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salemrph · 2 months ago

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"Let the World Burn"

Chapter 3: Prove to me that you're stronger

A night of celebration ends in chaos—you vanish without a trace. The ransom demand arrives, but Sylus knows this isn’t just about money.

Chapter 3 summary: Something is wrong. You feel it. A weight settling deep in your bones, a fog clouding your thoughts. Despite your injuries, you need to escape. If you can’t trust your own strength, then at least trust him. Somewhere in the facility, the twins are closing in—but will they reach you in time?

Characters: Sylus x MC/reader/you, Luke and Kieran, Zayne, Caleb

Genre/Warning: descriptions of violence and blood, hurt/comfort, injuries, grief, romantic, drama, action, slight sexual content, angst

Word count: 6,909 | Reading Time: 28 min | AO3

RECOMENDATION: There is a part with a hint to BGM, I highly recommend you to hear it while you read.

Tag list: @voidsylus @thechaoticarchivist @syluscrows @likewhyareyousoobsessedwithme @syluskisser @fortunekookie07 @crimsonlittlecrow @mochibunnies3 @gazelover666 @fancyhawk45 @sorryimakira @paninisstuff @deathrye @tinyweebsstuff @sxderia @yunhogrippers @sylusqt @darkesky @an-ever-angry-bi @atinymekanie @bruisedchickensoup @thatonegenderfluidwhore @certainduckanchor @the-girl-who-used-to @reika-desu @f41k47 @beezabuzz @mentaltrouble2201 @bl00dsuccker @blorbohunter @gianchan-de @fortunekookie07

You wake up again, disoriented, the dim light above flickering weakly. Your entire body aches, but the sharp, searing pain in your chest is what pulls you fully into consciousness. You clutch at it instinctively, your breath coming in shallow gasps. What have they done to you? The memory of the lab floods back—hands gripping you, cold voices, the violent sound of the cardiogram. The pain from before was unbearable, and now it holds on you so tightly, a cruel reminder of whatever experiment they’ve subjected you to. Did they mess with your Protocore Syndrome? The thought churns in your mind.

The cold of the concrete floor seeps into your bones, making every movement feel heavier, but you force yourself to move. Your fingers scrape against the rough surface as you try to push up onto your hands and knees. The effort is agonizing, your muscles trembling with the strain. Your head spins accompanied by a stabbing pain.

You focus on your breathing, forcing the pain to the edges of your mind. The room around you is nearly empty, stripped of anything that could be useful. A prison bed sits in one corner, its sheets rumpled and stained. A table and chair are pushed against the far wall. It seems that it is not the same room as before.

You’re lying in the middle of it all, sprawled on the floor like discarded trash. The realization sends a wave of anger through you. Grimacing, you plant your feet firmly against the ground and push yourself upright. The world tilts dangerously, your vision swimming as your body protests, but you grit your teeth and stay standing. Weak or not, you’re leaving this place.

You steady yourself against the table, taking a moment as your breath, every inhale a reminder of the soreness radiating from your chest. You scan the room, looking for anything, a vent, a weapon, a weak point in the door.

The walls are concrete, unyielding and blank, but the faint hum of machinery vibrates through them. The only exit appears to be the heavy steel door across the room, but there’s no handle on your side, just a small window. Maybe you could break it with the chair. Your instincts kick in, years of training fighting against the fog clouding your thoughts. Think. Act. Survive.

Your gaze lands on the chair. Breaking the window would attract a lot of attention. The legs are thin if you can get enough leverage, maybe you can break one off. You limp toward it, every step a battle, and crouch low. Then you turn the chair around, you place one foot on the base, wrapping your hands around the thin leg, muscles trembling as you pull and push. The bolt resists at first, but you dig your heels into the floor, using your weight to force it. Your hands sweat and shake, in that state, they slip on the metal.

“Come on…” you say with effort. You end up slipping and hitting your hand. “Fuck!”

Your body trembles as you curl into yourself on the cold ground. You have no strength left to fight. Tears build up in your eyes, blurring your vision but you don’t bother wiping them away. What’s the point? Can you really escape? Or is this it? A broken laugh escapes your lips, more like a sob strangled before it could fully form. Maybe it would have been easier if you had died in that explosion. Maybe it would have been kinder if Caleb had buried you instead… All this shit you've been putting through. Half-truths, dangerous missions, and yes, yes, of course you wanted to be a Hunter. Save the world, protect the people… But who protects you? Occupational hazards, you tell yourself. Good equipment, high-tech weapons, sharp instincts and grueling training. That’s what keeps you alive, day in and day out... And yet, everything can still go wrong. Like now. Especially now.

