The air inside the warehouse was thick with tension, the smell of sweat and blood mingling with the dust that swirled in the dim light. Fireteam Specter had no illusions—whoever these people were, they had the advantage. They knew Specter's location, their condition, and most importantly, that they were out of options.

Velkan kept his rifle raised, eyes locked on the hooded figure in the doorway. The resistance—or at least, someone claiming to be them—stood in the shadows outside, waiting for an answer.

"No offense," Velkan said coldly, "but people who say 'come with us or die' tend to be the kind of people who make you disappear."

The stranger tilted their head slightly. "You're paranoid."

"We're still breathing, aren't we?"

The stranger smirked but didn't press the point. Instead, they turned slightly, gesturing down the alleyway. "There's a Red Hand sweep team five blocks from here. Full patrol, armored vehicles, and drones. You have about five minutes before they zero in on this place." They turned back, lowering their hood to reveal a sharp, angular face—young, but hardened by war. "Four if you waste time arguing with me."

Ghost had already moved to the window, peering through her scope. A low curse slipped from her lips. "He's not lying. I count two APCs, an eight-man squad, and something else... looks like a tracking drone. If they have airborne recon, we're screwed."

Velkan exhaled through his nose. They were trapped. Staying meant a fight they weren't equipped for—not in their condition, not while hauling Kane. Running on their own meant the same outcome. That left one option, and he hated it.

"We go with them," he muttered, lowering his rifle.

Ghost looked at him sharply, but she didn't argue. Wren shot a wary glance at the resistance fighters, gripping her knife a little tighter. Doc was already moving, securing Kane for transport.

The stranger nodded. "Smart choice. Let's move."

They slipped out the back, sticking to the darkest corners of the alleyways. The resistance team moved with practiced efficiency, leading them through the labyrinth of ruined streets and abandoned storefronts. Kane barely stirred as Doc and Velkan carried him, his face pale and slick with sweat.

Minutes passed like hours, every shadow a potential enemy, every sound another sign of their pursuers closing in. Then—

The night erupted with the roar of engines.

A searchlight blazed to life from above, sweeping across the crumbling buildings. A Red Hand gunship. The chopper's spotlight cut through the darkness, sweeping dangerously close to their position.

The stranger hissed. "Move. Now!"

Fireteam Specter broke into a run, pushing their bodies past the limits of pain and exhaustion. Footsteps thundered behind them. The searchlight found the alleyway they had just passed, bathing the crumbling brick in harsh white light. Shouts rang out, radios crackled. The hunt had begun.

There was no turning back now.

The alleyways were a twisting maze of shattered buildings and debris-strewn streets, offering little cover from the Red Hand patrols now scouring the city for them. Specter had been in desperate situations before, but this was something else. They were limping, wounded, and weighed down by Kane, while the enemy had superior numbers, firepower, and air support. Every second felt like borrowed time.

Velkan and Doc struggled to carry Kane between them, his body barely responding. Wren sprinted ahead, scouting the path, her movements quick and precise despite the exhaustion clawing at her limbs. Ghost remained at the rear, her sniper rifle cradled in her arms as she scanned for threats, ready to cover their escape.

The resistance fighters leading them moved fast, their knowledge of the city keeping them one step ahead—for now. The one who had spoken before, the sharp-featured young man, led them through a side passage into an abandoned shopping district. The once-bustling storefronts were now gutted shells, broken glass crunching under their boots.

"There's an access tunnel up ahead," the resistance leader called back in a low voice. "It'll get us underground. The Red Hand doesn't know about it."

"You sure about that?" Velkan muttered.

The stranger didn't answer.

A burst of gunfire echoed from behind them, followed by shouting. Ghost spun, raising her rifle, her finger tensing on the trigger.

"Keep moving!" she ordered. "They're getting closer!"

Velkan clenched his jaw, shifting his grip on Kane. They couldn't afford a fight—not with their current injuries, not with their position so exposed. He pushed forward, urging Doc along, forcing his legs to move faster despite the strain.

