand flew out. The slap echoed like a gunshot, her head snapping to the side with a sharp sting that scorched her cheek. Her vision momentarily blurred as she gasped, the pain spreading fiercely across her face. As if her opposition were nothing more than a speck of dirt, Vance rose and brushed the dust off his coat. He walked toward Holly's body, glancing at the weapon lying next to it. The strange sword caught the light, its jagged edges glinting like a threat, as if challenging anyone to take hold of it.

  Lucy groaned, struggling to catch her breath as her lungs fought against the pain. Even though exhaustion weighed her down, her eyes never left Vance. She followed his every move, her mind racing while her body betrayed her. Vance waved his hand at Anne, and she uncrossed her legs and slid off the table, her movements deliberate and self-assured. Her gaze locked onto Lucy's as she approached. Lucy glanced at Wolfgang. He sat motionless, head bowed and body limp, as if he had lost all the fight inside him. His refusal to meet her gaze twisted the knot in her stomach tighter. She felt a sharp pang of abandonment, but the simmering defiance inside her flared even brighter.

  "It's time to begin," Vance declared, his voice slicing through the room.

  It was cold and final, a decree sealing their fate. Though he addressed everyone, his unyielding stare remained fixed on Lucy. Whatever Vance had planned, she refused to back down without a fight.

  Anne stopped a few steps away from Vance, her expression stern. She surveyed the room, her gaze briefly lingering on each member of The Family. Her voice had a calm authority when she finally spoke.

  "Lucy West."

  She began, her tone icy, the name ringing out as if it were an accusation.

  "What you've done here today is unforgivable—you've taken the lives of our Family, of Vance's wife, Holly."

  As she mentioned Holly, her voice turned sharper, the depth of her grief and anger evident. Her eyes flicked to the lifeless body on the floor for just a moment before locking back onto Lucy, her expression fierce. Anne straightened up, standing tall as her voice grew stronger in addressing the room.

  "What is The Fifth Law?" She demanded, her words clear and piercing.

  In a chilling unison, The Family replied, their voices echoing against the stark walls in a haunting chant:

  "Kill not our kindred; slay only the enemy. This is our justice."

  Anne leaned forward, her movements calculated as she confronted Lucy's fierce glare directly. Her dark eyes met Lucy's with an unsettling calm, their faces disturbingly close.

  "Now, you may not be kin," she said softly, almost gently, with a hint of cruel sarcasm.

  "But Ian is. So, you should've known better."

  Anne's words felt like a sting, but Lucy bit her tongue as rage simmered inside her, determined not to give her the satisfaction of a reply. Anne straightened, hands clasped neatly behind her back, her composed demeanor never faltering. She scanned the room, taking in the remaining members of The Family. Turning back to Lucy, her voice carried a serious weight, echoing with finality.

  "You've broken our most sacred Law," Anne pronounced, each word resonant.

  "And as a result, you will face punishment."

  Her words hung in the air like the tolling of a bell, the somber weight of her statement settling over everyone in the room.

  With a subtle flick of her wrist, Anne signaled to Justin. Without uttering a word, he swiftly took action, keeping his rifle at a low angle as he leaned in to listen to her quiet instructions. Whatever she whispered was brief and direct. Justin nodded slightly before he turned and vanished into the dimly lit shadows of the station.

  Anne shifted her attention to Wolfgang next, her footsteps softly echoing on the worn floor. He stayed kneeling, his shoulders tense and stiff, his head bowed in quiet defiance. She came to a halt in front of him, tilting her head as she regarded him, a mix of disdain and curiosity in her gaze.

  "Look at me," she barked, her voice sharp, slicing through the silence.

  Wolfgang didn't flinch. He kept his eyes trained on the ground, his refusal to meet her glare a silent act of rebellion. Anne's lips curled into a faint smirk, amusement dancing in her eyes, but it was cold and mocking.

  "Feelin' brave, are we?"

  She teased, the ridicule dripping from her voice. She let the tension hang there, savoring it, her stare locked on Wolfgang's bowed head.

  Then, she swiftly drew her Mauser pistol and aimed it squarely at Lucy.

  The sharp, metal clink echoed through the room, a sound that seemed to suspend every breath in its wake. With a slight turn of her head, a smile playing on her lips, she shot a sidelong glance at Wolfgang.

  "I said: 'Look. At. Me."

  She reiterated, each syllable laced with authority that left no room for resistance.

  His shallow breaths betrayed the battle raging within him as he sat frozen in place. After what felt like an eternity, he lifted his gaze.

  First, he looked at Lucy. His face reflected a tempest of anguish and uncertainty as he grappled with the impossible decision of whether to end Lucy's suffering or take a chance on what these people might do next. Summoning his courage, he turned his eyes toward Anne.

  Her smirk widened as she lowered her weapon, her eyes locking onto Wolfgang's, and with a playful tone.

  "I told you, you remind me of someone, didn't I?"

  There was no warmth in her voice, no hint of humanity in her gaze—only the chilling malice of someone who reveled in control. Her smile deepened, but the underlying cruelty was as piercing as any blade.

  "Wolfgang," Anne called out sharply, cutting through the stillness with exaggerated disdain.

  She let his name linger in the air, relishing the drama of the moment.

  "The Garage Peddler."

  She sneered, twisting the title with palpable contempt that radiated through the room.

  "For your role in the loss of our Family... you'll serve us for whatever's left of your miserable life."

  Her words landed heavy and cold, more like a verdict than an announcement.

  As if prompted, Justin stepped out from the shadows of the station, his heavy boots echoing on the floor in a grim beat. Slung over his shoulder was a large, grimy bag, sagging under the weight of decay. Time had draped the fabric in sickly colors, the zipper partly undone, hinting at the grotesque sight within. He approached the group and let the bag drop with a sickening thud that resonated through the space, spilling its contents slightly as the unzipped edges flared open. A twisted form of a man was revealed—a horrifying sight of devastation unfolded as the lifeless body clung tenaciously to its skeleton, its limbs missing.

  The room seemed to collectively hold its breath. Wolfgang's eyes dropped to the corpse, his jaw tightening as he struggled to keep his composure. The effort was evident in the rigidness of his posture, tension coursing just beneath his skin.

  Anne crouched before him with a tranquil serenity, her sharp gaze fixed on him. A faint, mocking smile twitched at her lips—cold and laced with cruelty. She gestured toward the corpse with a slight flick of her arm, her voice carrying a false lightness that only heightened the malevolence threaded in her words.

  "He thought he was funny too."

  Anne murmured, her tone dripping with mock affection. Her eyes lingered on the corpse for a moment, as if reminiscing about a private joke.

  "He wasn't."

  Her smile stretched a bit wider, but it had no warmth; it was more a display of fangs than a sign of humor.

  Wolfgang stiffened as he began to crumble—each breath was shallow, each muscle taut, akin to a spring poised to break.

  With a casual flick of her hand, Anne gestured toward the corpse again, her smirk widening.

  "So, he served."

  She said, her voice dripping with dark delight. Her words lingered in the air, their meaning piercing like a blade.

  Wolfgang's gaze flickered back to the horrific remains, his composure slipping as the grim reality weighed down on him. Finally, his voice came out rough and unsure; the defiance was worn.

  "What did you mean, 'I'll serve you?" He asked, the question hanging between them like a fragile thread of resistance.

