Cain dove behind a splintered metal crate as another round tore through the air. Glass exploded overhead. Bullets punched through steel and ricocheted past his ear. The warehouse lights had gone hot white surgical, searing, exposing everything.
He blinked the glare out of his vision and pulled the knife back into his grip.
Across the open floor, Roach had gone down. Not dead. Still breathing. He crawled behind a row of containers, blood trailing behind his leg. Not good. But not done.
Cain counted footsteps. Four shooters. At least one on each flank. None of them were talking. That was worse. He flicked the blade to his reverse grip and rose from cover.
Fast.
He sprinted left, caught one by surprise as they emerged from the smoke. The man didn't flinch; he swung a crowbar in a clean, two-handed arc, trying to break bones with a single hit. Cain ducked under it. Cut low across the hamstring. The man grunted but didn't drop and didn't slow down either.
Cain pivoted. Slashed across the back of the knee. This time the leg buckled. The man fell and tried to rise again.
Too strong. Too fast.
Cain grabbed a hanging chain and swung it hard around the neck. He yanked. The enforcer thrashed, slammed him into the crate. The impact knocked the breath from Cain's chest but he held on. Another pull and the man went down, choking.
Cain didn't wait.
He sprinted toward Roach, who had just managed to shove himself upright against a crate wall.
"Move," Cain barked.
Roach blinked sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah. On it."
Together, they darted across a narrow break in cover bullets sprayed behind them, too late. Cain slid first behind a steel girder, pulled Roach in after.
"Still got your legs?"
Roach grunted. "One. Maybe one and a half."
Cain turned, peered around the corner. One of the shooters dropped from the catwalk above, landing too light for his size. Boots hit with a thud, but no stumble. Cain froze. Watched. The man straightened slowly. Muscles flexed across his neck. He cracked it left, then right. Rolled his shoulders once. Then he picked up a crate the size of a small coffin—and threw it across the room.
Not slid. Threw.
The crate smashed through the support column beside them. Metal shrieked. Sparks lit the floor. Cain didn't breathe. Roach whispered, "That's not just training."
Cain gripped the pipe. Nodded once. "We split. Right on my mark. Don't look back."
Roach hesitated.
Cain slammed the crate again. "Go!"
They broke left and right. The shooter chose Cain. He closed fast. Cain dropped low, kicked a loose wrench into the man's shin. It bounced off. No reaction. Cain rose, slashed the pipe across his ribs.
It didn't cut. Didn't even bruise.
Cain danced backward, drawing the man into the light. Studied the pattern of movement heavily, but practiced. Not mindless. A trained brawler. Enhanced durability. Cain circled but waited.
When the man lunged, Cain didn't meet him. He slipped to the left, rolled low, came up with a screwdriver off the ground and jammed it into the back of the knee.
The man roared. It didn't drop him, but it staggered him long enough.
Cain ran back to Roach, who'd made it to the south gate.
"Exit's locked!" Roach shouted.
Cain checked the corner. More shooters moved in from the catwalk.
Roach threw something a smoke charge. It landed behind them and hissed. Not enough to cover them. Just enough to buy seconds. Cain raised the pipe. Used it to wedge the gate wheel. Twisted. It gave an inch.
Behind them, a shooter dropped from above. The flash of movement triggered something inside Cain; his body moved before he could think.
The pipe reversed in his grip. He blocked the blow midair, deflected the fall, and slammed his elbow into the man's temple.
Too fast.
Cain didn't process it until after. The way he moved. The precision. The hit landed cleaner than it should've. Not instinct System sync.
He didn't look at the countdown and didn't need to. He wrenched the gate one more time and kicked it open.
"Go!"
Roach staggered through. Cain followed, pipe in hand, shoulder burning.
They bolted into the alley behind the warehouse wet asphalt, old pallets, and shadows. Gunfire spat behind them. Bullets cracked off the metal door. Cain grabbed Roach's arm, pulled him down a sloped path between buildings.
"Left. Dumpster." Cain pointed. "Cover."
They crashed behind it just as two shooters burst from the warehouse door. Cain leaned against the wall, breath jagged. Roach looked at him sideways.
"You're not just a Runner."
