Gage laughed, his tone wild and bright. “They’re starting to aim better! Must’ve finally found their glasses!”
I grinned despite the adrenaline chewing through my nerves. That was Gage—laughing when everyone else bled.
“Cyclone!” River barked. “We’re losing ground on the east flank! They’re pushing hard—armored units, maybe twenty left!”
“I see them,” I said, fingers flying over the tablet. “Deploying crane lockdown. Give me ten seconds.”
“Make it five!”
The cranes groaned to life above us—massive silhouettes turning in jerky, half-broken motions. I hacked the controls to swing the cargo arms low. The nearest crane dropped its load mid-swing, a ten-ton container crashing down onto the advancing Hydra line. The sound shook the pier.
“Boom,” Gage muttered. “That’s my kind of music.”
“Nice work, Cyclone,” River said. “That’ll slow them down.”
“Not enough,” Oliver replied from his perch. “I’ve got visual on more hostiles coming through the southern gate—reinforcements, looks like another convoy.”
“Beckett’s still inside the port office,” I reminded them. “We can’t exfil until he’s clear. Hold the line.”
I could hear River’s rifle in the background—steady, methodical, angry.
“Copy that,” he said. “You keep those eyes in the sky, Cyclone. We’ll keep the devils out of the water.”
“Already on it.”
Another explosion ripped through the eastern yard—Gage’s work again. The blast sent a geyser of flame into the air, painting the team in gold light through the haze. They were dirty, blood-streaked, and outnumbered ten to one… but still moving like one unit.
I caught a glimpse of them through the smoke—River reloading behind an overturned forklift, Oliver dropping a Hydra sniper before he could fire, Gage covering their flank with the wild precision of a man who trusted chaos more than luck.
Hydra kept coming. Their discipline unnerved me—tight formations, clear calls, efficient reloads. This wasn’t random brutality. Viktor had trained them for war.
And then—
“Cyclone, incoming drone!” Oliver snapped. “Above the central gantry, bearing east!”
I looked up. A small shape buzzed over the dock lights—Hydra recon. Before I could redirect the cranes, it dropped a flare.
The night turned white again.
“They’ve got eyes on us!” I shouted. “Take cover!”
The flare hissed overhead, raining sparks. In its glow, every shadow on the dock became an easy target. Bullets tore through the air, pinging metal, ripping canvas. I crouched lower, yanking a cable free and jamming it into my communication rig. The tablet screamed static as I forced an override.
“Come on, come on…”
The flare finally burned out, plunging the world back into smoke and shadow. My screen cleared, showing one solid blip in the center of the map—Beckett’s beacon. Still moving. Still alive.
River’s voice cut in, breathless. “Cyclone, talk to me—Beckett’s signal still strong?”
“Yeah,” I said, relief bleeding through. “He’s moving toward the warehouse corridor. Elara’s with him.”
Oliver exhaled into the comm. “Then we hold this ground until they come out. No one crosses this line.”
The team re-formed along the main dock lane.
River braced behind a concrete barricade, firing short bursts.
Oliver reloaded without missing a beat, eyes flicking between shadows.