Then, a deafening roar split the night.

The gunship's engines screamed as it banked hard over the rooftops, its searchlight sweeping dangerously close. The moment the beam touched the street, a voice boomed from its loudspeakers.

"FIRETEAM SPECTER! YOU ARE SURROUNDED! SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL NOT BE HARMED!"

Velkan almost laughed. "Yeah. Sure."

The resistance leader cursed. "Move! Now!"

Then the gunship's minigun whirred to life.

Bullets tore through the storefronts, ripping apart steel and concrete as if they were paper. Glass shattered in a storm of shards, shelves exploded into splinters, and dust filled the air as the high-caliber rounds stitched destruction through the shopping district.

The team dove for cover as rounds chewed through their surroundings, sending debris flying in all directions. Velkan landed hard, rolling over Kane's limp body to shield him from the shrapnel. Ghost fired a single round at the helicopter, but it did little more than leave a dent in its armor.

"They're pinning us down!" Doc shouted over the noise.

"Keep moving!" the resistance leader yelled. "The tunnel is just ahead!"

Wren broke into a sprint, reaching a metal grate at the base of a half-collapsed building. She yanked at it, but it barely budged. "It's jammed!"

Velkan didn't hesitate. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and rushed forward. He grabbed the grate, his muscles screaming in protest, and heaved with everything he had left. The metal groaned, rust flaking off, but it refused to budge.

More gunfire rained down, forcing them to duck.

"We're out of time!" Doc shouted.

Ghost fired another round, this time at an exposed hydraulic line on the gunship's undercarriage. The shot hit its mark, sending a burst of fluid spraying into the air. It wouldn't bring the chopper down, but it bought them seconds.

With one final roar of effort, Velkan wrenched the grate free.

"Go, go, go!" he barked.

Wren dropped in first, disappearing into the dark tunnel below. The resistance fighters followed, then Doc and Kane. Velkan turned, covering Ghost as she laid down one final burst of suppressive fire before vanishing into the tunnel behind him.

The moment Velkan hit the ground below, the resistance leader yanked the grate back into place, covering their escape just as another barrage of bullets shredded the area above them.

Silence.

Velkan's breathing was ragged. His hands were shaking. Kane was still alive, but barely. The rest of his team was just as exhausted.

The resistance leader exhaled, leaning against the tunnel wall. "That was close."

Velkan pushed himself up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice grim. "Too damn close."

And for the first time in a long time, he had no idea what came next.

The tunnel was damp, the air thick with the scent of mildew and stagnant water. A single flickering lightbulb cast weak illumination along the rusted walls, barely cutting through the darkness. The tunnel stretched deep underground, carved beneath the city's forgotten infrastructure. It was a place of secrecy, of shadows—just like the war they were fighting.

Fireteam Specter moved in silence, their bodies aching from the desperate escape. Velkan kept a firm grip on Kane, his comrade barely conscious, groaning softly as Doc did his best to stabilize him. Wren scouted ahead with a combat knife in hand, her sharp eyes scanning every crevice for threats. Ghost brought up the rear, rifle at the ready, her expression unreadable beneath the dim light.

The resistance leader—who had yet to give a name—walked just ahead of Velkan. His movements were calculated, confident. He had known exactly where to lead them, which meant this wasn't just luck. He and his people had planned for this.

After what felt like miles of slow, painful progress, they reached an intersection in the tunnel system. The resistance leader finally stopped, turning to face them.

"We're safe for now," he said, his voice steady but firm. "The Red Hand won't follow us down here. They don't know these tunnels exist."

Velkan narrowed his eyes. "You sure about that? Because I've heard that before."

The resistance leader smirked slightly. "Let's just say we've been doing this a long time." He nodded to one of his men, who peeled off and disappeared down a side passage. "You need medical supplies, food, and rest. We have all of that waiting ahead."

