Lydia was the first to move. She hopped out the van, eyes already searching the building. Kate followed seconds later, rifle up, barking clipped instructions into her helmet mic. The back door burst open as Bran, Jen, Cuiran and Mous scrambled out, sweeping the area with their handpieces as they scanned the surroundings for the imminent threat.

  It was an appropriate reaction to watching your captain sprint out of a building like his life depended on it.

  Static filled my head. A thick sensation that drowned out all coherent thought. Years of training on threat assessment and emergency protocols, yet when I needed clarity most, my mind chose silence. Typical.

  A nasty thought clawed its way through the noise. I could be wrong. What if all that blood was all just part of some sick experiment they conducted in the facility? I would never see the end of it. The little credibility I had would vanish into nothing.

  In a society with a constant flow of present and real danger, there was nothing worse than a false alarm. If I was wrong, it wouldn't just be embarrassing. It would be remembered. But on the other hand, if I was right and hesitated….

  I forced myself to breathe and swallowed the doubt down hard. Worst-case scenario, it would end with me. I would not let avoidable deaths weigh on my conscience.

  "What's going—" Kate started.

  "Jen, Bran," I cut in sharply, the static collapsing into focus. "Exterior sweep. Full perimeter. Extreme caution. If anything looks even slightly off, report immediately. No heroics."

  They sealed their helmets without hesitation and moved, weapons low to their sides.

  I turned to Kate. "Lock it down. No one in or out. Civilian traffic rerouted two blocks minimum. I want eyes on every approach vector."

  Her jaw tightened. "You think—"

  "Multiple subjects," I said quietly. "Possibly injured. Potential deceased. Definite hostile presence. Call it in, but no backups or medics till I say so. I don't want to cause a commotion just yet."

  She pulled out her pad and headed to the back of the van.

  "Cuiran," I called.

  He stepped in beside her. "Sir."

  "Assist but stay mobile. Might need an extra pair of hands soon."

  "Yes sir."

  I faced the last two.

  "Get your stuff. You're with me."

  The lobby door opened sluggishly as if reluctant to let me back in. We advanced swiftly to the end where it split into two opposing hallways. I pulled on my helmet and switched to infrared. Dull tones of blue and black filled my visor. No heat signatures. No warmth in either corridor. Nothing.

  "Damn it," I muttered.

  The walls were layered composite — insulation, reinforcement mesh, likely signal-dampening materials. Good for privacy.

  I flicked it off and stood still, calming my breath. The scent was far too dense to track without concentration. It threaded the air like a current.

  Closing my eyes, I could sense it flowing. Becoming more saturated as it filled in the space. It was thinner to the right. I signaled to the left and we moved in.

  Without thermal, we were effectively blind. Any hostiles inside were sure to be aware of our presence. They could be watching us through optics we couldn't detect. Waiting for us. I considered deploying the scouts from Lydia's kit—small drones that could map ahead. Too slow.

  If the source of the smell was recent, time wasn't elastic.

  The hallway stretched long and silent. Emergency lighting cast the space in a dim amber wash. Benches lined the walls at regular intervals. Doors stood ajar, revealing offices in disarray. One workstation knocked sideways and a cracked mug bleeding dried liquid across the floor.

  Two elevators waited near the corridor's end, doors half-open like parted lips. I studied the panels. Power fluctuation. One car stuck between floors. Elevators were coffins in situations like this. I motioned past them.

  At the far end, a green luminescent sign glowed steadily. Stairs.

  We were five steps away when I noticed a change in the air. A subtle displacement ahead of us. Someone was near. And they were moving fast. I stopped instantly and raised a closed fist. Mous and Lydia froze with me.

  Two fingers down. Defensive position.

  Mous slid to the right wall, dropping into a low crouch, her piece steady and angled toward the stairwell opening. I mirrored her on the left, back against the wall, muzzle aligned with the doorway's edge. Lydia knelt slightly behind us at the corridor's centerline, body turned to cover our rear. A clean triangle.

  We could hear the footsteps now.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Three.

  The cadence was sloppy. There was no effort to control noise. Either terrified… or reckless. Not how an enemy would move if they knew marshals were in the building.

  Two.

  I set the piece to stun. The indicator blinked twice. My finger hovered over the trigger.

  One.

  "Freeze!" My voice cracked through the corridor. "Marshals. Get on the ground. Hands behind your head. Now."

  A high-pitched scream tore back at us.

  "Wait! Don't shoot!"

  She stumbled forward, nearly tripping, hands flying up to shield her face.

  "On the ground! I will not repeat myself."

  "I'm doing it! I'm doing it, okay? Please don't shoot."

  She dropped hard onto the floor, palms trembling as she laced her fingers behind her head. Her breath came in shallow, frantic pulls.

  Mous rose smoothly from her crouch and advanced with measured steps. She stopped at the woman's side and nudged an ankle outward with her boot.

  "Stay still," she said calmly.

  I went over to the stairwell as Mous conducted the search. The smell was stronger here. It bled like heat from an open furnace. I stepped to the threshold and angled my head slightly, listening. Silence.

  There wasn't anyone close by. None that I could sense, at least. We were clear for now.

  "She's clean." Mous said.

  I turned back.

  "Sit up," I ordered. "Slowly. Keep your hands where they are."

  "Okay," she whispered.

  She pushed herself upright carefully, legs folding beneath her until she sat cross-legged on the floor. Her hands remained locked behind her head.

  Up close, she looked younger than I expected. White gown. Blue sweater thrown over it, slightly oversized. Red hair in two uneven pigtails that felt almost out of place in a facility like this. Her face was pale, eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears.

  Her gaze flicked between the three of us, lingering on our weapons. I crouched in front of her. Procedure first. Sympathy later.

