The night burned behind them.

The wreckage of the downed gunship still smoldered, smoke curling into the sky as flames licked at the twisted metal. But the Dictator's forces weren't slowing down.

They were gaining.

Kane pushed himself harder, boots slamming against the pavement as he sprinted down the ruined street. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed—but he didn't stop.

Ghost was ahead, leading them toward the only viable escape: a half-collapsed apartment complex, its fire escapes barely intact.

Doc was right beside him, his rifle swinging as he glanced back. "They're still on us!"

Kane risked a look over his shoulder—his stomach dropped.

Another gunship was inbound.

This one hadn't made the mistake of flying too low. It hovered high above, its searchlights scanning, its cannons primed.

And below, more troops were closing in.

The Smiling Demons. Elite, ruthless, and relentless.

They weren't just chasing Specter.

They were herding them.

"Up the building! Now!" Ghost barked.

She reached the base of the fire escape first, grabbing onto the rusted ladder and pulling herself up. Kane followed, two steps at a time.

Doc hesitated. "If they catch us here, we're boxed in!"

No choice.

Gunfire rattled behind them, bullets sparking off metal. The enemy was too close.

Kane reached the second-floor platform and turned, snapping his rifle up. A burst of gunfire took down the closest soldier.

Doc cursed and hauled himself up, climbing fast. The entire structure shook under their weight.

Then the gunship roared overhead.

The spotlight locked onto them.

"They've got a firing line!" Kane shouted.

Too late.

The gunship's cannons spun up.

A storm of lead ripped into the side of the building, shredding the brick wall below them. A section of the fire escape twisted, groaning—then collapsed.

Ghost jumped.

For a second, she was in free fall—then her hands caught the ledge of an open window, hauling herself inside.

Kane didn't think. He just jumped after her.

His boots barely landed on solid ground before he spun, reaching out—grabbing Doc by the vest just as he slipped.

"Got you!" Kane gritted his teeth, pulling him through the window just as another barrage tore through the air.

The entire fire escape gave way, crashing down into the alley below.

No way back down.

No way but forward.

Inside, the apartment complex was a dark, hollowed-out ruin.

Old furniture, shattered glass, graffiti covering the walls. A place forgotten in the war.

Ghost pulled up her rifle, sweeping the hallway. "Keep moving."

They ran through the corridors, weaving between broken doors and collapsed ceilings.

But outside—they could hear the Smiling Demons climbing.

They weren't stopping.

They weren't hesitating.

The hunt wasn't over.

And Fireteam Specter was running out of ground.

The apartment complex was a maze of decay—collapsed walls, shattered glass, and debris-strewn hallways. Every step crunched against broken plaster and dust.

But there was no time to be quiet.

Behind them, the Smiling Demons were closing in.

Outside, the gunship circled back. Its spotlight swept across the ruined building, casting long shadows against the cracked walls.

Then—the roar of miniguns.

Bullets ripped through the outer walls, tearing through drywall and concrete as the gunship opened fire.

"Up! We need to get to the roof!" Kane shouted, leading the charge.

Ghost sprinted ahead, kicking open a rusted stairwell door. It barely held together as it swung on broken hinges.

Doc slammed it shut behind them. "That's not gonna hold," he muttered.

Kane didn't argue. It didn't need to.

They took the stairs two at a time, their boots pounding against rusted metal.

Then—a crash.

The stairwell door exploded inward as the Smiling Demons breached.

Flashbang.

Kane barely had time to turn before the blast went off. His ears rang, his vision whited out.

And then—gunfire.

Ghost fired first.

Her rifle barked in controlled bursts—three shots, three kills.

Kane recovered fast, raising his weapon. More of them were charging up.

Too many.

Too fast.

Doc pulled a grenade from his vest, ripped the pin out with his teeth, and tossed it down the stairwell.

Boom.

The explosion shook the rusted stairs, sending bodies and debris flying. For a moment, there was silence.

Then—more movement.

They were still coming.

No time.

Ghost shoved the rooftop door open. "Go! Now!"

The city sprawled before them.

From the rooftop, they could see the burning skyline, the towering factories in the distance, and the Dictator's checkpoints glowing like red embers across the streets.

Nowhere to run.

But they weren't looking for escape.

They were looking for a fight.

Kane turned, slamming a fresh mag into his rifle. "They want us? Let's make them bleed for it."

The final stand on the rooftop had begun.

The wind howled over the rooftop, whipping dust and smoke into the night air.

Kane's grip tightened around his rifle as he scanned the perimeter. No cover. No way down. Just a crumbling rooftop five stories up and a kill team about to breach the door behind them.