  Anne let out a low, mocking chuckle that seemed to scoff at any glimmer of hope. She didn't rush to answer, savoring the moment. Instead, she tilted her head toward Vance, signaling him with a subtle nod. Vance moved slowly, each deliberate step echoing in the heavy silence like the beat of a drum heralding fate. His imposing figure cast a shadow over Wolfgang as he crouched down next to Anne. His face was inches from Wolfgang's, and when he spoke, his voice was eerily calm, almost soothing—a velvet glove hiding a fist of iron.

  "Live not for yourself; feed only The Family."

  He said, each word wrapped in a sinister gravity. His tone was almost reverent; the weight of those words was felt in every syllable. Vance's evil eyes bore into Wolfgang's, stripping away any pretense and leaving no space for argument.

  "This is your fate."

  He concluded, the words sounding as final as a coffin lid slamming shut.

  The room was silent briefly, except for Wolfgang's shallow breaths. The unspoken truth settled deep within him. He was no longer just a man but a resource—an object in their twisted game.

  Vance's words pressed down on Wolfgang like a heavy blanket, suffocating him as he sank deeper into the cold concrete. It felt like reality was closing in on him, the walls crashing down and leaving no room to breathe. Lucy's tear-stained face reflected his own suffering. Silent pain traced paths down her cheeks. She desperately wanted to scream, to fight back, to do anything, but her broken body had betrayed her, turning her into a prisoner of her despair. The anguish in her eyes locked onto Wolfgang's; their shared helplessness burned into his soul. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms, as if sheer will could somehow change their fate and break the chains that bound them both.

  Anne and Vance stood up in perfect harmony, their movements chillingly synchronized. Vance strode forward with a controlled confidence, his gaze fixed on Lucy. He bent down to grab the strange backpack, its rusty frame creaking softly as he lifted it. The worn metal gleamed momentarily, a reminder of its grim purpose. Anne's voice sliced through the heavy silence, sharp and cold.

  "You."

  She started, the hint of disappointment in her tone making her words sting even more.

  "Are far luckier."

  A faint, humorless smile twisted her lips as she tilted her head, letting her gaze rove over Lucy's shattered state.

  "You were so close to suffering the same fate."

  She pinched her fingers together in a cruel gesture of near-miss, her eyes shifting to Wolfgang. The unspoken meaning was undeniable: her survival was at risk.

  Standing tall, Anne crossed her arms, exuding a chilling authority. Her gaze bore into Lucy's, as if she were measuring her worth with a clinical detachment.

  "But if we're going to fix poor Ian," she continued, mock pity dripping from her words.

  "You can't be here."

  Lucy's breath caught in her throat, her chest rising and falling in shallow, strained gasps. The weight of Anne's words struck her like a punch, and her mind raced to grasp the full meaning. She glanced at Ian, the boy still trapped in a fragile, catatonic state, as dread settled heavily in her stomach.

  Fix Ian?

  The words tore at Lucy's already frayed mind, their meaning twisting and shifting.

  What was that supposed to mean?

  A rush of desperation ignited in her chest, but her weary body wouldn't follow her commands. Every nerve shrieked in protest, pinning her to the ground as if fate had outright betrayed her.

  Anne's voice sliced through the tension, cold and unyielding.

  "So," she stated simply, her tone heavy and final.

  "I sentence you to death."

  The words dropped like the blade of a guillotine, and the air thickened around her, suffocating Lucy in its weight.

  Vance stepped forward, his shadow looming dark and long over Lucy's trembling form. The bizarre contraption strapped to his back rattled with each deliberate stride, creating a grim symphony of metal and dread. In his grasp, he held a monstrosity—a savage blend of fire and steel. The blade gleamed dangerously in the dim light, its jagged edges hinting at brutal violence. It was anything but clean or elegant; it was raw, savage, and horrifyingly effective. A motorcycle handbrake jutted out from its hilt, an improvised ignition that he fired up with a growl that reverberated through the room.

  The blade erupted into an inferno, roaring into existence like a living creature—enveloping the sword in flames. They climbed upward in a brilliant cascade of orange and blue, greedily licking at the air as if searching for their next victim. The roar of the fire drowned out every other sound, the heat rolling out in shimmering waves, warping the air with its intensity.

  The flickering light twisted Vance's features into something revolting, the flames morphing him into a nightmarish figure. Shadows crawled across his sharp cheekbones and piercing eyes, giving him the look of a demon summoned from the depths of the Wasteland. His gaze nailed itself to Lucy, filled with cold, inhumane intent. The weapon in his hand sputtered and hissed, its flames climbing higher like they were eager for action. The room pulsed with energy, the fire casting erratic shapes against the grimy walls. The weapon's revs echoed off the walls like a relentless war drum, each growl a harbinger of destruction.

  Lucy's breath caught in her throat. She could feel the heat of the flames even from where she knelt; each wave was a reminder of the brutal end that loomed in front of her. Her body remained motionless, seemingly enthralled by the terrifying spectacle unfolding before her.

  "My favorite part!"

  Vance shouted, his voice brimming with a sickening delight. The flickering light created an otherworldly glow in his eyes, and he relished the moment, his anticipation practically buzzing in the heavy air around them.

  Anne stood tall, arms crossed over her chest, her icy gaze fixed on Lucy as she nodded sharply toward her.

  "Justin," she ordered, her voice precise and demanding, the single word heavy with the finality of a death sentence.

  Time seemed to drag on endlessly as Lucy's heart raced in her chest, threatening to burst free. The weapon's relentless roar, the oppressive heat radiating off it, and the cruel satisfaction plastered on Vance's face all weighed down on her like a lead blanket of dread. Vance suddenly turned and grabbed Wolfgang by the collar. With a brutal tug, he pulled Wolfgang forward, his feet dragging along the floor, his body fighting against the weakness that was pulling him down. They moved toward a stark and chilling space—a makeshift execution area set up by the tunnel, a grim setting for what was to come.

  She could hear Justin closing in, the sound of his boots echoing louder in her ears, each step like the ominous ticking of a clock counting down to a disastrous end. Pain shot through her as she struggled to lift her head, every effort a battle against the agony that kept her anchored to the ground. When she finally turned her head, her gaze fell on familiar faces that deepened the knife of despair lodged in her stomach.

  First, she spotted William. He stood rigidly against the wall, his shoulders hunched as if he desired to disappear into the shadows. Their eyes met for the briefest moment, and she caught a glimmer of something—guilt or perhaps shame. His gaze dropped to the floor, unable or unwilling to meet the silent appeal in her eyes. Her attention shifted to Anne. Towering over her like a judge ready to deliver an unavoidable sentence, Anne's expression was disturbingly calm, eerily serene, yet cruelly indifferent. A slight smirk played at the corners of her lips, revealing satisfaction as if she had weighed the morality of their actions and deemed it utterly irrelevant. Rage and helplessness twisted Lucy's stomach, forming a knot so tight it took away her breath. Her gaze finally landed on Ian. Her little brother. He hadn't budged from where he stood, his small, fragile form untouched by the chaos enveloping them. His eyes were vacant, hollow—a mere shadow of the bright, curious boy he used to be. He stood there, unresponsive to the nightmare that was just steps away. The sight hit Lucy hard, a deep pain that overshadowed even the burning fire in her abdomen. It wasn't just his silence or immobility; it was the stark absence of the boy he once was, swallowed whole by the darkness around them. A spark of anger ignited within her, flaring upward from beneath the layers of pain and despair. Ian's lifeless stare was too much for her to handle. She felt she had let him down once before, and now, it seemed everyone wanted to make sure she would never get a chance to save him again.

