Chapter 3: Thane

Chapter

Three

THANE

C haos is waiting for us the moment we reach the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. Guards everywhere, swarming like hornets. Medical staff running back and forth from room to room, collecting the most important pieces of their sordid work.

Broken vials and jars littering the cracking floor.

Organs spilled out.

Patients from upstairs running amok, biting, laughing.

A naked patient standing on a desk with arms outstretched above his head, hips gyrating and erect dick windmilling, whooping in triumph with a doctor's freshly decapitated head impaled on the end of his IV pole like a trophy on a spear.

I step over the twitching corpse the head once belonged to, boots sliding in the spreading pool of blood. My stolen uniform is already soaked crimson, but it doesn't matter now. Our cover's long since blown.

Another guard runs past without sparing us a glance, too focused on getting away from an escaped patient who's cackling madly as he sprints naked after him, trailing IV tubes behind him and wielding a grenade.

Nope.

Not a grenade.

A handful of shit.

Plague gags audibly and looks like he'd prefer a grenade, but this is perfect. In all this chaos, we blend right in.

"This way," I mutter, leading us toward the stairwell that descends into the basement levels. The floor beneath our feet groans with each step, the whole building shuddering like it's giving birth to hell.

We make it halfway down the corridor before a squad of guards notices us. Their leader steps forward, rifle raised. "Stop! This area is off limits. The lower levels are compromised."

I keep walking, Whiskey and Plague falling into step beside me. The guard's finger tightens on his trigger.

"I said stop! The structure is failing. No one goes down?—"

My fist connects with his throat, crushing his windpipe before he can finish. As he drops, gagging, the other guards snap into action. Gunfire erupts, bullets whizzing past my head.

I dive behind an overturned gurney, drawing my concealed blade. Next to me, Whiskey tosses Valek's unconscious form aside and charges the nearest guard like a freight train. The guard's rifle cracks in half as Whiskey slams him into the wall.

Plague moves like a shadow, appearing behind another guard. His blade flashes once, opening the man's throat in a spray of arterial blood. The guard clutches his neck, eyes wide with shock as he crumples.

A bullet grazes my arm. I roll out from cover, coming up inside the shooter's guard. My knife slides between his ribs, finding his heart. He gasps, blood bubbling from his lips as I twist the blade. Should probably just grab one of these damn guns, but the corridor's too fucking narrow to shoot without bullets ricocheting.

And so far, knives and knuckles are doing the goddamned job.

More guards pour in from adjoining corridors, drawn by the gunfire. Whiskey roars as he tears through them, his massive frame absorbing hits that would drop a normal man. He grabs one guard by the head and smashes his face repeatedly into a wall until it's pulp.

Plague dances through the chaos, every movement precise and lethal. His stolen lab coat billows behind him as he spins, blades flickering out to open throats and sever arteries. He's always been the most efficient killer among us.

Flashy bastard.

A guard rushes me with a shock baton. I catch his wrist, breaking it with a sharp twist. As he screams, I drive my knee into his gut, doubling him over. My elbow comes down on the back of his neck with a satisfying crunch. I use the same baton to cave in another guard's head, the stench of seared flesh hitting me in the face.

"Behind you!" Whiskey shouts.

I duck as a burst of gunfire tears through the space where my head was. Rolling forward, I come up inside the shooter's reach. My hands lock around his head and I snap his neck in one fluid motion.

The hallway falls silent except for our heavy breathing and the dying gurgles of the last few guards. Blood drips from my knuckles, pooling on the floor. I flex my fingers, feeling the ache of split skin.

"Everyone good?" I ask, scanning my brothers for serious injuries.

Whiskey grunts, wiping blood from a cut above his eye. "Just scratches."

Plague nods, already moving to retrieve Valek's limp form. Fresh blood stains his stolen coat, none of it his own.

"We're done," a voice crackles over a fallen guard's radio. "Asset 0663 breached containment and destroyed... everything. Proceeding with evacuation protocol."

My heart pounds harder. Wraith's experiment number.

He's alive.

Another explosion rocks the facility, stronger than before. Cracks spider through the walls, and chunks of ceiling rain down around us. The whole building groans like it's being torn in half.

"Move," I bark, shoving them toward the stairwell. "Now!"

Whiskey tosses Valek back over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes as we sprint down the stairs, taking them three at a time. The air grows colder, damper as we descend. Emergency lights flash red, painting everything in a hellish glow. The sound of fighting echoes up from below, punctuated by inhuman roars that shake dust from the walls.

Wraith is down there somewhere.