Your head pounds, a brutal, unrelenting pain that drowns out everything else. Your body is numb, the torment pressing down so heavily on you that it’s hard to even tell where the pain ends and your own thoughts begin.

Trapped in a godforsaken hole where they treat your body like an experiment, pushing you past the edge, over and over. Needles pierce your veins, flooding you with something that makes your heart race too fast, too erratic—teetering on the edge of failure. You’ve worked for this. Fought for it. With all the effort you've put in with Zayne. Training, check-ups, medication… everything to keep your heart strong enough to survive the impossible. To take on the toughest missions. To win. Your body trembles, muscles locking up as the foreign substance tears through you. You gasp, fighting to stay present. Cold sweat clings to your skin, accumulating lightly on your forehead.

How much longer can you take this? You know perfectly well that this was just the beginning. They’ll come back. A second round. Maybe a third. Your fingers twitch against the cold floor, useless, trembling. You try to move, but even breathing feels like a battle. You force your lips to move, a weak whisper.

“Sylus…” His name escapes, slipping past cracked lips like a plea. Fuck… Shouldn't he be here already? Always stalking you, having Mephisto eyes on you basically 24/7. Or even Luke and Kieran… and now he's taking his fucking time to find you. What a shitty boy— Wait. The call. Rudy was walking to him before. He knows. Just as quickly as you felt some relief, the concern for him comes at the same instant. You close your eyes for a moment, imagining Sylus' face.

The familiar sound of gloves hitting the heavy bag, the rhythmic thud and pull of the rope, that brings you back to the gym. Sweat dripping down your face, the sting of a punch still fresh in your knuckles. Sylus standing next to the pushing bag. Eyes locked on you, always serious when it comes to your workouts.

“Again.” he commands, pushing you through limits you didn’t know you had. “You can do better. You’re not here to just survive, you’re here to win. So act like it.”

You feel the burn in your muscles, the exhaustion accumulating, but his words echo in your mind, cutting through the fatigue. You’re stronger than this. You glance at him, sweat running down your body, your heart racing. His eyes don’t waver from yours. There’s no doubt in them. It’s the way he always looked at you, like you were capable of more than you ever gave yourself credit for. He holds the punching bag and gives you a sign.

“Don’t stop, prove to me that you can be stronger.”

In that moment, you let go of all of the doubts. You throw another punch, this time with purpose, with power. You do more reps, hitting the bag harder. You hear him nod, approving. “Use your whole body”. You adjust your stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent—stable. You exhale sharply as you throw the next punch, twisting from your core, driving the movement from your hips. Power doesn’t come from just your arms; it flows through your entire body, from the pivot of your foot to the snap of your wrist. The bag shudders with impact.

“Now kick!” Every muscle is screaming for rest, but you don’t stop. Not with him beside you. Not when he believes in you more than you believe in yourself. You grit your teeth and throw a solid kick at the bag, feeling the impact vibrate up your leg. “Harder. Come on, Kitten!” Determined, you shift your weight, pivoting on your foot. With a sharp breath, you twist your hips and launch into a spinning kick. The force sends the bag swinging, and Sylus instinctively takes a step back, his eyes gleaming with pride. He smiles. “Good job.”

With that, your training is over. You sit down on the bench, gulping down water as you struggle to catch your breath. Sylus approaches, offering you a towel.

"Your training is getting harder" you say tiredly, wiping the sweat from your face.

“Or maybe you're finally reaching my level. Took you long enough, kitten." You smile at him. Even though it is tougher than the Hunter Association training, every extra mile you take will make you stronger. You take a sip of water, smirking over the bottle.

"If this is you pushing me to the limit, I expected more. Don’t tell me you’re holding back?" Sylus smirks at your comment. You stand up stretching your sore muscles before turning away. “I will take a shower… Are you—” Before you can finish, Sylus sweeps you into his arms effortlessly, making you gasp as your feet leave the ground. You drop the water bottle and the towel around your neck finds their way to the floor. “We talked about this, Sy” you pout, swatting his chest. He only chuckles, leaning in, resting his temple against yours.