  I was supposed to protect him...

  The thought echoed in her mind, repeating like a mantra, each iteration heavier than the last.

  I was supposed to—

  A sudden, searing pain shot through her scalp, jolting her out of her downward spiral. Justin's rough hand had wound itself into her hair. The burning pain radiated through her head as he yanked her backward, her neck aching under the pressure. Without a moment's pause, Justin started to drag her across the filthy floor. Lucy's battered body scraped against the rough ground, every jagged edge sending fresh jolts of agony through her already injured form. Dust kicked up around her, clogging her throat and nose as she gasped for air. A desperate, strangled cry tore from her lips as she twisted and flailed. But her kicks landed nowhere, her screams swallowed by the cold emptiness of the station. Justin's grip was relentless, his strength far more than she could fend off. She dug her fingernails into the ground, desperately looking for something to hold onto, but all she found was the gritty surface that offered no comfort. Her hands scraped against broken concrete and tile, the sting of her shattered nails mixing with the other aches that coursed through her body.

  Justin dragged her forward with a cruel, mechanical precision. As they neared Vance, the flames of his makeshift sword casting monstrous shapes on the walls, Lucy's heart pounded in her chest, her mind scrambling for any plan.

  Fear wrapped around her.

  His grip felt as solid as iron. Her scalp protested as he pulled her closer and closer to the figure that awaited them. The sense of futility in her struggle gnawed at her, leaving her feeling even more helpless.

  Then it happened.

  A loud explosion coming from the entrance to The Family's lair broke the tension. The sharp, rapid sound of gunfire mixed with the jarring blasts from detonating mines followed, creating an eerie rhythm that echoed through the station. The walls shook, sending clouds of dust and dirt tumbling down from above.

  Justin froze, mid-step, his grip on Lucy's hair slipping. With a solid thud, she fell to the ground, gasping and feeling the stinging ache at her scalp. She knelt weakly, her body shaking as she fought to breathe. The noise outside surged, drowning out her ragged breaths with a cacophony of chaos.

  "What the hell—?" Vance growled, his anger filling the air as he roughly pushed Wolfgang away.

  Caught off guard, Wolfgang stumbled backward into a row of chairs, crashing into them. They buckled under him with a loud crack, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  Anne snapped her head toward the entrance, her eyes narrowing in intense focus. She shifted her gaze from Lucy's crumpled form to Wolfgang, then locked eyes with Vance. For once, the leaders shared an uncharacteristic look of uncertainty.

  The gunfire suddenly stopped, leaving just a muffled mix of shouting, clanging metal, and the ominous noise of machinery stirring in the tunnels. Another round of explosions erupted, rumbling through the metro like far-off thunder.

  "They're setting off the traps," Anne muttered, her voice full of tension as her eyes flicked to the door.

  Vance growled, clenching his jaw as his fists curled.

  "Justin! Go check what's happening!"

  Justin hesitated, his composure wavering under the pressure of the chaos erupting outside their stronghold. He nodded briskly, gripping his Chinese assault rifle tightly, the muzzle aimed upward, and started moving cautiously toward the entrance.

  Vance and Anne exchanged a glance, their instincts kicking in as they fell into unspoken synchrony. They moved toward the rear of the room. Vance flung off the strange backpack slung over his shoulder. It rattled as he unclasped it and tossed it aside. Quickly, he grabbed his FAL from the table, his fingers working the rifle as he scanned the area for potential threats. Nearby, Anne flipped a heavy bench, the wooden legs scraping noisily against the floor as she fashioned a makeshift barricade. Crouching low behind the cover, she moved smoothly to retrieve her P90 from where it rested against the wall. It fit perfectly in her hands as she settled in beside Vance, her sharp gaze fixed ahead. William, his arm awkwardly cradled against his chest, scrambled to join them. He ducked behind a broken beam, using the jagged remnants as cover. Sweat glistened on his pale face, trickling down his temple as he gripped a weathered 10mm pistol in his shaky hand.

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  "Keep your eyes on them," Vance growled, his voice low and intimidating as he nodded toward Lucy and Wolfgang.

  Anne's lips twisted into a faint, cold smirk as she aimed her P90 at Lucy.

  "Don't even think about it," she hissed, her finger poised over the trigger, ready to instantly fire.

  The Family had solidified their position, each action premeditated and intentional. While Justin ventured toward the source of the ruckus, the others stayed alert, weapons drawn and ready. Fresh from the memory of the earlier ambush, they were determined not to get caught off guard again.

  The air buzzed with tension, the heavy silence inside the room starkly contrasting the chaos outside the station's entrance. Every breath, every creak of wood, and every clink of metal felt amplified with the anticipation of the unknown.

  As Justin reached the door, the noise outside faded, leaving an unnatural silence. He slowed his pace, rifle ready in his grip, its barrel trembling ever so slightly. He glanced back at Vance and Anne, seeking some form of reassurance. Vance responded with a sharp gesture, slicing through the air with his fingers, urging Justin to move ahead. He swallowed hard and wrapped his gloved fingers around the cold metal of the handle. The latch clicked loudly, a sound that seemed to echo painfully in his ears. He started to push the door open, the hinges protesting with a harsh screech. Then he heard it.

  Clank. Clank. Clank.

  The heavy thuds of metal footsteps reverberated through the corridor, each step methodical and precise, growing louder by the second. A faint whirring accompanied the footsteps, creating an unsettling rhythm, as if the machines were gearing up for something catastrophic.

  Justin froze, his breath catching in his throat. His grip on the rifle tightened as he peered through the widening crack of the door. A sharp flash of light caught his eye.

  The crimson flare was his only warning.

  The ruby laser struck him with terrifying accuracy, slamming into his shoulder. The burning energy ripped through his clothes, vaporizing them instantly. The beam burrowed into his skin, searing it with a hissing sound. The acrid smell of charred flesh filled the air as Justin screamed, his voice raw and primal. He stumbled back, clutching the smoldering wound as smoke wafted from his shoulder. In a panic, he raised his rifle with his free hand and fired wildly into the hallway. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, whining and creating a shower of sparks that danced in the dark. The mechanical footsteps only grew louder, more determined, and then—

  The door burst open, crashing against the wall with a loud thud.

  The first machine stepped into view, its massive frame shining under the grimy overhead lights. It was an old model from before the War, its angular design marked with rivets and dents, telling the story of years in service. Its dome-shaped head glowed a faint amber, while its cold, red sensors scanned the room with an unfeeling gaze. The whirring of its servos emphasized each ponderous step as it glided into the room with mechanical precision. A sharp hiss sounded as it maneuvered its limbs, aiming its laser cannon menacingly.

  Justin stumbled back further, his feet slipping on the dirt-streaked floor. Panic surged through him, his breaths coming in quick gasps as he struggled to comprehend the horrifying sight before him.

  "Protectrons!"

  He shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

  That shout was like lighting a fuse on a powder keg. Vance and Anne turned their glance toward him, eyes narrowing as they took in the machine.

  Another Protectron appeared from behind the doorway, its bulky frame gliding with the same deliberate, mechanical precision as the first. Then came another, and another. The heavy thuds of their footsteps echoed throughout the tunnels like a threatening metronome, each step intensifying the mounting pressure. Their glowing, articulated fingers rose in sync, the crimson light of their targeting systems piercing through the air.

  "Tickets, please."

