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He pushes off, drags me along the corridor, and for a split second I catch our reflection in the mirror-glass: two animals, both bloodstained, both wild-eyed, both holding weapons with hands that shake for very different reasons.

We round another corner, the sound of pursuit receding behind us. Kang jerks his head at a steel door marked with nothing but a red stencil: MAINTENANCE. He cracks it open, peeks in, then pulls me through.

Inside is a tomb of pipes, wires, the skeleton of the prison’s infrastructure. The lights in here are anemic, the air hot and still, tasting faintly of oil and dust. Kang slams the door and shoves a folding chair under the handle.

“Can you walk?” he asks, voice low.

The stimulant is still humming in my bones, but I nod. “Try me.”

We climb the ladder up to the catwalks, the metal vibrating under our weight. From the top, I see it all: the whole admin block, laid out like a circuit diagram. Below, the yard churns with movement—guards, prisoners, maybe even scientists in their white coats, all moving in frantic patterns. No one looks up.

Kang points to the far end of the block, to a run of windows above the west gate. “We go there, then down. I know the code.”

We sidestep along the ledge, glass crunching underfoot, reach the service hatch at the end. Kang jams his shoulder into it, pops the latch, and we’re inside another maintenance corridor.

We move fast. At the final door—Security Control—Kang motions me flush against the wall. He steps in first, badge out, voice cool and clipped. “Status update for Petrov,” he says to the lone guard hunched over the console.

The man blinks, distracted by the grid of surveillance feeds. Kang slides closer, hand settling on his shoulder, grip tightening. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The guard’s fingers twitch over the keys. I shift in the doorway, my boot clipping a metal box. The crash is deafening.

The guard turns, hand dropping toward his holster⁠—

Kang moves. Fast. He spins the guy, drives an elbow into the solar plexus, and in the same breath snaps his neck. The sound is wet, final. The silence that follows is worse.

The hum of the monitors, the faint click of cooling metal, the sharp, metallic tang of fresh blood — it all presses in.

Kang stands there, still holding the body upright. He kills like it costs him nothing. That should scare me more than it does.

His eyes finally lift to mine, unreadable.

“You didn’t hesitate,” I say.

A slow exhale. “Not when it comes to you.”

It hits me in the chest, harder than the gunfire. Something in me knots, sharp and sudden. I should hear warning bells, but all I feel is the pull of gravity.

Kang lets the guard’s body slide into the chair, settling it so the head slumps forward in front of the console. From the doorway, it could pass for someone dozing off at his post.

“Block D is yours,” Kang says, voice low. “All you have to do is say the word.”

I stare at the rows of faces on the screens — prisoners, guards, scientists — every one of them a loaded weapon, every one of them capable of tipping the balance. The monitors flicker under the bone-white light, each one showing a corner of this rotting place.

The idea settles like a live wire under my skin. I could set them all free. I could burn it all down.

I look at Kang, jaw set, eyes locked on mine. The air between us hums with the low throb of the server banks.

“Let’s do it,” I say.

His grin is sharp enough to cut.

He drops into the chair beside the dead guard and starts typing, his fingers blurring over the keys. The hum of the electronics grows louder, the warm smell of overworked circuitry mixing with the faint copper tang of blood still clinging to the room. I keep my gun ready, back to the wall, scanning for movement.

“Block D, manual override…” Kang mutters under his breath, almost to himself. “C, E, F, same… Disable collar lockouts…” His voice is calm, steady, like he’s dismantling a bomb he’s defused a dozen times before.

Three quick keystrokes. “Manual disengage in three, two⁠—”

The effect hits like a detonation. On the screens, cell after cell shifts from red to green. Steel bolts groan, then slam back. Collars flicker, blue lights flashing in unison before unlatching and falling to the floor.