“We did. I… just love to have you in my arms.” Will you ever get used to those sweet words he always drops without warning? The way he looks at you with the purest sweetness you've ever tasted? You avoid his gaze, because you know you're turning red, and even though you wanted his attention, now you want to run away from it. He loves seeing you like that. “So, you were saying?”

“Nothing, put me down” you start to squirm but his hold tightens playfully.

“But kitten, weren't you about to invite me to take a shower with you? I’m not going to let that offer slip away.”

You groan, pushing against his shoulder. “Don't you have anything more important to do?”

“My schedule just became free” he murmurs, and before you can argue, he captures your lips in a kiss.

The sound of running water fills the bathroom, steam curling in the air. He helps you take off your sweat-soaked clothes always with overwhelming care, then after he guides you into the shower. Sylus watches you, his gaze burning even hotter than the water cascading down his skin. You stand with your back pressed against the cool tiles.

“You look tense” he muses, stepping closer and leaning casually in, one arm extended over your head. Droplets slide down his toned chest, glistening under the dim light. He reaches out, fingers tracing a slow path down your arm. “Maybe I should help you relax.” His gaze moves slowly across your face, down over your shoulders, chest to where he's touching right now. You swallow, feeling your pulse stutter as he trails lower. Your skin prickles beneath his touch, heat blooming in its wake.

“Is this your way to cool down?” You ask, raising an eyebrow. His lips brush against your temple, then your cheek, trailing down until they hover just above the corner of your mouth. The water drips down his jaw, onto your skin, and the sensation sends a shiver through you. The heat building up in your core accompanies the throbbing of your clit, a mix of pleasure and the sweet ache of being so desperately horney. You could throw yourself into his arms but you enjoy the push and pull you have. The game of who falls first.

Sylus chuckles, low and deep. “No.” His hands find your waist, thumbs stroking lazy circles against your damp skin. “You put in a lot of effort… I think you deserve a reward.”

The heat from the shower is nothing compared to the way his lips find your shoulder. He takes his time, savoring the way you gasp under his touch. He grabs one of the shower gels and pours a generous amount into his hand. The cold gel makes you whimper when he expands it over your skin.

“You enjoy spoiling me too much” you murmur, trying to sound annoyed, but the way your body leans into him betrays you. His hand is already cupping your breast, creating slight friction on your nipple. His breath ghosts against your neck before he nips at your skin, making you whimper again. Your hands press against his chest as if to push him away, but instead, you tilt your head, granting him more access. Wishing he'd bite down like he always does. His fingers slide up, tilting your chin, leaving you with no choice but to meet his gaze.

"Tell me to stop" he challenges softly. His glowing eyes are piercing you. You don't answer. Instead, your fingers curl against his skin. You want more. Sylus smirks. “That’s what I thought.” His mouth finally claims yours, slow but searing, like fire melting through every last thought you had. “Don’t worry I will give you a proper massage after.”

The steam fogs up all the glasses and the sound of your moans are drowned out by the splashing of the water. Everything else fades—until there’s only him.

You get up, slowly, painfully, but you get up. Sylus’s voice is still with you, urging you forward. And this time, you listen. You try to breathe, focus on anything but the pressure in your chest. If you don't fight, you die. And if you have to die, may it be fighting. You can hear a door closing and footsteps in the distance. They're coming back.

You need to get a weapon, and the leg of that stupid chair is the best thing you could get. So you try again. Planting your bare feet firmly on the ground, trying with all the strength you have left in your body to break the rusted metal. The first creak is faint, but it sends a rush of hope through you. You keep pulling and forcing the metal, ignoring the strain in your arms and the screaming protests of your chest.

Finally, with a sharp crack, one of the legs snaps free. You stumble backward, clutching your makeshift weapon. It’s short, blunt, and uneven, but it’s something. The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes you freeze. A shadow passes the small window in the door. Panic threatens to take over, but you force it down. This is your chance.

You drag yourself to the side of the door, pressing against the wall just as it swings open with a mechanical hiss. Someone steps in, his gaze scanning the room. He doesn’t see you at first, his attention on the empty bed. You don’t hesitate. Using every ounce of strength you have left, you lunge forward, the broken chair leg swinging with all the force you can muster. It connects with a sickening thud, and the guard crumples to the ground, unconscious.

You collapse against the wall, gasping for air. The pain in your chest flares again, but you shove it aside. You kneel and search frantically through the guard’s gear. A keycard hangs from his belt, and a small comm device is clipped to his collar. Your fingers brush over it and what follows is a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

A prickling sensation spreads through your veins. Your breath hitches and your vision blurs at the edges. The room tilting and spinning as your body sways. No. No, no, no—this can’t be happening. You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to move, but your limbs grow heavy, sluggish, like you’re wading through thick tar.