  One of them intoned, its voice flat and devoid of emotion as its sensor zeroed in on Justin.

  A piercing whine filled the room as the laser cannon on its arm powered up. A moment later, beams of bright red energy erupted from its fingers, striking Justin's leg and through his neck. The flesh seared, turning black as the smell of burning meat wafted through the air. Justin let out a bloodcurdling groan as he crumpled to the floor, his rifle clattering uselessly beside him. Three magazines tumbled from his pocket, clattering on the ground like cruel reminders of his suffering.

  The Family sprang into action.

  "Take them down!"

  Gunfire erupted in the station, deafening in its ferocity. William, Anne, and Vance fired away, their bullets bouncing off the Protectrons' reinforced metal bodies with sharp, metallic pings. Sparks flew as rounds ricocheted, each impact a reminder of how tough the Protectrons really were.

  Wolfgang darted toward Ian, who stood frozen against a wall, and scooped the boy up, protecting him with his own body as he bolted for cover.

  The Protectrons advanced with eerie synchronization, their movements combined into a mechanical symphony of destruction. Another Protectron turned its gaze, locking onto William as it raised its glowing hand. A crimson laser beam shot through the air, narrowly missing William's head as he ducked behind a cracked column.

  Lucy lay on the ground, her breaths shallow and labored. Pain coursed through her body, her mind clouded by exhaustion. Yet as she watched the chaos unfold, a spark of defiance stirred within her, refusing to fade. Wolfgang, hunched over Ian with all his might, caught her gaze. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment, yielding an unspoken understanding. The same idea ignited them both.

  The Protectrons' lasers sliced through the air with deadly precision, each beam a striking reminder of the machines' cold ruthlessness. The Family's bullets continued to ping off their armored bodies, falling to the tracks below. A Protectron's cannon flared up again, its beam slicing toward Anne. She barely ducked in time, the searing heat grazing the area where her head had just been.

  Lucy's fists tightened into trembling knots as she crawled toward the nearest cover. Her heart thudded in her chest, the adrenaline pushing her pulverized body past its limits. The air was filled with the cacophony of gunfire and laser blasts, transforming the station into a chaotic warzone. As six Protectrons marched methodically down the tracks, their relentless assault driving The Family into a frenzy, another figure slipped through the turmoil. Moving silently through the chaos, the figure exhibited an eerie, almost inhuman precision. While the Protectrons clunked around, their steps loud and deliberate, the figure glided between them like a shadow. Each movement was fluid and completely unaffected by the mayhem surrounding them.

  Lucy sagged against her cover, her breaths coming in shallow gasps, each one hitching in her throat. The deafening chaos of gunfire, shouting, and whirring machines faded into a dull backdrop. She felt a strange, creeping sensation weaving through her body. A wave of sharp, nauseating heat rolled up from her stomach, crashing over her like a tidal wave.

  She desperately rolled herself onto her hands and knees, trembling uncontrollably. Pain twisted her stomach, and suddenly dry heaves overcame her. The little she had eaten spilled onto the floor, and bile seared the back of her throat as she retched again and again. A sharp, brutal pain radiated through her body, leaving her gasping for breath.

  This was radiation sickness.

  The realization hit her hard, clear, and unforgivingly. Prolonged exposure to emissions from the experimental plasma-radiation pistol had poisoned her. The lead shielding, designed to protect against short bursts, had failed during her frantic shooting, releasing its payload into the air around her.

  The overheating aggravated the effects, damaging the chamber and resulting in a leak.

  She felt herself failing, the effort to stay upright becoming unbearable. With a shudder, she collapsed onto the cold, hard floor, her cheek pressed against the ground. Her vision blurred, the dim light of the station melting into a swirling haze of muted colors. The air felt heavy, each shallow breath requiring monumental effort. Her thoughts fragmented, scattering like shards of glass.

  "Lucy!"

  The voice cut through the haze, faint and distant, like a whisper carried on the wind from another world.

  "Lucy, oh my god!"

  The words reached her dulled senses, distorted and fragmented; their meaning lost in the disorienting mess. She wanted to respond, to move, to open her eyes—but her body was unresponsive, her limbs like dead weight against the cold ground. The darkness swelled around her, a tide rising to engulf her, pulling her into its relentless grasp. Her awareness flickered briefly, then vanished entirely.

  Meanwhile, Wolfgang rushed down the tunnel toward the station's entrance, Ian over his shoulder. He gently set the boy down and crouched beside him, glancing at the slightly open door before looking back down the tunnel where the battle was still fierce. Sparks and bursts of red laser fire lit up the passage intermittently.

  "C'mon, Luce..."

  Wolfgang whispered, his voice tight with worry. He clenched his fists at his sides, straining to hear any hint of her presence. The uproar was overwhelming, but her absence felt even more pronounced. He looked at Ian, seeing the boy's vacant stare focused on a point in the distance. Wolfgang forced a smile, though it felt weak and shaky.

  "She's on her way, buddy," he said, his voice wavering as he tried to sound reassuring.

  His gaze drifted back toward the turmoil in the tunnel, his heart racing.

  "She'll be here."

  Meanwhile, Vance crouched low behind a makeshift barricade, his keen eyes fixated on one of the approaching Protectrons. He took a steady breath, aiming with precision. His FAL fired off a single shot, shattering the robot's glass casing. The bullet ripped through its inner workings, sending sparks flying and arcs of electricity dancing in the air. The Protectron froze mid-stride, its mechanical body violently convulsing before crashing to the ground in a smoldering heap of smoke and fire.

  Then came the click of his rifle. It was empty.

  Vance muttered a curse under his breath, scrambling to reload just as he heard the high-pitched whir of another Protectron's weapon charging up. Its cold, mechanical voice echoed around him, delivering a chilling message:

  "Threat Level Omega. Lethal force authorized."

  In an instant, a blinding crimson laser shot out, striking Vance square in the chest as he attempted to duck for cover. The force of the impact threw him backward, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. Smoke rose from the charred wound, the acrid smell of burnt flesh mixing with the air of the station. His lifeless eyes stared blankly at the ceiling above; his reign abruptly and violently ended.

  "Vance!"

  Anne's voice sliced through the chaos, breaking her usual icy demeanor for just a moment. She half-emerged from her hiding spot, disbelief and anger flashing across her face. But she quickly regained her composure, her survival instincts kicking in as feelings of grief and rage battled within her. Her gaze hardened as it shifted to William, a steely determination in her expression;

  "Abandon the station!"

  William faltered, conflict written across his face, but the sight of the advancing Protectrons left no room for rebellion. He ducked low and started retreating toward the tunnel exit.

  Anne moved methodically, her P90 raised as she provided suppressive fire. Her bullets ricocheted off the Protectrons' reinforced frames, some hitting their targets and sending sparks skittering across the floor. She scanned their surroundings, her sharp eyes taking in every angle and every possible opportunity. William dove behind a heap of debris, his gaze locking onto a large, splintered wooden crate precariously leaning against Karl's old shop. He steadied himself and kicked the crate as hard as he could toward Anne.

  "Anne!" He shouted, his voice strained.

