Pirates shouted, shoving past each other, grabbing weapons—but not to fight. They were evacuating.
Why?
“What the hell is happening?” Telo hissed, fists clenched.
The intercom crackled to life, filled with static and hurried breathing. Then a pirate’s gruff voice boomed through the bunker:
“We’re evacuating! Burn the bunker down—leave nothing behind!”
Burn this bunker down.
Varen’s breath caught. The walls felt smaller. The air, thinner. His stomach twisted with realization.
They weren’t just abandoning the bunker. They were burying everyone inside.
Then, the mechanical voice roared through the intercom—cold, final, merciless:
“SELF-DESTRUCT SEQUENCE INITIATED. DETONATION IN 30 MINUTES.”
A wave of pure despair rippled through the prisoners. Shouts. Screams. Panic.
Varen’s pulse pounded in his ears. His body refused to move.
MOVE. His mind screamed. MOVE.
A hand yanked him forward. Telo.
“Kid, follow me. I know a way out.”
His voice was sharp, urgent, but his grip was even stronger—tight, unrelenting, dragging Varen forward.
Varen’s legs resisted. His breath came in short, uneven gasps. His mind was still trapped in the blood-splattered chaos of the bunker.
Another explosion rocked the bunker.
Not now. MOVE.
He stumbled forward, feet sluggish at first—then faster. Like learning how to walk again.
“Shit—this way is blocked.” Telo’s voice cracked, raw with panic.
He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. He just pivoted and yanked Varen down another corridor, moving on instinct.
Varen barely felt it. He wasn’t running—he was being pulled, like dead weight.
The gunfire, the screams, the blaring alarms—it was all muffled.
He was just a bystander in his own body.
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“Grab this gun, kid.”
Telo’s voice cut through the haze in Varen’s mind—a sharp, undeniable reminder. They needed to survive.
Varen grabbed the pistol. Familiar weight. Familiar feel. A Desert Pigeon—a laser pistol fueled by Velopian Gas, notorious for its armor-piercing capabilities.
His grip tightened.
This wasn’t a training session.
This was real.
They ran.
The once-pristine halls of the bunker were unrecognizable—blood-streaked walls, bodies collapsed in broken heaps. The stench of burning flesh and ozone clung to the air.
The pirates were close.
“Stay quiet, kid.” Telo’s voice dropped to a whisper.
They stopped.
Telo’s one good eye narrowed, scanning the corridor ahead.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The shots rang out in quick succession.
Three pirates dropped. Lifeless.
Varen barely had time to react before a familiar figure stepped from the shadows.
Mr. Cooper.
His rifle still smoked, his stance steady, his eyes sharp as ever.
He survived.
“Where’s Anara?”
The question tore out of Varen’s throat before he could stop it. He had been holding it in for too long.
His chest felt heavy, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. His mind screamed with everything he should have done differently.
Mr. Cooper’s expression darkened. His grip on his rifle tightened.
“Why didn’t you do as I said?” His voice was sharp, edged with frustration—but beneath it, disappointment.
“You endangered everyone.”
Varen flinched. His throat tightened. He had no defense.
“We need to move, brat.” Cooper’s voice was low but firm, his grip on his rifle tightening. His gaze flicked between Varen and Telo. “You too, soldier.”
Heavy footsteps pounded against the metal floor. The pirates were closing in.
Closer.
BANG—CLANG—THUD.
The sounds echoed through the corridors, boots hammering against the once-prized bunker of Arun.
Then silence, a calm before the storm. A rough voice suddenly echoed down the corridor.
“There they are! OPEN FIRE!”
Red-hot plasma tore through the air.
They couldn’t run.
They had to fight.
And then—the world slowed.
Again.
It was like fate had flipped a switch. Like something deep inside him had activated.
His senses sharpened. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, but everything else felt… slower.
It was happening again.
The pirates were moving—raising their weapons.
Too slow.
BANG! BANG!
Before they could fire, Varen’s hand squeezed the trigger.
A bolt of searing energy erupted from the pistol. A flash of red light pierced the first pirate’s chest, sending him crashing back.
Another shot. Another body fell.
Then—time snapped back.
The rush of reality slammed into him. The gunfire. The chaos. The burning scent of plasma in the air.
Before he could even react—
BANG.
Not at him.
At Mr. Cooper.
The shot hit center mass.
Cooper staggered, a crimson hole burned through his chest. His rifle slipped away from his hands.
But before Varen could react—
BANG. A second shot.
The pirate crumpled.
Telo stood behind him, pistol still raised. His expression was cold, unreadable.
Silence. Just for a second.
Then Varen dropped to his knees beside Cooper.
“No—No! You have to stay with me!”
Varen’s voice was hoarse, breaking, as if saying it enough times could make it true. As if this was just a bad dream.
But it wasn’t.
Cooper’s breathing came in shallow, ragged gasps. He tried to speak, but only a weak, wet cough escaped—blood staining his lips.
Then, with trembling fingers, he reached for Varen’s wrist.
There is a faint click.
The holo-com snapped onto Varen’s arm.
Cooper’s grip tightened—just for a second. His one good eye met Varen’s.
“She... got out.”
Varen froze. His breath hitched. “What?”
Cooper exhaled. The strength was leaving his body now.
“Anara’s... safe.”
Then—nothing.
His fingers slipped away, the warmth fading from his touch.
Cooper was gone.