And where my brother is, Ivy will be, too.

She has to be.

The stairwell opens into another corridor, this one partially collapsed. Water sprays from broken pipes, turning the floor into a treacherous mess of blood and debris. The walls are scarred with massive gouges, like something huge and powerful tore through here.

Something with fucking claws.

More guards block our path, forming a firing line. But these ones look terrified, their hands shaking on their weapons.

"Last chance," their leader calls out, voice cracking. "Turn back now!"

I answer with a roar, charging straight at them. Bullets zip past as I close the distance. One catches me in the shoulder, but I barely feel it. My blood sings with battle rage as I crash into their line.

Bodies fly as I tear through them. Bones snap under my fists. Blood sprays across my face, hot and copper-sweet. Behind me, Whiskey and Plague join the slaughter, our movements synchronized by years of fighting together.

A guard manages to get his rifle up. I grab the barrel, shoving it aside as his shot goes wide. Yanking him forward, I slam my forehead into his nose. As he staggers back, I wrench the rifle from his hands and cave in his skull with the stock.

More guards pour in from side passages, but they're disorganized, panicked. We cut through them like a scythe through wheat. Whiskey throws one guard into a group of others, bowling them over. Plague's blades flash in the strobing emergency lights, each stroke an artist's brush on canvas.

The last guard turns to run. I catch him by the back of his uniform and slam him face-first into the wall. He slides down, leaving a smear of red.

"Clear!" Whiskey calls out, his chest heaving.

We move into the basement level as a unit. Looks like a damn war zone down here. Walls torn open like paper. Support beams twisted into modern art. Chunks of concrete and rebar litter the floor. Water sprays from broken pipes, mixing with blood in pink rivers that flow toward the drains.

And there, against one wall, a mangled cage. Steel bars thick as my arm bent outward like flower petals. The floor around it is stained dark.

"Holy shit," Whiskey breathes. "Bro doesn't fuck around."

Then her familiar scent hits me, a balm to my frayed nerves.

Honeysuckle and heaven.

Ivy.

"They were here," I say, following the trail. "Recently."

"Never thought I'd say this," Whiskey mutters, adjusting Valek's limp form, "but thank fuck he's got her."

More guards round the corner ahead. Six of them, weapons raised. I don't hesitate. I launch myself at them before they can fire. My fist connects with the first guard's face. Cartilage gives. Blood sprays. I use his body as a shield as his friends open fire.

Plague appears like a ghost behind them. Two drop, clutching their throats. Whiskey charges through, using Valek as a makeshift battering ram. The unconscious alpha's head cracks against one guard's skull. Both go down.

I grab a rifle off one of the corpses now that we're in a wide open area. "Thanks for the gun," I say flatly to its previous owner. He won't be needing this where he's headed.

"We need to move," Plague says, wiping his blade clean. "This place is coming down around us."

He's right. The ceiling groans ominously. Another tremor rocks the foundation. Pipes burst overhead, showering us with frigid water.

"Which way?" Whiskey asks, swiping blood off his mouth as he shifts Valek's weight on his shoulder. "Trail splits here."

I scan the carnage. Two paths of destruction lead away from the cage. One toward what looks like a lab. The other...

A roar shakes the walls. Not Wraith's. Deeper, more hollow. It echoes down the darker corridor, the sound amplified by the underground tunnels.

"The fuck was that?" Whiskey's grip tightens on Valek.

"Nothing good," Plague mutters.

I step toward the sound. The hallway ahead is barely lit, emergency lights casting everything in blood-red shadows. Water pools on the floor, reflecting the strobing lights like a mirror to hell.

Another roar.

Closer.

The very air vibrates with its force.

Then the heavy clank of iron.

Chains dragging over concrete and metal.

A shape emerges from the darkness. Eight, maybe ten feet of muscle and scar tissue. An iron mask with glowing blue eyes. A mechanical arm ending in foot-long talons. Metal rods jut from its back like spears. ID number 3686 painted on its broad chest.

It's the monster from the cell across from Ivy's.

And now that it's loose, it looks way more pissed off.

It stands at the end of the hall, staring at us. Steam rises from its massive frame in the cold air. Blood drips from its claws, each drop echoing in the sudden silence.

"Ideas?" Whiskey grits out.

The monster takes a thunderous step forward. Its mechanical arm whirs and clicks. Those glowing eyes never leave us.

Then it throws back its head and roars again. The sound hits like a physical force, driving us back a step. Water ripples across the floor. Dust falls from the ceiling.

I grip my new rifle tighter as I stare death in the face.

"We fight like hell."