  The crate skidded across the floor, and in a single smooth motion, she tipped it over with a swift tap as it reached her. The contents spilled across the floor in front of her—three high-powered frag grenades rolling out like grim harbingers. A grim smile tugged at Anne's lips. Wasting no time, she ejected the empty magazine from her P90 and set the weapon aside. Her hand deftly grabbed one of the grenades. The cool metal felt both promising and dangerous. She effortlessly pulled the pin and threw the grenade onto the tracks, ensuring her aim was precise. The grenade exploded with a thunderous roar, the shockwave rattling through the tunnels. Shrapnel tore into one of the Protectrons, ripping its frame apart and sending it crashing against the wall in a shower of sparks and wires. The other Protectron stumbled, its protective casing shredded. It lurched forward, its laser cannon firing wildly as it struggled to keep its balance. Anne didn't stick around to admire her handiwork. She reached into her pouch, quickly grabbing a fresh magazine for her P90, her fingers moving efficiently as she slammed it into place. Her gaze darted to William, crouched behind cover, his 10mm pistol tightly gripped in his shaky hand. Anne waved at William, her gestures frantic and urgent as she jumped off the platform and onto the tracks. She landed with a crunch as her boots hit loose gravel, immediately rushing toward the end of the tunnel.

  A flash of red cut through the air, welcoming her.

  The laser hit her thigh with vicious accuracy, searing through fabric and flesh. Anne's scream echoed down the tunnel as she collapsed. Her body slammed against the tracks, and the impact yanked the P90 from her hands. Blood flowed from her wound, hot and slick, as she instinctively pressed her fingers against it.

  William, crouched behind cover, froze. The sound of her scream pierced through to him. His gaze darted from Anne to the advancing Protectrons. For a moment, his face was a mix of fear and uncertainty. He stepped forward, the odds weighing heavily. If he tried to save her, he wouldn't make it out alive.

  "Damn it," he muttered, turning back toward Lucy and Wolfgang.

  He moved with tension, shoulders hunched under the burden of guilt that he felt even before leaving her behind.

  Anne clenched her jaw, fighting against the pain, trembling as she dragged herself backward. She used her strongest leg to push against the ground, gravel tearing at her wound as she struggled to put some distance between herself and the relentless Protectrons, their glowing visors locked onto her with unyielding focus. Desperate fingers fumbled for her P90. Finally finding the grip, she growled defiantly and raised the weapon. The muzzle flared as she fired a wild burst, the bullets bouncing off the Protectrons' armor. They left dents and faint scorch marks, but the machines didn't budge.

  William dashed past the Protectrons, moving erratically, catching their attention. Three of the robots swung around to track him, their targeting systems locking in. Crimson lasers zipped by, striking walls and sending debris flying, but none hit their target.

  This distraction bought Anne the moments she so desperately needed. With a pained groan, Anne pushed herself up onto her good leg, the injured one barely holding her weight. Blood soaked her pants, dripping onto the tracks like dark rivulets, but she couldn't afford to stop. Her breathing was ragged, her vision swimming as she staggered into the dark tunnel. She fired again, gunshots ringing out in defiance, echoing through the void. Each step she took felt heavier, her strength fading with every move as she disappeared into the abyss.

  The Protectrons lingered at the station's edge, their laser cannons whining as they tried to reacquire her as a target, their monotone voices cutting through the tension.

  "Surrender... accepted."

  The Protectrons' servos whirred to life as their weapons powered down. One by one, they returned to their patrol routines, moving deliberately and mechanically. The glow of their sensors dimmed slightly as they clanked across the tracks, scanning for new threats.

  The station fell into a heavy silence, with the faint hum of the robots' servos the only sound filling the void. Blood and smoke hung thick in the air, a grim reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.

  Meanwhile, in the shadows, something began to stir.

  A jolt of energy shot through Lucy, pulling her out of the darkness. She shook as if struck by a bolt of lightning, and just like that, the blackness peeled away to reveal a blinding, harsh light. Shapes and colors whirled around her, blending and colliding until, at last, a familiar face came into view.

  Karen, kneeling beside her with a stimpak in hand, the needle freshly withdrawn from Lucy's abdomen.

  "Kept you waiting, huh?"

  Karen joked, her smirk piercing the chaos like a glimmer of hope.

  Relief, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude washed over Lucy, leaving her momentarily frozen.

  The healing serum worked quickly, and its advanced formula was already starting to repair the damage. Torn muscle fibers began to knit back together, blood flow slowed, and her raw, jagged wounds started transforming into faint scars. The pain lessened, replaced by a surge of new energy flooding her body.

  Karen's hands hovered above Lucy's abdomen for a moment, observing the serum's effects. As the visible healing occurred, the tension in her face eased.

  "That should stop the bleeding," she murmured, a mix of relief coloring her tone.

  "But don't push it. You're patched up, not invincible."

  Lucy winced slightly as she tested her newfound strength, slowly pushing herself up. Her fingers grazed over the tender scars. The dull ache remained—a reminder of how close she'd come to death again—but she was stable for now.

  Karen offered her a steadying hand, helping Lucy to her feet.

  Her knees felt shaky, her body trying to catch up with the sudden rush of energy. For a moment, Lucy could only stare at Karen; the sounds of gunfire and lasers felt far away, almost insignificant. Then, she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around Karen in a tight embrace. Her breath caught, tears streaming down her cheeks as she buried her face in her friend's shoulder.

  "Am I dead?"

  Lucy whispered, her voice trembling. Karen let out a soft chuckle, tightening her grip around Lucy.

  "Not yet, Luce. Not yet."

  Lucy pulled back, blinking through her tears, the warmth of Karen grounding her. She glanced back toward the chaos: Protectrons cutting through The Family, lasers flashing red against the grimy station walls. Turning back to Karen, she saw her looking steady, alive, but battered.

  "How did you—" Lucy started, her voice thick with emotion.

  "I'll explain later. Wolfgang's got Ian. We need to go," Karen cut her off, her tone urgent and clipped.

  "Oh, thank god!"

  Lucy stumbled into a jog as Karen urged her forward, rushing her toward the exit. Behind them, the chaotic sounds of gunfire and unrelenting lasers faded into the abyss, swallowed by the tunnel's dark embrace.

  "Let's get the fuck out of here," Lucy muttered, her voice firm despite the shake in her legs.

  Moments later, William hurried down the tracks. As he neared the entrance to The Family's hideout, the dim station lights illuminated a familiar group—Lucy, Karen, Wolfgang, and Ian—reunited at last. A wave of relief washed over him, and he called out to them.

  "Lucy!" He shouted, stopping a few steps short and cautiously raising his hands.

  Karen's instincts took immediate action; she raised the Chinese assault rifle she'd taken from Justin's corpse and aimed it squarely at William. Her finger hovered perilously close to the trigger.

  "Back off, asshole!"

  "Whoa, whoa!" William exclaimed, lifting his hands higher in a gesture of surrender.

  "Hold on—Karen? Is that really you?"

  Karen froze, her brow furrowing as she squinted. Slowly, as the tension in her grip eased, the rifle dropped a bit.

  "Billy?" She asked, a hint of surprise coloring her voice. "Billy Mitchell?"

  "I can't tell you how glad I am to see you," William said earnestly, his hands still raised.

  "And that you're okay. We thought you were gone."

  Karen's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  "We?" She echoed, her tone confused.

  "The Family," William admitted a touch sheepishly.

  "We scout these tunnels all the time. We had you pegged since Seneca."

  Karen's expression twisted in disbelief and anger.

  "Are you fucking serious?" She shot back, tightening her grip on the rifle.

  "This whole time? Seriously?" Lucy chimed in, stepping forward and glaring at William in disbelief.

  "I mean, yeah," William said with a shrug, his sheepish demeanor almost casual.