“…routine check in the lower levels. Lab secure…”

A shadow looms over you. A voice muffled seeps into your consciousness. The headache hits you like a sledgehammer, pounding at your skull. Everything feels wrong. The air, your own movements, even the memories clawing their way to the surface—they crash into you all at once.

“Did you really think it’d be that easy?”

Your fingers tighten around the keycard, but your grip weakens. The strength you just fought so hard to reclaim is slipping through your fingers like sand. You try to push yourself up, to resist, but your body betrays you, your limbs refusing to respond. The floor rushes up to meet you, and the last thing you register before darkness takes you is the sound of footsteps approaching and a cruel chuckle echoing through the room.

A voice echoes in your mind, high-pitched, trembling. “Gran? Granny, where are you?” It’s your voice, but younger, frightened. The sound reverberates in your mind, pulling you back to a different time, a different place.

It’s 2034, and the sky is bleeding. Rusty red rain falls in thick, viscous drops, staining the earth as the air hums with an unnatural energy. You could only see the shadow of it then—a Wanderer, towering and formless, its presence bending the very fabric of reality. Its scream pierced through you, splitting your world in two. The memory fades into another, sharper and closer.

"You must press on." His voice, calm and commanding, had echoed through your very soul.

“There is so much blood” Your chest heaves as more images flood in. A sea of blood glistens before your eyes. It coats your hands, warm and sticky, dripping from your fingers. The sight is suffocating, and the grief hits you like a wave. You don’t even know whose blood it is, but the weight of it feels unbearable. A field of red flowers stretches endlessly, glowing under the amber light of a setting sun.

"Why not? You're also mine now."

It’s familiar, tugging at something deep within, but the name, the face, the connection—it all slips away, maddeningly out of reach. A melody creeps into the back of your mind, you begin to hum along. The echo of an organ resonates far away in a cathedral.

"Our souls are bound. We will never betray each other."

The words pierce through you, the field darkening as the voice grows louder, more commanding. Who is it? The pain in your chest, the memories tearing through your mind, the disorientation, it all builds to a breaking point.

"After all, you and I—we are the same. True kindred spirits."

You want to scream. A harsh, burning sensation courses through your veins as you slowly come back, your head lolling to the side. The world around you is a blur of cold metal and dim, flickering lights. Your body sways—not of your own accord. You’re being dragged. The sound of footsteps scuffing against the floor echoes in your ears. Your sluggish mind struggles to catch up, but as the grogginess lifts, reality slams into you like a freight train.

You’re barely conscious, yet instinct takes over. You thrash, your legs kicking out wildly, hands clawing at the air. A deep, familiar chuckle rumbles above you.

Background music

“I knew you’d try to escape” the voice sneers, and the sound of it—gravelly, amused—makes your stomach turn. It’s him. The same bastard who beat you bloody in the cell. The one who took pleasure in every hit, every drop of your blood staining his knuckles. A new wave of adrenaline surges through you. You twist violently in his grasp, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Little fighter, aren’t you?" he sneers, barely flinching. He hoists you up, slamming you onto the operating table with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. The cold surface bites into your skin. One of his hands clamps down on your wrist, shoving it toward the leather strap. You thrash, clawing at his face with your free hand. Your nails rake across his cheek, drawing blood.

“Fuck!” He jerks back, his grip faltering for a second. A second is all you need.

Using what little leverage you have, you kick out, aiming for his knee. He stumbles, just enough for you to yank yourself free. But your balance is shot. Your foot catches on the leg of the table, and before you can stop it, you’re falling.

The edge of the operating table slams into your ribs as you crash onto the floor. Dragging the tray that was nearby. The loud sound of metal hitting the ground makes you cringe. Pain explodes through your side, but you grit your teeth and push past it. You scramble to get up, but he’s already recovered, already reaching for you with murder in his eyes. And you are not going back onto that table. The room erupts into chaos.

Movement flickers at the edge of your vision—something metallic skidding across the floor. Scissors. You lunge, fingers closing around the cold steel just as heavy footsteps close in behind you. A sharp yank—your hair is wrenched back, exposing your throat. Making you stand up. The big bastard snarls, his breath hot against your ear.

