Night fell hard over the industrial district as Kabelo "Shadow" Ndlovu slipped through the alleyways. Rain slicked the cobblestones, making muted reflections of the neon signs above. The old warehouse loomed ahead, dark and cavernous—a fortress of steel girders and hollowed stone. Inside, a defector named Dr. Mikhail Petrov was supposed to be held captive by a rogue Prometheus cell. Petrov knew too much about the serum operatives. Shadow's mission: extract him.
"Eyes up, Shadow," Yara's voice came in his earpiece, crisp as static. The rest of the Shadowstrike team was in position. Jovan, their long-range recon expert, was perched on a crumbling rooftop across the street. He had the warehouse in his line of sight, infrared scanning for heat signatures. Liu, the team's comms and tech wizard, crouched in a nondescript van down the block, ready to hack the perimeter cameras at Shadow's command.
Shadow melted into the night shadows as he approached the loading bay doors. Rain dripped off his tactical vest as he pressed a small device to the security panel. "One second." He muttered. A soft click announced success. A pair of doors creaked open.
Inside, the warehouse was split-level chaos—crates stacked high like urban canyons. Forklifts stood idle. In the far corner, a dim light cast long shadows on the concrete. Shadow slipped through the gap in the door and into darkness. The air smelled of engine oil and damp cement.
He moved like a wraith, silent steps on concrete. Through his night-vision scope he surveyed the corridor: two armed guards at the base of the catwalk stairs, rifles resting casually in their laps. Above them, a second tier mezzanine where men loitered. Somewhere ahead, Petrov.
Shadow signaled Liu through a subtle flicker of his portal-scope. Almost instantaneously, Liu shut down the cameras covering the entrance and looped security footage to mask their intrusion.
Liu's voice crackled, "Cameras looped. You're invisible to them for the next five minutes."
Shadow exhaled silently. Five minutes wasn't long. He raised his silenced sniper rifle, fitted with a custom portal-grenade launcher. Not just any grenade—these were specially calibrated to open small spatial rifts at the point of impact. He tossed one toward the wall behind the two guards.
The grenade thunked against the concrete and vanished through space. A split second later, it reappeared inches above the floor—an exit point of its own making. The two guards never heard the twist of reality. A flash of blue energy and then silence as they crumpled, knocked out cold by the blast but alive.
Shadow darted behind crates, checking the corridor beyond. He could see crates stenciled with Cyrillic warnings. No sign of Petrov yet. He crept forward, each footstep measured and careful.
"Possible hostiles on the mezzanine," Jovan reported softly over comms. "Two moving. Heavily armed."
Shadow peered up. Two operatives in black tactical suits patrolled above. Between them was a doorway—likely Petrov's cell.
He pulled a shotgun from his pack — a compact bullpup fitted with custom ammo. Without drawing a bead, Shadow fired a hollow-point round wrapped in nano-fragment shrapnel. It flew silently, passing through a micro-portal he conjured at his chamber muzzle, and erupted behind the wall near the patrolling guards. The explosion threw them off their feet, the noise masked by the portal's echo.
Enemies shouted. Both guards came charging towards the disturbance. Shadow flicked the safety off his rifle and dropped down from the crates. He met the first guard face-to-face. The man swung his rifle — Shadow's left hand summoned a shimmering veil of space between them. Reality buckled: the bullet vaporized as it crossed the portal plane, missing the guards entirely and crashing outside the building.
Seizing the moment, Shadow closed the distance. Before the second guard could react, Shadow's fists collided with his throat. A muffled gasp, then a sharp snap as the guard's neck twisted. He slumped.
From upstairs, a gunshot rang out. A bullet whizzed past Shadow's shoulder. A second guard, hidden by crates, came up on his flank. Shadow dove behind cover, the bullet burrowing into the steel crates where he'd stood a heartbeat before.
"Shadow, move!" Yara's voice had an edge. She was coordinating the others — everyone stationed around the block.
Shadow rolled into an empty space. Directly ahead was the door up to the mezzanine. He could reach it, but another alert guard waiting? No time. He tapped the side of his scope, switching ammo. Now a multi-round chamber loaded with near-silent rounds.
He peeked the corner. The hidden guard slipped out, scanning for the source of the low boom. Shadow aimed quickly and fired twice in rapid succession through a mini-portal pressed on the wall. Both shots found a mark in the guard's chest; he dropped, surprised.
The way was clear. Shadow dashed for the stairs, careful to stay in the dark. He reached the top step and paused. Then he saw it—a circle of light. At its center, chained to a post, sat Dr. Mikhail Petrov. He looked up at Shadow with tired eyes.