This was it.

Ghost knelt near the edge, her rifle trained on the stairwell exit. Her breathing was slow, controlled. The sniper's calm before the storm.

Doc crouched nearby, checking his ammo. He let out a slow exhale. "This isn't ideal."

Kane smirked. "Nothing ever is."

Then—the stairwell door slammed open.

Gunfire erupted.

Kane's rifle bucked against his shoulder as he fired into the doorway, cutting down the first soldier through.

Ghost's rifle cracked—one shot, one kill.

But more came.

Smiling Demons in full combat gear, their masks twisted into eerie, grinning skulls.

They fanned out fast, moving like shadows—disciplined, lethal.

Bullets sparked off the rooftop as Fireteam Specter scrambled for what little cover they had.

Doc returned fire, dropping one, but a round clipped his shoulder. He gritted his teeth, pressing his hand against the wound. "I'm fine! Keep shooting!"

Kane didn't hesitate. He popped up, fired three shots, and dropped another soldier.

But it wasn't enough.

More boots pounded up the stairs. More coming.

And then—the roar of engines.

Kane's blood ran cold.

The gunship was back.

It hovered just beyond the rooftop, its miniguns spinning up.

"MOVE!" Kane yelled, diving for cover.

The rooftop erupted in a storm of lead as the miniguns opened fire. Chunks of concrete shredded into dust. Sparks and ricochets lit up the night.

Specter had nowhere left to run.

Ghost gritted her teeth, yanking out an explosive charge from her pack. "We have one shot at this."

Kane saw the plan in her eyes. It was suicide.

But it was the only way.

Doc swore, pressing against the rooftop edge. "We do this, we better have a way down."

Ghost smirked. "We make one."

She armed the charge.

The countdown began.

And the Smiling Demons rushed forward for the kill.

The rooftop was a warzone.

Gunfire tore through the air, bullets sparking off concrete as Fireteam Specter scrambled for cover. The Smiling Demons pushed forward, advancing with ruthless precision. The gunship hovered nearby, its miniguns spooling up for another barrage.

And the detonator in Ghost's hand was ticking down.

10 seconds.

No time to think—only to act.

Kane popped out from behind cover, his rifle barking in rapid bursts. He dropped one soldier, then another—but more kept coming.

Doc gritted his teeth, clutching his wounded shoulder. "We need a way off this damn roof!"

Ghost's eyes flicked to the edge. Five stories down.

Kane followed her gaze.

A window. A shattered one, three floors below.

Their only way out.

5 seconds.

The gunship fired.

A storm of bullets ripped across the rooftop, chewing through concrete and steel.

Ghost didn't hesitate. She slammed the detonator.

Boom.

The explosive charge detonated near the stairwell, engulfing the entrance in flames and shrapnel. The blastwave threw bodies backward—some off the rooftop entirely.

Chaos. Smoke. Shattered debris.

But Kane wasn't waiting for the dust to settle.

"JUMP!"

No hesitation.

Ghost jumped first, sprinting full-speed and throwing herself off the rooftop. She twisted mid-air, aiming for the shattered window below.

Kane followed, heart hammering. The world blurred—then the impact.

Glass shattered around him as he crashed through, hitting the floor hard and rolling. Pain shot through his shoulder, but he was alive.

Doc landed last, hitting the ground hard with a grunt.

They barely had time to move before—

The gunship fired again.

Bullets ripped through the building, tearing chunks out of the walls. The entire floor shuddered.

No time to breathe. No time to stop.

Ghost was already moving. "Down the stairwell! Now!"

They ran.

Through the darkened halls, down a crumbling stairwell, jumping over debris and shattered furniture.

Above them, the gunship's spotlight swept across the building, hunting them.

Behind them, the Smiling Demons weren't giving up.

They hadn't just survived the blast.

They were still coming.

And Fireteam Specter was running out of ground.

The building shook around them.

Chunks of plaster rained from the ceiling as Fireteam Specter raced down the stairwell. Above them, the gunship circled like a predator, its spotlight slicing through the shattered windows.

The Smiling Demons weren't far behind.

Ghost led the way, her rifle tight against her chest, boots slamming against the cracked floor. Kane was right behind her, his breath sharp, his adrenaline surging.

Doc clutched his wounded shoulder but kept pace. There was no stopping now.

The enemy wasn't just chasing them.

They were herding them.

"We need an exit!" Kane growled, glancing back.

Ghost didn't slow. "There's always an exit."

She slammed through a half-rotted door at the bottom of the stairs. A maintenance tunnel. Rusted pipes ran along the walls, and the air smelled of damp concrete and decay.