“You just don’t fucking quit, do you?” He has you in his grasp, his arm around your neck, his big body pressed against your back. You drive the scissors backward. You sink the blade into his forearm, hot blood spilling between your fingers with that you tear from him a guttural scream from his throat.

He recoils with a snarl, clutching the wound, his grip on you lost. You don’t hesitate—you twist onto your feet, muscles coiled, ready to tear him apart—

Then, out of nowhere, a blur of white lunges at you. Was there anyone else in the room? You barely register the scientist before he’s on you, his face twisted in wild panic, a syringe clutched in his trembling fist. He lunges. You try to twist away, but it’s too late. The needle slams into your shoulder. Fire floods your veins. You gasp, your vision pulsing at the edges. No. No, no, no, I can’t go under, not now.

The scientist is still there, scrambling to retreat, but your rage surges past the spinning and racing feeling in your body. Snarling, you grab him by the collar and slam him into the nearest counter. Vials and instruments clatter to the floor. Glass breaks. You pull the syringe out, the vial is half empty. You throw it to the ground as far away as possible.

But the real threat is still behind you. The big man is back on his feet, blood dripping from his forearm, pure fury contorting his face. Your limbs feel sluggish, like you're fighting through quicksand. But you don’t stop. You quickly search for something to finish the bastard off. Where are the scissors you had before? No time. Your eyes dart to the floor—broken glass. You look around, and you grab a stool and throw it at him. Then you run towards the broken cupboard. You grip the glass firmly even if it makes you bleed.

“What? Are you going to scratch me again, bitch?” The guy cracks his fingers. He launches into the attack. “Come here!”

With a sharp inhale, you swing the glass, aiming straight for his throat. Just as the blade slices through the air, a deafening alarm erupts, drowning out everything. You failed. Red lights flash, painting the chaos in eerie bursts. The whole fucking facility just woke the hell up.

"You're really starting to piss me off." he growled, a fist slams into your ribs, you hear a crack while you scream. Footsteps thunder outside the lab. Reinforcements. Shit. The scientist had pressed the emergency button near the computer. Now emboldened by the incoming backup, staggers toward the console, fingers flying over the keys. The speakers crackle, a robotic voice echoing over the alarm:

"Subject breach detected. All security personnel to Lab 2."

You barely have time to process before the big guy is on you again, grabbing you by the wrist, twisting it hard until the glass clatter to the floor.

“End of the line” he sneers, shoving you back against the table.

Your heart pounds, your vision sways, but your mind screams at you—MOVE. You don’t have a damn choice. With the last burst of strength, you swing your head forward—smashing it right into the bastard’s nose. Pain explodes in your skull, but it’s nothing compared to his. The big guy stumbles back with a strangled curse, blood gushing from his broken nose.

Adrenaline drowns out everything else as you pick up the glass from the floor, finally driving the glass into his thigh. He roars, dropping to one knee. With a brutal kick to his chest, you send him sprawling to the floor. The scientist yelps, making a break for the exit, but you’re faster. You grab the metal tray from the floor and hurl it across the room. It collides with the back of his head, sending him crashing into the ground.

You don’t wait. You stagger toward the nearest workstation, grabbing whatever the hell looks useful—a scalpel, any weapon, anything that might get you out of here. The big guy groans, trying to push himself up, but you don’t give him the chance. You grab a chair and slam it down over his head. He goes limp. Wasting no time, you drop to your knees, rifling through his pockets. Your hands shake, slick with sweat and blood, but you find what you need—a keycard. Bingo! And a gun. Then you run.

The dim corridors flash in rhythmic pulses of red light, sirens blaring a relentless warning. Shouts echo from every direction, boots pounding against the floor. You run as fast as you can, trying to escape from guards crossing your way. Your breath comes in quick, panicked gasps. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline pushing you forward despite the pain. A guard rounds the corner ahead. You don't hesitate—you raise the gun and fire. A sharp cry. He drops.

The guards’ voices echo behind you. You don’t know where the exit is. You need to hide. Your eyes dart wildly, searching for anything—any way out. Then, a door. A card reader.

Please, please work.

Your hand trembles as you slide the card through the reader. The door clicks open, and you rush inside, slamming it behind you. Silence, except for your ragged breaths. You press your back against the cold metal, straining to listen. The pounding footsteps outside slow. Voices murmur, searching. You hold your breath. You might be able to get rid of a few more but it doesn't look good if you don't have any more ammo.