  "What is your name?"

  "B-Brittney."

  Her voice cracked halfway through.

  "Full name."

  "Brittney Halvert."

  "What are you doing in this building, Brittney?"

  "I work here," she said quickly. "I'm the receptionist."

  Receptionist. For an empty lobby. In a building that reeked of blood.

  "I'd like to see identification."

  She hesitated, eyes darting toward her sweater pocket.

  "You may use your hands," I added. "Slowly."

  She brought them down with exaggerated care, reached into the pocket, and retrieved a slim identification card. Her fingers shook as she handed it to me. I scanned it.

  The data chip registered. Employment verified. Position: Front Desk Administrative Liaison. Issued eight months ago.

  I handed it back.

  "We received a distress call from this building," I said. "We came in to find it abandoned. Offices open. Signs of disruption. No staff present."

  Her breathing quickened again.

  "Would you like to explain what is happening here?"

  "Distress call?" She blinked rapidly. "I don't know anything about that. Nothing happened. There's just a staff meeting going on. A big one. Everyone's upstairs."

  "Is that so?" I asked.

  "Yes. That's why the lobby is empty. We're busy." She looked down at the floor as she spoke.

  Even through the dense metallic saturation in the air, I could isolate it. A faint chemical shift. Adrenaline was already present and expected. Fear elevated baseline levels.

  It was more than that. There was also the familiar cortisol spike that accompanied deception. Her body had reacted before her mind finished the lie.

  I tapped her lightly on the chin, forcing her to meet my eyes.

  "A huge staff meeting," I repeated. "I'd like to see this meeting. I can't leave without confirming everyone's alright. That wouldn't be responsible, would it? So you're going to take us there."

  Her reaction was immediate. Terror. But not of us. Of the implication.

  "I—I can't do that," she said quickly, words stumbling over each other. "It's private. Very important. My bosses wouldn't appreciate an interruption."

  "Private," I echoed.

  "Yes," she insisted. "Maybe you can come back later? I'll tell you how it goes?"

  Too desperate. There was no longer uncertainty. Something was wrong in this building. Deeply wrong. And whether she was complicit or simply terrified, she was obstructing us.

  I stood. This was going nowhere.

  "Mous," I said calmly, not taking my eyes off Brittney. "Restrain and gag. We're proceeding upstairs."

  "Yes, sir."

  Confusion overtook her face. "Wait—what are you doing? Wai—"

  The rest of her protest disappeared beneath the gag as Mous secured it firmly in place. Her wrists were pulled behind her back and cuffed in one smooth motion. She struggled at first, small and frantic movements, but it didn't last. Within seconds, the fight drained out of her. She looked up at me like I had just sealed her fate.

  Lydia turned to me. I couldn't see her face through the visor but I felt the question there. I gave her a brief, subtle shake of my head.

  Not now.

  I didn't have to. Command in the field wasn't a debate. It was a line. And she would never cross it. Besides, detaining the receptionist in that manner was well within my authority and my justifications were clean. And if there was anything I had learned in the short while I had been alive, it was that everyone was guilty until proven innocent.

  Brittney was small, barely brushing six feet, and had a slight frame. Mous lifted her easily over her shoulder, one arm securing her legs, the other steadying her weight. Her body hung limp, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

  We reformed. I took point. Mous followed, burden and all, and Lydia brought up the rear.

  The stairwell felt narrower on the ascent. Each step upward seemed to compress the air further. At the next floor, I paused and checked the thermal. The door ahead revealed nothing. I opened it carefully.

  The hallway beyond mirrored the one below: long, sterile and empty. And the scent was weaker. Wrong direction. I closed the door and signaled upward.

  My boot barely touched the next step when I noticed an addition to the odour. A more sickly scent, resting just underneath the metallic tang.

  Flesh. Cold, raw flesh.

  I picked up my pace, moving as cautiously as I could but unable to mask my haste. Behind me, a muffled sound broke the stairwell's silence.

  Even through the gag, I could hear the strain in her breathing. Her shoulders trembled violently against Mous's back. She knew.

  We reached the second floor and I stopped in front of the door. For a moment, I hesitated. Opening it would confirm everything. The muffled sob came again. That decided it. I pushed the door open.

  The second floor opened into a hallway identical in structure to the one below. Same lighting. Same neutral walls.

  But this one wasn't empty.

  The first thing my brain registered was obstruction. Shapes interrupted the path forward at irregular intervals. Dark silhouettes against pale flooring.

  Bodies.

  They lay scattered across the hallway from one end to the other. Some near the walls. Some closer to the center. Some partially overlapping, having fallen too near each other. Office doors along the walls stood open in places, but whatever had happened had centered here.

  I had seen murder before. More than most ever would. It was part of the job. Even before the academy, death was no stranger. I had never been the type to recoil or look away from the bodies of the deceased.

  But as I stood there in that hallway, staring at the sheer scale of it, something inside me twisted. A sick reminder of my humanity.

  The others stopped behind me, Brittney still trembling. No one spoke, all frozen in the quiet weight of the aftermath. My eyes moved, counting automatically.

  Five.

  Ten.

  Twenty.

  And more beyond what I could see.

  The Collapse happened in the year 3199. It occurred when a maliciously altered security AI exploited cybernetically enhanced human operators, distorting their perception and judgment, which in turn triggered the automated activation of multiple strategic deterrent systems.

  These weapons were never designed to operate together, and their cascading deployment caused the destruction of habitats, orbital infrastructure failures, and mass loss of life across the Solar System.

  Over a billion people died before the systems could be shut down, making it the greatest tragedy in human history. In response, humanity enacted The Compact.