Not until the first merc raises his rifle.
Then he’s gone.
Exploding into motion.
He’s a weapon forged in fire and betrayal, moving with precision and rage. He takes the first merc down with a knee to the gut and a forearm to the faceplate. The man crumples.
And then the others charge.
They don’t see the other fighters at first.
But I do.
From every tunnel, every gate, every shadowed corner, they come—armor-clad, faces set like stone, fury burning in their eyes.
Korra.
Marrek.
Vela.
Jax.
Dozens of them, moving like a single beast broken free from its cage.
They descend on the mercs like wrath itself.
Screams fill the comms channel.
Sparks rain from shattered weapons. Bodies hit the floor, stunned or broken. The crowd doesn’t run.
They cheer.
I lock the feeds on Valtron, watching as he fights with brutal grace. No wasted motion. No mercy.
This isn’t about showmanship.
This is revolution.
This is vengeance.
And me?
I sit here, teeth gritted, fingers dancing over controls, launching every file I have left, every encrypted fragment of Combine corruption, every hidden detail Quinn died to uncover.
The truth is out.
The arena belongs to us now.
The corridor smells like burnt wiring and desperation. I’ve got Ripley wrapped in a hooded cloak three sizes too big, clutched tight to my chest as I half-carry, half-drag her toward the evac port Kaelor mapped for us. Every step feels like I’m walking through a war I’m not allowed to see yet. My boots echo down the metal walkway. Alarms scream overhead, red lights pulsing like a heartbeat too close to flatlining.
Ripley clings to me without a word. Her face is pressed into my shoulder. She’s trembling. I kiss the top of her head as I move, fast, faster, faster still.
“Almost there, bug. Almost out.”
I tell myself that. Not her. She’s already braver than I ever was.
The door to the outer corridor hisses open—and there’s Leena Dray, exactly where she said she’d be.