“I don’t plan on dying here” you remind yourself.

The footsteps grow louder, closer. You crouch behind a table, the shadows hiding you as best as you can. You load the gun, the sharp click of the bullet locking into place echoing softly in the silence. Inhaling deeply, you steady yourself. Your finger hovers over the trigger. Just a little longer. The door creaks open and a figure steps inside. You count down, ready to come out of your hiding place.

3..

2..

1..

____

Kieran moves quickly through the arsenal, his sharp gaze scanning the rows of weapons and supplies stacked in metal racks. The room is an arms dealer’s dream—a vault packed with everything from high-powered rifles to explosives, enough firepower to arm a small army. Rudy wasn’t just using this warehouse as a hideout; they were stockpiling for something big. He lets out a low whistle. Kieran isn’t the type to leave good weapons behind, especially when he’s in enemy territory. He takes a moment to scan the arsenal, eyes narrowing as he spots a row of high-end firearms.

“Would be a shame to let these go to waste.” Kieran moves down the aisles, grabbing a few throwing knives and extra flashbangs. Then he spots something even better—a sleek, custom-made sniper rifle with a silencer already attached.

“Yes, baby. You’re coming with me” he murmurs, slinging it over his shoulder.

Then he gets to work.

Pulling out the small detonators from his backpack, Kieran starts placing them in key locations—near fuel canisters, along structural support beams. He kneels beside a stack of crates, pulling out some other compact explosives from his vest. His hands move quickly, attaching them in strategic points—where the blast will cause the most destruction.

The comms crackle in his ear. "Luke? You’re there?" No answer. Kieran focused on syncing up with Luke's vision. Seems to be busy in the basement.

A sound near the doorway makes him freeze. The connection snapped. Footsteps. Kieran presses himself against the crates, fingers hovering over his knife. He doesn't breathe as the guard steps inside, scanning the room. One second. Two. Three. The guard turns away. That’s his chance. In a flash, Kieran moves. His arm hooks around the man's throat, cutting off his air before he can make a sound. The struggle is short. A final twitch followed by a crack, then stillness. Kieran lowers the body quietly, checking the hall before continuing. No need to kill the other two. Sneaking out sounds like a better option right now.

Kieran exhales sharply, already picking up the pace. The detonators are set, now he just has to make sure they don’t all die before they get to enjoy the fireworks. He is halfway to the exit when the sharp wail of an alarm slices through the air. Red emergency lights flood the hall outside the arsenal, flashing in rhythmic pulses that make his surroundings feel even more claustrophobic.

“Shit!” he breathes, pressing a hand to his earpiece. “Luke?”

He flattens against a crate just as a squad of armed guards storms past. Their voices are clipped, urgent. He’s sure he didn’t trip the alarm. He was careful. There’s no way they noticed him.

Static crackles in his ear before Luke’s voice cuts through, tight with agitation. “Did you mess up?”

Kieran exhales sharply, keeping his voice low. “No…” His eyes flick toward the exit, calculating his next move. “Was it you?”

Luke scoffs, followed by the distant sound of a scuffle—grunts, a body hitting the floor. “It’s not always my fault.”

“Sweep the lower levels! Secure the perimeter!” one of them barks. Kieran’s grip tightens around his stolen rifle.

Kieran clenches his jaw, peeking over the crate as the guards disappear around the corner. “Well, then who set off the damn alarm?”.

A loud crack comes through the earpiece, followed by Luke’s irritated grunt. “Not me, genius—I’m kinda busy.” Another muffled oof. The unmistakable sound of a punch landing.

Kieran huffs. “Oh, yeah, sounds like you’ve got it under control.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Luke deadpans, followed by another thud—presumably someone hitting the floor.

Kieran scans the area, heart pounding. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

Luke scoffs. “Right. And I’m the damn Pope.”

Kieran rolls his eyes, moving swiftly between cover. “I know how to stay hidden.”

“Uh-huh.” A grunt. A sharp snap. Someone groans in pain.

Luke exhales. “That’s debatable.”

Kieran bristles. “You got caught last time!”

“That was one time—”

“You shot a guy mid-sentence—”

“He was monologuing, Kieran! Who does that in the middle of a fight?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

Another silence. Then it hits them both at once. Neither of them tripped the alarm. Their bickering stops cold.

Kieran’s stomach twists. “Wait.”

Luke exhales sharply. “Oh, shit.”

