“I said get up,” I repeat, pressing the barrel of my weapon against his temple. “Or I’ll shoot you in the head until the simulated force actually causes damage.”
The words stun me…they’re cruel and callous, nothing like the person I think of myself being. But I know these men would show no such restraint if our positions were reversed.
The thought hardens my resolve.
“Move.” The gun jabs his spine as he finally stands.We descend from the roof to the street level in tense silence. My weapon remains pressed between his shoulder blades, my finger near—but not on—the trigger. It would be embarrassing to accidentally shoot my hostage.
We begin the trek back to the main entrance, more careful now that I’m hampered by a prisoner and the objective.
About halfway there, another Enforcer steps out from an alleyway, weapon raised in our direction. My prisoner tenses, but makes no attempt to break free.
The newcomer hesitates, clearly caught off guard by the situation. “Cap, what do I do?” he calls to my prisoner. “We weren’t briefed on a hostage situation.”
The man in front of me grumbles something under his breath—likely cursing his subordinate for giving away his position. I was right, this is their leader.
I’m about to raise my weapon when a shot rings out from somewhere to my right. The new Enforcer jerks as the fake bullet impacts his side, then crumples to the ground. Killian emerges from the shadows, rushing forward to rip the flag from the fallen Enforcer’s back.
“Ashford,” he acknowledges with a nod, glancing between me and my prisoner. “How many flags have you collected?”
My reply is swift. “One.” I nod toward the flag securing my prisoner’s wrist before patting his shoulder. “Plus this one. You?”
“Nine,” he answers, satisfaction evident in his voice. “That leaves four unaccounted for.”
I do a quick mental count. Fifteen Enforcers total, minus the ones Killian has eliminated, minus my one kill and one capture…yes, four remaining.
“Take point, I’ll bring up the rear with our guest.” Killian isn’t so happy about that plan.
After a brief argument—he wants to go backand find Pax—he reluctantly agrees, leading the way as we navigate back through the rain-slick streets. Our progress is slow, each intersection requiring careful clearing before we proceed. The rain and thunder continue to mask most sounds, making it difficult to locate approaching enemies until they’re practically on top of us.
When we reach the entrance after a long, painful walk, Killian drags my prisoner out into the open area where Kellen, Arayik, Elias, and the other recruits wait. I hang back, scanning the assembled group, searching for Pax. No sign of him.
“Where’s the rest of your team?” the Commander demands, stalking toward me with the predatory grace I’ve come to associate with him.
I glance at the city, then to the surveillance screen Kellen set up. The cameras flick between empty streets and buildings—no sign of movement. Pax should have found us by now if he was able.
“One member is unaccounted for, along with four enemies,” I report. Look at me, using proper terminology. How quickly the language of oppression becomes natural when you’re surrounded by it. “Permission to search for them?”
Arayik’s eyes bore into mine. Even without his expression, his posture emanates disappointment. Next to him, Elias studies me with what looks like interest rather than judgment. Kellen remains unreadable as always, arms crossed, observing without comment.
No one speaks, and I take their silence as tacit approval, raising my weapon once more and preparing to re-enter the simulation.
I’ve only taken a few steps when a sound catches my attention—something high-pitched and repetitive, like knuckles against glass. I search upper levels for the source and finallyspot movement in a third floor window of a building facing west.
Pax is there, pressed against the glass, making frantic gestures. Something’s wrong.
“Shit,” I mutter, breaking into a run despite my body’s increasing hatred of me.
I enter the building at street level, taking the stairs two at a time, ignoring the pain that shoots through my nerves. At the third floor, I pause, weapon ready, clearing the hallway before proceeding.
The building’s interior is a maze of empty rooms and collapsed walls. My feet are swift but advance cautiously, following the direction of the window I spotted Pax in. It should be on the left side at the end of the hall.
Muffled sounds guide me to a closed door. I pause, listening. It sounds like…struggling? Voices, too low to make out words.
I raise my weapon, kick the door open with far more force than necessary, and freeze at the sight greeting me.
Pax is indeed there—pressed against the glass by another Enforcer. But they aren’t fighting. They’re kissing, their masks discarded on the floor beside them, faces locked together in a passionate embrace that leaves no question about their intentions. The Enforcer has one hand wrapped around both his and Pax’s exposed cocks, working them together in rhythmic motions.
They jump apart at my entrance, faces flushed with a mixture of arousal and surprise. My teammate’s eyes widen, panic flashing across his features. The Enforcer—a man with sharp cheekbones and a day’s-old stubble—reaches instinctively for his weapon before realizing the futility of his position.