"You're late," Petrov croaked as Shadow eased down. He wore a plain gray shirt, eyes haunted and tired. Shadows played across his gaunt face.
"No time for introductions," Shadow replied, fastening the chains with a serrated blade and a slight portal flash. One of the keycards lurched free in his hand. "We need to move."
Petrov rubbed his aching wrist. "Meet my associate—he's working this way."
Shadow frowned. "Past the guards? How many?"
"Two near the stairwell. Another at the entrance."
Shadow's brows knit. "And you told him I was coming?"
Petrov looked away. "I had to. They threatened his family."
The war inside Shadow's eyes flickered. Was this trap? But the pain in Petrov's eyes was real. He believed this man was compromised.
Yara's voice, urgent now: "Shadow, surrender's coming through. We have five minutes before backup arrives. ETA one five."
Shadow assessed the exit door at the far end of the mezzanine. Two more guards by the stairs behind him. And Petrov's associate approaching, weapon ready.
"There's only one way out," Shadow told Petrov. "Through the storm."
On cue, Yara triggered an EMP burst at the front entrance via a remote gadget. The metal shutters buzzed and clanged to the ground. Shouts erupted. Shadow knew the mercs' backup was on time.
He jerked his head. "Go!"
The two stepped into the corridor. Footsteps thundered below. More operatives were coming up the stairs. Shadow lit into them with a hail of suppressed rounds, surprising them as he popped out from cover. Sparks flew as bullets hit steel. Petrov ducked behind him, uneasy.
The corridor had become a firefight arena. Shadow's knees bent and unbent as he moved on the balls of his feet. He hurled a portal-grenade into the middle of onrushing foes; it opened behind them for a second detonation. The blast threw bodies and black shards of splintered cement.
As the smoke cleared, Petrov stumbled, coughing.
"We have to go—now!" Shadow barked. He slung his rifle.
They ran toward the stairwell at the corridor's end. "Up," Shadow hissed, indicating a hidden door that led to a maintenance loft above.
Scalping the ladder, Petrov followed quickly. Shadow's heart pounded — every mile of his radar senses lit. On foot, he heard the commotion below—the advantage of portals, no earsplitting volume. Below, enemies still swarmed.
At the top, Shadow opened the hatch and pushed it open. The cold night air hit them as they emerged onto the roof.
The beacon was flaring on Petrov's wrist-watch, a signal to the van. "East wall, jump and drop," Shadow said.
Without waiting, he pressed one hand flat on the concrete roof. A faint outline of swirling energy appeared. A portal to the east wall's alley opened a few feet away. It hummed quietly.
"Go!" Shadow propelled himself through it with a running leap. After him, Petrov through a second.
They hit the ground running. Liu's van screeched to a halt at the alley's mouth. Shadow opened the passenger door. Inside, Dragan had secure cables ready.
Liu tossed in Petrov first. "Gotcha," Dragan murmured, clips already restraining him loosely for safety. Petrov's hands were bleeding from cuffs, but relief softened his eyes.
Shadow turned, face pressed to the window. Smoke plumed from the warehouse rear door; mercs spilled from the building. Silhouettes emerged, guns raised.
"They see us," Shadow reported, grabbing his rifle. But one look at Petrov in the back told him there was no time.
Liu shook her head. "No time to engage. We move now or later."
Shadow's finger caressed the trigger guard. He could try to cover the extraction, but his team needed to ride. Instead, he bolted for the sliding door and slammed it shut. The van peeled away, tires screeching.
Through the rear glass, Shadow saw a pair of operatives running to flank; one pulled a grenade pin. He raised his rifle, every sense ignited. The van careened into the night.
The grenade thudded against the van's armor plating—a dull thwack—then rolled into the street, smoking. Shadow pressed his face to the window. The van leaped forward violently, tires screeching around a corner; outside, operatives dove aside to avoid the blast. The explosion rocked the rear windshield.
Inside, Shadow winced as white-hot glass rained on him, but Dragan's reinforced armor took the brunt. They shattered through an iron gate left ajar, hurtling into the night.
"What was that grenade?" Yara's voice once again, tight.
Shadow couldn't answer. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins. He knew the grenade had been no ordinary explosive. Something about the sound was off – not an EMP, but…
He shook his head, focusing on the road. They had Petrov. That was the win.
Behind him, Petrov coughed from the dust. The whispered motif of betrayal, desperation, and hope swirled in his tired smile.
In the rearview mirror, Shadow saw Yara licked by red and blue flares from distant police sirens. They had been fast. But the fight was far from over.