Their eyes widen in sync. It must’ve been you. Which could only mean one thing. You got out. You’re alive. For now.

Kieran moves fast. Knifing one guard in the side before he can react. Stealing his keycard as his body crumples. By the time the others notice, Kieran’s already gunning them down. The hallway clears, but he knows more are coming. He swipes the stolen keycard at the nearest panel, overriding a security door, and sprints inside.

“I’m en route to your position,” he says into his earpiece, breath controlled despite the chaos.

Luke’s voice crackles through. “Hurry the hell up—things are getting real fun down here.”

A guard rounds the corner—too slow. Kieran’s knife is already in his ribs, slicing upward. The man chokes on a wet gasp, his body shuddering before going limp. Kieran barely spares him a glance and lets the corpse drop. The moment stretches—then another guard spots him.

"Intruder—!"

Kieran fires before the man can finish, a precise shot between the eyes. The other guards react instantly, raising their weapons. He fires as he moves, two shots to the kneecaps of the nearest enemy. The man collapses with a scream, but Kieran is already springing up, slamming the butt of his gun into another’s jaw. Bone crunches. A third guard rushes him. Kieran twists, using the momentum to drive his knife deep into the man’s throat. Blood sprays, warm against his arm. He shoves the body aside and turns just as the last remaining guard raises his rifle.

Kieran doesn’t hesitate.

He fires twice—chest, head. The guard slams back against the wall and slides down, leaving a smear of red in his wake. Kieran exhales sharply, rolls his shoulders, and keeps running.

___

You freeze, the gun still raised, your eyes wide with disbelief. Fuck... For a long moment, neither of you moves. Your grip tightens on the gun, your mind racing, muscles locked in a desperate fight-or-flight response. Then the light shifts, illuminating his face. Your breath catches. Then recognition dawns. You lower the gun, your heart still racing.

“Thank god, is you” your voice hoarse from exhaustion. The weight of your injuries catches up with you as the adrenaline fades, and your legs give out. You sink back onto the cold floor, leaning against the table, clutching your side where pain flares white-hot.

"Miss, you’re good at hide and seek, but boss is worried" Luke says, stepping closer, his tone teasing but with a hint of concern. His eyes flick around the room, scanning for threats before finally kneeling close. You look like hell—worse than he expected to find you.

“How have you found me?”

“Following a trail of blood on the wall” you nod. Right, your hand is still bleeding.

“Sylus? Is he here?” Your voice cracks slightly, a mix of fear and hope lacing your words.

"Of course.” Luke responde. “Let me see.” His hands hover near you, waiting for permission. You hesitate, then exhale shakily, letting him peel your fingers away from your side. The world tilts slightly as fresh pain ignites, but you grit your teeth.

“I think I have a broken rib” you say while you wince in pain. You reach out, showing him the cut on your hand as well.

“You look like shit.” Luke growls. You glance down at yourself, the thin hospital gown that barely covers you, is stained with blood. You begin to notice the cold, your bare and dirty feet point out the reality of your situation even more. “I’ll patch you up." His voice is firm but not unkind. You don’t argue—not like you have the strength to, anyway. Instead, you simply nod, swallowing down the mess of emotions bubbling inside you. Luke shrugs off the small backpack, rifling through its contents. He has the basics, but when they packed, they weren’t expecting broken bones. He also takes a pen out of a case and inserts a cartridge filled with liquid. Luke notices how your body tenses at the sight of the needle.

“Don’t worry, it's for the pain” With all the things you’ve already in your system, another dose won't hurt, at least if it helps relieve your aching body. He places the pen against your arm and presses the needle into your skin. You let Luke take care of everything, you didn't expect him to treat you so tactfully.

“It seems like you have a lot of practice,” you say, trying to distract yourself from the upcoming pain that the alcohol will inflict on your skin. “Argh” you yelped. The pain stinge your hand, and you feel the wound pullsing. His hands move with practiced efficiency, cleaning the cut and wrapping the bandages with just the right amount of pressure.

“Sorry...” Luke whispers as he secures the quick bandage. "I have enough knowledge for moments like these" he adds. He exhales sharply, eyes flicking back to you. "Pull up the gown. I need to see how bad it is.”

You hesitate only for a second before obeying, lifting the fabric slowly up. Every shift sends a fresh wave of pain through your ribs, forcing you to suck in a sharp breath. This is no time to be embarrassed. The moment the bruise is exposed, Luke's expression hardens under his mask. A deep, blue-purple blotch spreads across your side, angry and swollen. He reaches out, fingertips ghosting over the bruised skin before applying the lightest pressure. Even that makes you wince. Tender. Definitely bad.