  "We live down here, so they knew who you were."

  Karen let out a bitter laugh, heavy with frustration.

  "You've just been down here, doing what? Keeping tabs on us? This entire damn time?"

  "Un-fucking-believable," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

  William winced under her gaze, his voice softening.

  "Look, I had no choice. I didn't know they'd..." His words faltered under the weight of Karen's glare.

  "You didn't know they'd what, William?" Lucy stepped closer, her tone cutting.

  "Kidnap Ian? Torment us? Try to kill us? You couldn't have given us a heads-up?"

  Shame washed over William, his features falling.

  "I didn't know it would escalate like this, okay? I truly didn't..."

  His words trailed off, hanging in the air as the tension thickened.

  Karen tightened her grip on the rifle once more, her knuckles turning white against the metal.

  "I should just shoot you right now," she said coldly, her voice trembling with barely contained anger.

  "Karen..." Wolfgang spoke softly, stepping beside her.

  His voice was steady but firm, a quiet plea to help her calm down.

  "He's unarmed." He continued, as if it mattered in this world.

  Karen glanced at Wolfgang before her gaze returned to William. Taking a deep breath, she forced the weapon down with noticeable effort.

  "You'd better have an awfully good reason for showing up here, Billy."

  William nodded quickly, lowering his hands just a bit.

  "I do," he replied earnestly.

  "I came to help."

  Wolfgang stepped up, arms thrown wide in disbelief as frustration seeped into his voice.

  "What are we even doing here? Are we honestly just standing around chatting with this guy?"

  He gestured dramatically toward William.

  "Do I need to remind you that he was trying to kill us a second ago? Let's just get outta and leave this idiot behind."

  "He's got a point," Lucy interjected, her tone icy.

  She fixed a hard stare on William, her words dripping with anger.

  "You were just going to let them take me away and let Vance chop me up—or whatever sick plan he had with that damn sword."

  William's face fell with guilt, his shoulders slumping as he attempted to explain himself.

  "Listen, Lucy," he said, his voice filled with desperation.

  "What was I supposed to do? Arefu was gone. My family was gone. I'd lost everything. I did what I needed to—" Something abruptly interrupted his words.

  A sharp crack echoed through the air as a red laser shot through the back of his head. The beam blasted through flesh and bone, leaving a charred, smoking mess in its wake.

  William's body jerked forward violently and collapsed, making a horrible thump when it hit the floor. The acrid smell of burnt flesh and hair enveloped the air, with smoke curling lazily from the smoldering wound, the back of his skull exposed.

  They all froze. Time seemed to pause as the metallic clank of footsteps ominously echoed down the tunnel. A Protectron stepped out of the shadows, its boxy frame standing rigid and intimidating. The glowing red sensor turned toward the group as it spoke in its robotic monotone.

  "No entry without tickets. Please present your tickets."

  The absurdity of the moment left them momentarily speechless. The Protectron's optical sensor flickered as it emitted a high-pitched scanning sound.

  "Scanning for valid ticket..."

  Karen blinked, shaking her head in disbelief before remembering something;

  "Oh, right!" She exclaimed, scrambling into her pocket.

  She pulled out a bunch of metro tickets and started handing them out. She distributed one ticket to Lucy, another to Wolfgang, and even managed to slip one into Ian's motionless hand, though he didn't notice. The Protectron droned, its sensor glowing more intensely as it processed the tickets. There was a small pause before it announced:

  "Authorized ticketholders. Please proceed to the main platform, and thank you for riding with Metro."

  Wolfgang let out a laugh, a mix of relief and disbelief.

  "These things rock, man," he said, shaking his head as if unable to comprehend the situation.

  Lucy wasn't feeling the same way. Her jaw clenched as she yanked on Karen's arm.

  "Let's go."

  She spoke decisively, taking one last look at William's lifeless form. The grim expression on his face served as a harsh reminder of the risks they faced.

  The group pushed forward, stepping past the door as the Protectron pivoted on its clunky frame, its servos whirring.

  "Do not be alarmed. The Metro will resume normal operation shortly."

  The tone was calm and mechanical, almost mocking the chaos they had just endured.

  The echo of the Protectron's heavy footsteps faded into the distance as they left the horror—and William—behind.

  They moved through the tunnels in silence. The chaos they had just escaped felt far away now, but the tension lingered heavily—unspoken yet very real. They neared a large, rusty, metal door that led to the trainyard. Wolfgang slowed down and raised a hand to signal the others to stop. He pressed his ear against the cold metal, his breath shallow as he tried to catch any sound. The faint creak of the door was the only thing breaking the silence.

  "I can't hear anything," he whispered, just above the quiet hum of their presence.

  Lucy and Karen exchanged cautious glances, nodding in agreement. Ian, as usual, remained silent, his vacant gaze staring off into the unknown. Wolfgang's eyes lingered on the boy, a tightness gripping his chest before he refocused on the door.

  "Let's be careful," he said quietly.

  "Could still be ghouls... or worse on the other side."

  Lucy's stomach twisted at his words, but she nodded resolutely. Next to her, Karen tightened her grip on the Chinese assault rifle she had taken from Justin, her knuckles going pale against the dark weapon.

  "Cover your eyes," Wolfgang instructed in a low voice.

  Lucy and Karen did so without question. Lucy reached out, gently shielding Ian's face with her hand, her fingers shaking slightly as they brushed against his cold skin.

  With slow deliberation, Wolfgang began to push the door open. Its hinges groaned loudly, a jarring sound that broke the oppressive stillness. A sliver of moonlight cut through the gap, illuminating the grimy tunnel walls with a dim silver glow. The air on the other side felt cool and fresh, laced with the faint smell of rust and dry earth—a sharp contrast to the stifling stagnation of the tunnels.

  Wolfgang squinted, peering through the narrow opening.

  "We're good," he whispered, shielding his eyes from the pale light.

  "It's night."

  He swung the door open wider, just enough to step out, pistol at the ready. The Wasteland stretched out in front of him, drenched in an eerie silver hue. Derelict boxcars and skeletal tracks sprawled across the trainyard, their long shadows pooling in the misty light. Wolfgang scanned the area carefully, his eyes flitting between dark spaces and the empty frames of the cars.

  "Looks clear," he finally said, his voice steady yet cautious.

  He turned to the group, his sharp gaze assessing each of them.

  "Luce," he said quietly.

  "Gimme your 10mm."

  Lucy frowned, confused.

  "Why?" She asked.

  "It's empty."

  He didn't answer. He held out his hand, his calm yet insistent expression communicating a silent message: Trust me. Lucy hesitated for a second before releasing the handgun from its holster and relinquishing it.

  Wolfgang stepped halfway out into the yard, the moonlight highlighting the tense lines on his face. He hefted the gun as if it were just an ordinary object, his arm cocking back in a motion that seemed almost casual, like a pitcher preparing for a throw. Then, with a fluid motion, he launched the gun toward one of the nearby boxcars. The dull thud of the pistol hitting metal echoed through the trainyard, the sound bouncing off the empty boxcars and skeletal tracks. The group froze, collectively holding their breath as the noise faded into silence. Seconds stretched like minutes, with no snarls, rustling, or any movement whatsoever.

  The Wasteland seemed to hold its breath along with them.

  "Alright," Wolfgang said as he stepped outside, scanning the horizon one last time before giving a nod to the group.

  "Let's move. Stay close."

