Ramm nearly tripped on the threshold.
Brinn caught him by the collar and gave him a shove forward.
“Act like you belong,” he muttered.
“I’m trying,” Ramm hissed. “This uniform itches like guilt.”
Above them, Sai ghosted through the high ducts and support beams—unseen, unheard, his presence like a shadow sewn into the structure itself.
The Black Ring rose like a blade from the flatlands of Relic’s industrial outskirts—sharp angles, grey plating, and a towering central spine that pierced the sky. Inside, it was cooler. Still. Too still.
They walked down a main corridor lined with motionless defense turrets. Each hall looked standard-issue: metallic walls, tactical lighting, posted security checkpoints. Everything efficient. Practical.
But empty.
Not abandoned—just too quiet.
As they passed the first deployment wing, Brinn spoke low over the comms. “We should’ve seen at least two squads patrolling by now.”
Ramm checked a small display inside his cuff. “Supply logs said this place had over five thousand units delivered—gear, rations, ammo. But if I had to guess? Maybe five hundred people here, tops.”
Sai’s voice echoed from somewhere above them. “Where did the rest go?”
Pepe buzzed through the earpiece. “Maybe they were allergic to consistency.”
Brinn frowned. “Or maybe they’re being sent somewhere else.”
“No records of outflow,” Ramm muttered. “Everything’s inbound. Like the place’s only purpose is to collect.”
They continued, passing an armory where rows of rifles gleamed behind reinforced glass. Locked. Stocked. Untouched.
The weapons were here.
The soldiers weren’t.
Deeper inside, they reached the central atrium—a circular intersection beneath a tower that stretched up through the middle of the complex.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
It was busy here. Troopers moved in and out. Technicians spoke in hushed tones at security consoles. A mess hall buzzed on one side of the plaza, its windows tinted. The first real signs of life.
In the center stood a circular platform, encircled by reinforced glass and two guards in full body armor.
Ramm’s breath caught.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s the lift.”
“Location checks out,” Sai replied. “Center of the base. It’s deeper than the rest. Could lead to secured floors.”
Brinn stepped just close enough to glance at the terminal. “General-level access required.”
“Well,” Ramm muttered, “good news—at least we know what we’re stealing next.”
They didn’t linger.
Instead, they made a wide loop around the interior—visiting secondary wings, logistics hubs, lightly staffed security posts.
Everywhere they looked, the story was the same.
Crates. Supplies. Weapons.
Fewer and fewer personnel.
And not one of them seemed concerned by the difference.
Ramm patched into a wall terminal under cover of a hallway alcove.
“The internal network’s restricted,” he said, tapping furiously at his wristplate. “But I can override a few subsystems—vents, lights, cameras.”
Brinn stood watch, arms crossed.
“What about the gate?”
Ramm grimaced. “I can spoof the protocol, but I’m not slicing through Weavernet like it’s a vending machine. If someone’s watching logs or if I hit the wrong failsafe…”
He trailed off.
Brinn nodded once. “So we better make it count.”
Sai’s voice cut in. “We’ll have one shot. Once those gates open, everyone inside will be on alert.”
Outside the base, hidden in the skeletal ruins of old industry, Jarek crouched behind a rusted beam, eyes locked on the Black Ring's distant silhouette.
Pepe hovered nearby, his face panel showing a very exaggerated loading bar.
“Still no signal,” Jarek muttered.
“Good. That means they're not dead yet,” Pepe chirped. “Also: I ran three simulations. All of them end in at least one explosion.”
Jarek gave him a look.
“Not saying which side,” Pepe added.
Jarek sighed and leaned back against the metal, checking the rebel squad nearby—nervous, waiting, armed. The kind of quiet that only came before chaos.
“They better hurry,” he said. “The longer we wait, the more likely someone screws up.”
Pepe rotated mid-air, smug. “Is that worry I detect? Touching. I’ll add it to your emotional record.”
“Just keep the channel open,” Jarek said.
“Always am. Emotionally and digitally compromised.”
Brinn stepped back. “We open the gates, they storm in, and we punch straight to the general. Once we have his clearance…”
“We go down,” Sai finished.
Ramm exhaled. “No pressure.”
They regrouped near a dark maintenance bay just below the main floor. The hum of the central tower throbbed quietly overhead.
Sai emerged from the shadowed ceiling, crouching low. “Guards rotate every twelve minutes. The next shift swap gives us a window.”
Brinn glanced at the faint outlines of hidden support ducts. “We reroute power to the gate terminals. Kill their lockout protocol.”
“And trigger just enough internal confusion to make the rebels look like a breach they didn’t expect,” Ramm added.
Pepe buzzed in. “This plan relies heavily on things not exploding immediately. Just wanted that on record.”
Jarek’s voice crackled through a narrow-band channel. “We’re in position. Say the word.”
Sai looked around the dim chamber, eyes hard.
“One word, and this base becomes a battlefield.”
Brinn nodded. “Time to light the match.”
Ramm tapped his wristpad.
“Let’s open the door.”
precise. And this crew? Somehow walked the razor’s edge between clever and chaotic.
refused to retcon it. That’s the beauty of blending gameplay and story—imperfection makes it sing.
live for when it all goes sideways? (And who do you think is going to mess it up first?)
Primy