His brows furrow slightly. "I’ll need more bandages."

He searches the small room you're in, lighting a small lantern he's carrying. Aside from a lot of dust, empty boxes and bottles, an old cupboard, there's not much else. On the top shelf there are expired medications, bottles with weird stuff inside, and an old first aid kit.

Without wasting time, he grabs the remaining bandages from the battered first aid kit. His hands work quickly, wrapping the fabric around your ribs. The pressure is uncomfortable, but it keeps the pain from worsening.

“You need a doctor, so we need to move.” You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to stay still as he secures the bandage in place. At least there’s no sign of internal bleeding. For now. But the bruising is severe, you need to get proper treatment soon.

Luke sits back on his heels, scanning your face before saying, “I’ll inform Boss.”

“Wait!" You tug at Luke's sleeve, your grip tight despite the weakness in your limbs. His body stiffens for a moment before he looks down at you. You know perfectly well that if you escape now, you might not be able to access the data. You know Sylus, he'll blow up the building the moment you step foot outside. It wouldn't be the first time he's done that.

He was already rising to his feet, ready to move. "We can’t stay here."

You shake your head, panic curling in your chest like a tightening vice. "No. I need to know what they’ve done with me.”

“No way! We are leaving.” His jaw clenches.

“Luke please…” Your fingers tremble as they clutch at his sleeve again, your breath uneven. “I… have the protocore syndrome.” you confess. Luke freezes. The boss never mentioned this. Never. “I need the data” you plead.

Luke sighs, and his voice softens, though his words are as blunt as ever. He can empathize with what you feel. "Fuck! Boss will kill if…” he mutters.

“I’ll talk to him after, this is on me.” The boy continues to hesitate, trying to find some way to persuade the idea. "Stick to the plan" were the instructions, clear and precise. Deviating from it could lead to multiple scenarios where no one comes out alive. Luke growls. After a long silence, the boy sighs.

“We find the data and get the hell out of here. Okay?” you nod quickly. “But first, we need clothes for you. Stay and be quiet." He approaches the door, the sirens continue howling, through a small opening, he checks if it is safe. Then, without a word, he slips through the gap and disappears into the shadows. Leaving you in the silence.

You close your eyes for a moment, what a crazy night. You feel relieved that at least they found you. You know it's risky to go get the data, but leaving without it could be a death sentence. You need to show the files to Zayne. Fuck, he’ll probably get mad at you again when you show up in the ER like that. Honestly, you'd rather he scolds you about how careless you are and get hell out of that damn lab or whatever they are keeping you in. You smile bitterly. Thinking about your favorite doctor, you're already feeling bad to drag him into this. Whatever they have done, it feels wrong.

The pounding in your head hasn’t stopped. The images you saw earlier are still a blur, impossible to fully make sense. The voices, the deep pain in your soul and that feeling that escapes from your mind. Your face contorts as you struggle to contain the pain surging through your veins. You put your hand over your mouth, stifling the scream threatening to escape. In the center of your chest, your heart slams against your ribs, each beat more violent than the last.

When Luke returns, he’s holding a guard uniform, it's dark fabric hanging loosely in his hands. He probably knocked out some random guy.

"Maybe too big, but better than being half-naked—" Luke stops mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies you. “Are you alright, Miss?” You take the uniform from his hands, gripping the fabric tightly, your fingers trembling slightly. You shift to stand, and the moment you straighten, fire shoots through your side, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Yeah, don’t worry. It’s just the pain.” you lie smoothly, forcing a weak smirk before quickly slipping into the oversized clothes. Even with the mask you know that Luke doesn’t look convinced. You force yourself to move normally, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from making a sound. “You know,” you murmur, adjusting the sleeves, “I’ve told you and Kieran plenty of times to call me by my name.”

Luke exhales through his nose, amused but noncommittal. “I’ll try next time.”

He moves to the door, his stance shifting into alertness as he scans the dim hallway beyond. The distant wail of sirens still echoes through the facility.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s go.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed this part. I'm still working on the next one, therefore it will take me some time since it’s a section I hadn’t originally planned. I'll appreciate your patience. And a big thank you to all who wants to keep reading and or have reached out to me. Is amazing!

Released date: ~2 weeks. Chapter 4: Extraction Point

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