  The fresh air greeted them like a cool balm—invigorating, crisp, and a welcome change from the oppressive atmosphere of the tunnels. Lucy tilted her head back, her eyes drawn to the stars twinkling in the vast night sky. It was the first time in what felt like forever since she'd seen them. For a brief moment, a flicker of hope broke through her weariness.

  "Ah, the fresh air of the living!" Wolfgang teased, spreading his arms wide as he mimicked Vance's bombastic style.

  "Compared to stuffy air and rotting flesh, anything's better," Karen shot back with a grin, stretching her arms and taking a deep breath, relishing the night air as if she'd just received a fresh start.

  Lucy fell behind as the banter continued, her pace slower, her eyes locked on the horizon. She had a distant, troubled look in her gaze that revealed the turmoil brewing inside her. Her forehead creased deeply as she contemplated the missing piece in the jigsaw.

  Karen slowed down, her smile dimming.

  "Hey, Luce, what's up?" She asked gently, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.

  "We made it! You should be celebrating with us."

  Lucy hesitated before replying. Her eyes drifted over the shadows stretching across the Wasteland, her face a mask of contemplation.

  "I just can't shake this feeling that something's off," she finally said, her voice quiet and edged with frustration.

  Karen tilted her head, intrigued. "What do you mean by that?"

  "I don't know," Lucy admitted, her words leaning more toward herself than anyone else.

  Her voice dropped even lower, filled with hesitation, almost like she feared her own thoughts.

  "It's just... I think Ian might've killed our parents."

  Those words crashed into the air like a thunderous clap, leaving a silence that felt heavier than the oppressive tunnels they'd just escaped.

  Karen and Wolfgang exchanged shocked glances, their expressions mirroring the unease bubbling up inside them.

  "Why?" Karen finally whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

  "Just trust me," Lucy said, her tone firm yet trembling with vulnerability.

  She motioned toward Ian, who stood quietly with a blank look, his eyes unfocused.

  "There are things you don't know—things about Ian I can't tell you. But just look at him."

  Karen and Wolfgang turned to Ian, and his vacant stare sent an involuntary chill through them, uncertainty marking their features.

  "This can't just be because of Vance or anyone else," Lucy continued.

  "Something else happened."

  Wolfgang and Karen exchanged another concerned glance before turning their attention to Lucy, her exhaustion written plainly across her face.

  "Are you sure it's not just... the stress of everything, Luce?" Karen suggested softly, her words carrying a hint of fragile hope.

  "You've all been through a lot. We all have. Maybe you just need some rest."

  "Technically she did catch a little nap," Wolfgang chimed in from behind, his attempt at humor falling flat against the weight of the moment.

  Lucy forced a short, strained laugh, her face tight with tension. She conceded, her voice laced with an unmistakable doubt.

  "You know what? Maybe you're right."

  The three of them stood in the cool night air, the stars above shining bright in stark contrast to the silence surrounding them. Lucy's words lingered in the air, unanswered, as the weight of her revelation settled around them like a thick fog. There were no answers, no closure—just a mystery that would continue to haunt Lucy long after the night had ended.

  Karen looked down at Ian, seeing his vacant expression as he stared into the distance. She hesitated, biting her bottom lip before she spoke softly.

  "Do you think he'll be alright?"

  Lucy shifted her gaze to Ian, studying him for a long while. The boy she'd risked everything for stood there—physically present—but the lively, mischievous brother she remembered felt like a distant memory, like he belonged to another life, another world.

  "I don't know, Karen," she eventually admitted, her voice heavy with uncertainty.

  "All I know is that I couldn't just leave him with those... monsters."

  Her voice trailed off, and the faint glimmer of hope she had seemed to fade into something much darker.

  "Even if they could've fixed him."

  "They couldn't," Wolfgang asserted firmly, his voice piercing the air like a blade.

  There was no hesitation in what he said; it left no room for doubt. It carried the weariness of someone who had seen too much of the Wasteland to have faith in empty promises.

  "Don't worry, Luce. He'll be okay now that he's with us. You'll see."

  Lucy nodded slightly, taking in his words but not fully believing them. She kept her gaze on Ian, almost searching for any sign of the boy he used to be, something familiar to hold onto. Yet the emptiness in his eyes only deepened her concern.

  The silence hung heavily between them, rich with unspoken fears, until Lucy finally broke away and looked toward the horizon. The vastness of the Wasteland stretched endlessly before them.

  "So," she said softly, the firmness in her voice unmistakable.

  "What's the plan?" She locked her gaze on Wolfgang and Karen.

  "I need to see Evan King."

  Wolfgang hesitated, tension building in his neck as he rubbed the back of it, his eyes dropping to the floor. His face revealed a mix of guilt and unease.

  "Well..." he started carefully, his tone tinged with regret.

  "Hate to break it to ya, Luce, but I won't be comin' with."

  Lucy blinked, confusion furrowing her brow.

  "What do you mean?"

  Wolfgang let out a sigh, avoiding her probing gaze.

  "I need to keep a low profile for a while, y'know? Just clear my head. I'm gonna stay with Agatha for a bit."

  He spoke casually, yet his words carried a heaviness as if he had reached his limit.

  "Her place is peaceful, remote... safe."

  At the mention of Agatha, Karen tilted her head slightly, her expression changing. A vague recognition flickered in her eyes—Agatha. She recognized the violin. It felt like a fleeting dream—hazy and abstract, buried deep in her memories from the metro. Yet, the thought stirred something within her, a melody just beyond her grasp.

  "Agatha, huh?"

  She spoke with a tone that was measured and deliberate. Reaching into her pouch with a decisive motion, she pulled out a stimpak and extended it toward Lucy with a firm gesture, her expression unreadable.

  "Here, Luce," Karen said, her voice steady yet laced with finality.

  "It's the last one."

  Lucy blinked, her gaze dropping to the stimpak in Karen's hand before lifting back to meet her eyes. Karen didn't flinch; her thumb brushed over the smooth plastic casing while she glanced back at the dark, yawning entrance of the metro tunnels they'd just come from. The soft moonlight illuminated Karen's face, softening the intensity of her expression.

  "After I got away from the ghouls, I tracked the direction you guys ran off to."

  Karen said, glancing over at Wolfgang, then back at Lucy, her voice brightening slightly as if she were sharing a proud moment.

  "And I had my badass robot army with me, just saying."

  A faint smirk appeared as her fingers tightened briefly around the stimpak, as though she found comfort in the memory. Her tone softened as she continued, a more subdued note entering her words.

  "There was this room off to the side; you guys ran right by it," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as she recalled.

  "It had a medkit on the wall."

  Karen stepped closer to Lucy, locking eyes with her. The moonlight highlighted the shared exhaustion in their expressions, the weight of their struggles visible on their faces. She pressed the stimpak into Lucy's hand, her fingers lingering a moment.

  "There were two of them," she murmured, her smile small but genuine, though it wavered under the fatigue that clung to her.

  "I already gave you the other one. Just take it."

  As Karen pulled her hand away, her gaze lingered on Lucy's for a heartbeat longer. The silence between them felt heavy with unspoken words.

  Wolfgang arched an eyebrow, a smirk grazing the corners of his mouth like a jagged edge.

  "Two stimpaks, eh? And didn't you use one for yourself? That's ballsy, Karen."

  Karen scoffed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair and letting a sly smile spread across her face.

  "Please," she waved off dismissively.

  "I don't need one; I'm built different."