Cain didn't reply.
He checked the angle. Scoped the rooftops. Waited for movement. Roach clutched his leg. "That guy inside? The crate tosser?"
"Ranked," Cain said quietly.
"Upper?"
"No. Just enhanced. Mid-level muscle, probably Tier D."
Roach exhaled. "We're not walking out of this."
Cain met his eyes. "We don't walk. We hunt."
Behind his eyes, the System lit up.
[System Sync: 9%]
[Tier Detection: F – Locked]
[New Parameter: Reflex Enhancement (Passive Stage)]
Cain blinked. He felt it now. The edge. Like a wire humming just under his skin. He turned his head, slowly, toward the alley mouth. Footsteps were closing in. Cain didn't move. Footsteps echoed off the cracked stone and metal as the alley mouth narrowed behind the building. One steady rhythm. One heavy. One light.
The team had split.
Roach crouched low, back to the dumpster, blade in hand, breathing fast. Too loud. Cain placed a hand on his chest. Pressed.
"Stay."
Roach opened his mouth.
Cain stared him down. "You'll only slow me."
Roach hesitated.
Then nodded once. "You don't come back"
"I won't."
Cain turned and slid behind a stack of broken fence panels. His breathing steadied.
The System buzzed low, silent to the world but loud in his skull.
[Target Range: 2 Enemies | Tier Unknown]
[System Sync Stable – Reflex Boost Active]
Cain crouched, blade reversed. A metal pipe lay on the ground ahead. Trash Bags shifted as a wind swept through the alley, carrying the stench of mold and ash. The first silhouette entered the alley. Too tall, neck thick. Moved with posture, not nerves.
The second followed. Slender. Lower stance. Knife out. Left-handed. Watching the ground. Cain didn't wait for both to step in. He lunged the moment the tall one passed the metal bin. The pipe clanged as he kicked it forward, noise to disorient.
The tall one turned right. Cain came from the left.
Blade in. Neck. Quick twist. Out.
The big man gargled and dropped. No scream. Just dead weight hitting cement. The second shouted, slashed blind. Cain ducked under the arc, kicked the knee inward. Bone snapped. The attacker went down sideways.
Cain disarmed him with a clean elbow across the wrist. The blade clattered.
He caught the other man's gaze and fear. Trained, but still human. Cain didn't kill him. He stabbed deep into the thigh. Artery close but missed on purpose.
"You're not hunting anymore," Cain said.
He left him there and returned to Roach but Roach had moved.
Gone.
Cain's jaw clenched. Then a sound feet scrambling over a fence. He looked up just in time to see Roach's silhouette bolt over the other side of the alley wall.
Gone.
"Damn it," Cain muttered.
"He ran."
The voice wasn't outside. It came from inside his skull. Eli.
"He was going to slow us anyway. You knew that. You were just hoping he wouldn't."
Cain stepped out from the trash. His fingers flexed around the blade. The System flickered again, but dim.
[Connection Stable | Countdown Secure]
He didn't reply.
"You remember the dock?"
The question hit without warning. Cain stopped, the smell of fire hit harder. Oil burning on the water. Rope tearing. Blood in his teeth.
He was there again for that final job.
The body on the boat. The click of the detonator. The silence before betrayal.
A cigarette in his hand. Rain in his eyes. One voice on the comms saying:
"Confirmed. Let it burn."
His own team, his own handler.
"You weren't supposed to survive," Eli whispered in his head.
Cain's teeth ground together. He turned fast, planted his blade in the alley wall. Steel scraped cement.
"You think I don't know that?"
The voice paused.
"Then stop trusting people who wouldn't flinch to drop you again."
Cain breathed deep. Slow. He pulled the blade free. Turned toward the mouth of the alley.
The two men he left weren't dead but the others wouldn't wait long.
[System Alert: New Ping Incoming]
[Track Activated: Unknown Beacon | Distance: 312m]
Cain stared at the signal. Roach had one of the burner phones. He ran but he didn't disappear.
Cain walked.
Every step felt sharper now. The street noise had thinned. The System beat in his chest like a second heart. One hour ago, he was tracking a name. Now he was cleaning up the mistake that name made.
He stepped out of the alley.