It led deeper.

Underground.

Their only chance.

They ran.

The passage twisted and turned, the dim emergency lights flickering as they went deeper.

Behind them—the echo of boots.

The Smiling Demons weren't far.

Ghost tapped her comms. "Specter to Haven, do you copy?"

Static.

Then a voice.

"Haven copies. What's your status?"

Ghost didn't break stride. "Hunted. Underground. We need extraction."

A pause.

Then—"Sending coordinates. You're close to a drainage tunnel leading out of the city. Keep moving."

Ghost glanced at Kane. "You hear that?"

Kane nodded. "Then let's get the hell out of here."

The tunnel sloped downward, water pooling at their feet.

Kane could hear it now—the sound of rushing water ahead.

And then—gunfire.

Bullets ripped through the concrete behind them, sparking off the walls.

The Smiling Demons had caught up.

Doc turned, snapping off a few rounds. "We're not gonna make it if—"

Then the floor dropped out from beneath them.

They fell.

Water. Cold, filthy water.

Kane hit hard, the current immediately pulling him under.

For a moment—only darkness.

Then—light ahead.

An exit.

A way out.

If they could reach it.

If they could survive.

The water was a violent, choking force.

Kane tumbled through the current, his body spinning in the rushing flood. His lungs burned, his arms flailed, but the current was too strong.

Somewhere above, muffled gunfire echoed. The Smiling Demons were still up there, hunting them.

But down here—the real threat was drowning.

A hand snatched his vest.

Ghost.

Her grip was iron-tight as she pulled him toward the surface. Air. Kane gasped as his head broke above the water, coughing as he fought to stay afloat.

Doc surfaced nearby, gasping for breath. "That—" he choked out, "sucked."

The tunnel was a churning, black void, the water rushing them deeper underground.

But there—ahead.

A faint light.

They had one shot.

Kane kicked, fighting the current as they aimed for the dim glow in the distance. A maintenance grate, half-submerged.

Ghost reached it first. She gritted her teeth, bracing against the metal bars, straining to pry them open.

Behind them—shadows moved.

The Smiling Demons had followed.

Kane turned just in time to see the first of them splash into the tunnel. No hesitation. They weren't stopping—not for gunfire, not for the flood.

They were coming.

"Ghost, NOW!" Kane shouted.

She growled, planted her feet against the concrete, and ripped the grate loose.

An opening. A chance.

Kane shoved Doc through first. Then Ghost.

And just as he turned to go—a hand grabbed his collar.

A Smiling Demon, half-submerged, eyes cold behind his cracked mask.

Kane didn't think—he just reacted.

His elbow snapped back.

The soldier's grip loosened.

Kane twisted, grabbing his knife.

One brutal strike.

The Smiling Demon's body jerked—then went still.

Kane shoved him away and threw himself through the grate.

Freedom.

They spilled out into the open.

The tunnel ended in a deep canal outside the city. The night sky stretched above them, stars barely visible through the smoke.

They had made it.

For now.

Kane lay on his back, chest rising and falling. Ghost sat beside him, reloading. Doc winced as he checked his wound.

No words.

Just breathing. Surviving.

But they all knew—

The hunt wasn't over.

The gunship hovered above the canal, its searchlight sweeping across the murky water.

Kane and the others pressed against the concrete embankment, half-submerged, their bodies hidden in the shadows. The roar of the rotors was deafening.

They didn't move.

Didn't breathe.

Just waited.

A single mistake meant death.

Above them, in the gunship's cockpit, Commander Ragos watched the feed from the thermal scanners.

Nothing.

He scowled, jaw tight as he switched channels on his radio.

"They escaped the tunnels," he growled. "Find them."

A voice crackled back, cool and indifferent. "That will cost extra."

Ragos narrowed his eyes. "You're already being paid more than enough."

A low chuckle came through the line. "If it were easy, you wouldn't need us."

The Mercenary Leader.

One of the best—and most ruthless—contractors on the Dictator's payroll.

Ragos exhaled through his nose. He hated working with mercs. No loyalty. No discipline. Just money and blood.

But Specter had slipped through the cracks one too many times.

And that could not happen again.

Back in the canal, Ghost barely moved as the searchlight passed over them.

They were soaked, exhausted, and wounded. But alive.

For now.

Kane's grip on his rifle tightened. They wouldn't last long like this.

Doc muttered under his breath, barely audible. "We need an extraction."

Ghost nodded. "We need to disappear."

Kane glanced at her.

Not just disappear.

Strike back.

Because if Ragos was sending mercenaries after them...

It meant this war was about to get even bloodier.