  With a playful shrug, she tapped her chest in a mock display of confidence, as if to prove she was invincible. Wolfgang let out a low laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "Right, because you're the very definition of indestructible," he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  "I must've missed the memo when you and that ghoul had your little domestic dispute."

  Lucy cut in, a faint smile growing on her face.

  "Oh please, like you were any better? You were almost a human blood bag back there."

  Wolfgang let out a short, barking laugh, shaking his head once more.

  "Fair point."

  Karen's smirk softened a bit, but the playful vibe lingered.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Glass House," she teased, her tone turning mockingly sweet.

  "How's your head doing? Need me to kiss it better?"

  "Hard pass," Wolfgang replied quickly, though his grin mirrored hers.

  "But thanks for the offer, Princess."

  As their playful banter continued, Lucy stood a little aside, staring down at the stimpak in her hand. She tightened her grip on it, the cool metal grounding her thoughts as she furrowed her brow. She seemed lost in her own world, until her voice broke through the playful exchange.

  "Karen?" She asked, confusion evident in her tone, her gaze still locked on the stimpak.

  "What are you doing?"

  Karen turned to face her, her stance firm and her voice steady.

  "I'm going with Wolfgang."

  "Wait, WHAT?!" Wolfgang shouted, his voice echoing across the still wasteland.

  "You've got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?"

  He stared at Karen as if she'd grown a second head, gesturing wildly in disbelief at her statement. Meanwhile, Karen crossed her arms and held her ground, her expression challenging as if daring him to argue further.

  "Look, Lucy needs to head back to Arefu, and it's just right over there."

  Karen said, pointing toward the massive, crumbling highway that towered in the distance.

  "She'll be alright. You know what else she might need? Meds. Like RadAway. Agatha might have some."

  He opened his mouth to argue, his face already hinting at a half-baked counterpoint, but Karen forged ahead with determination in her voice.

  "With an extra stimpak, Arefu isn't that far. So, how far is Agatha's place?" She asked, glaring at Wolfgang.

  Taken aback, Wolfgang hesitated. His usual confidence wavered slightly.

  "Uh... I'm not sure," he confessed quietly, scratching the back of his head in an unusual show of awkwardness.

  Karen's eyes went wide, and her voice rose in disbelief.

  "What do you mean you're not sure? How can you not know?"

  Wolfgang shrugged, caught somewhere between embarrassment and irritation.

  "I don't know, man! It's nearby, but when you're out on the road, time just kinda... slips away from ya, y'know?"

  Karen stared at him, her mouth slightly agape, before she threw her hands up in frustration.

  "Unbelievable!"

  She yelled, her voice faintly echoing in the quiet night. Shaking her head in disbelief, she fixed him with an intense look.

  "Well, I guess we'll find out, huh? Idiot..."

  The last word slipped out with some venom, though the corners of her mouth quirked up, revealing a hint of a smirk despite her irritation.

  Lucy, who had stayed quiet through the conversation, finally spoke up. Her voice was soft yet strong, cutting through the tension between them.

  "Karen, are you sure about this?" She asked, her gaze steady and probing.

  Karen turned to her friend, her expression softening when she met Lucy's eyes.

  "Yeah, I really am," she replied with confidence.

  Her tone was gentle and intended to reassure her.

  "Wolfgang knows what he's doing. Most of the time," she added, shooting him a sidelong glance.

  Wolfgang simply grinned, remaining silent.

  "And you need to focus on Ian. Get him home," she continued.

  Lucy's gaze fell to Ian, who stood silently beside her, his blank stare a haunting reminder of everything they'd been through. A sigh escaped her lips as her shoulders slumped under the weight of it all. Karen stepped closer, her voice softening again as she tried to lift her friend's spirits.

  "Plus, Agatha has a radio, and I'm pretty sure Evan does too. We'll find a way to keep in touch."

  Lucy gave a faint nod, her eyes locked on Karen. Her mind raced with questions she felt unable to voice, but Karen's steady presence provided a strange comfort. After a moment of silence, a small smile crept onto Karen's face as a memory hit her.

  "Hey, remember when we were kids?" She asked, her tone lighting up.

  "We'd sit around listening to your dad and Thomas telling their little Grognak the Barbarian stories over the radio."

  Lucy blinked, the surprise of the memory pulling her away from the present. A soft smile began to emerge.

  "Yeah," she said quietly, nostalgia lacing her voice. "What about it?"

  Karen's grin grew wider.

  "Let's tune into that signal so we can stay in touch. Easy peasy."

  For a brief moment, the weight of their reality appeared to lessen. The simplicity of that plan, combined with the warmth of a shared memory, helped them feel anchored in something familiar and comforting. This moment symbolized trust and their unbreakable bond, no matter how far the Wasteland took them.

  "Alright," Lucy finally said, her voice just a whisper.

  Though her words shook a bit, her gaze remained steady. "Just be careful, okay?"

  Karen's confident smile softened as she nodded. "Always."

  Wolfgang groaned, throwing his hands up in a playful defeat.

  "Fine, but if things go sideways, don't expect me to carry ya back."

  Karen chuckled, her smirk teasing. "Noted."

  "Looks like it's just you and me now, Princess," Wolfgang muttered, his grin returning.

  Karen rolled her eyes, but she couldn't hide her smile. "Don't push your luck, buddy."

  He chuckled knowingly. "Oh, I'm countin' on it."

  Karen turned to Lucy, her usual bravado fading into something more genuine as she stepped closer. Without saying a word, she wrapped Lucy in a firm hug, holding her tight.

  "You'll be okay, Luce," Karen reassured softly, her voice steady but touched with emotion.

  "We all will be. We're stronger now."

  Lucy hugged her back, her grip lasting as if she were trying to stay grounded in that moment.

  "I know," she whispered, though her throat felt tight with everything left unsaid.

  Karen pulled back slightly, her hands resting on Lucy's shoulders, squeezing them reassuringly while her gaze held unspoken encouragement.

  "Just one more fight left."

  She glanced at Ian, who stood quietly beside Lucy, his expression blank. Karen offered him a small, solemn nod before turning back to Wolfgang.

  Wolfgang shot a brief look at Lucy, his expression unusually shy, a brief glimpse of vulnerability crossing his face. He was about to say something, but Karen tugged at his arm, urging him to move.

  "C'mon, let's go!" She called, her voice lively again.

  As they started walking, Karen's hand instinctively brushed Wolfgang's side, her fingers grazing the bruises and cuts from his escape.

  "Hey, cut it out! It still hurts, y'know," Wolfgang grumbled, swatting her hand away like an annoyed sibling.

  Karen smirked, undeterred.

  "I'm just making sure you won't keel over halfway there, tough guy."

  Lucy watched their playful banter with a bittersweet ache in her chest. It felt so normal, so human, that it only highlighted the heaviness of the Wasteland. She didn't want this moment to end; she didn't want Karen to leave. But she knew she had to let go. Karen turned back one last time, her eyes locking with Lucy's across the distance. She raised a hand in a small wave, a silent promise lingering between them, unspoken yet understood. Wolfgang followed suit, shaking his head with a half-smile as he trailed after her.

  Lucy stood there for a long moment, her hand tightening on Ian's shoulder as she watched them fade further into the night.

  The burden of all they had been through felt like a heavy weight on her shoulders. She glanced down at Ian, his empty gaze staring off into the distance, and softly ran her fingers through his tangled hair.

  "Come on, kiddo. Let's go home."