Doc let out a relieved sigh. "Thank God."

But Velkan wasn't convinced yet. "And then what?" he asked. "What's your angle in all this? You saved us back there, but no one does that out of the kindness of their heart—not in this war."

The resistance leader met his gaze without hesitation. "You're right. We didn't save you out of kindness. We saved you because we need you."

Ghost tensed slightly, fingers flexing over her rifle. "Need us for what?"

"To finish what you started," the resistance leader said. His tone was calm, but the weight of his words was unmistakable. "The Dictator is tightening his grip on the city. The Red Hand and the mercenaries are hunting down anyone who resists. You're not just survivors—you're symbols now. People are starting to rally behind the idea that Fireteam Specter can actually win this fight."

Velkan let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah? Well, we're not exactly in fighting shape right now."

"That's why you're coming with us," the resistance leader said. "Rest. Recover. Then we talk about the next move."

For a long moment, no one spoke. Fireteam Specter had been fighting for so long that the idea of stopping—even for a moment—felt foreign. But Velkan knew they had no other choice. Kane wouldn't last much longer without proper care, and they were running on fumes.

Finally, Velkan exhaled and nodded. "Fine. Lead the way."

The resistance leader smiled slightly, then turned and started walking deeper into the tunnel. Specter followed, their steps slow but determined.

For the first time in a long time, they had somewhere to go.

But Velkan knew better than to believe in safety.

This war was far from over.

The tunnel stretched into darkness, the only sound the distant dripping of water and the soft scuff of boots on damp concrete. Fireteam Specter followed the resistance operatives in wary silence, exhaustion weighing on them like a lead blanket. Every step forward was an act of sheer willpower.

Velkan's arms burned from carrying Kane, but he didn't dare complain. Kane had taken the worst of it, and they all knew it. His breath was shallow, his skin clammy, and even though Doc had stabilized him as best he could, Velkan wasn't sure how much longer he could last without proper medical attention.

Ghost walked just behind him, quiet as ever, but her posture was rigid, her grip on her rifle never loosening. She didn't trust the resistance operatives any more than Velkan did, and neither did Wren, who kept glancing over her shoulder, fingers tight around the hilt of her knife.

The resistance leader—still unnamed—glanced back, reading their tension. "Relax," he said. "If we wanted you dead, we would've left you up top for the gunship to finish off."

"Comforting," Ghost muttered.

Velkan shifted Kane's weight slightly. "We've had plenty of people offer us a 'safe place' before," he said. "Never works out in our favor."

The resistance leader smirked but didn't argue. Instead, he gestured ahead. "We're here."

They emerged into a massive underground chamber, far larger than the narrow tunnels they had been moving through. Concrete walls arched high above them, lined with rusted catwalks and old industrial piping. It looked like an abandoned maintenance hub for the city's sewer or subway system, repurposed into something new.

Dim yellow lights flickered from makeshift tents and scattered equipment. People moved through the space, some armed, some carrying supplies. It wasn't just a hideout—it was a full-blown resistance base.

Doc let out a breath. "Damn... how many people are down here?"

The resistance leader shrugged. "Enough."

Velkan's gaze swept the area, assessing. They were organized, at least. Crates of weapons and medical supplies lined the walls. Maps were pinned to a large board near the center of the chamber, with marked zones and enemy positions. They weren't just surviving—they were planning.

A woman in a tattered medic's vest jogged up to meet them. She was older, with streaks of gray in her tied-back hair and sharp, assessing eyes.

"You're the ones they've been talking about," she said, not wasting time on pleasantries. She pointed at Kane. "Get him to the infirmary, now."

Two operatives rushed forward, ready to take Kane off Velkan and Doc's hands. Velkan hesitated for a moment—handing him over felt like surrendering control—but Doc nodded.

"We need him alive," Doc murmured.

Velkan exhaled sharply and let them take Kane. The medic led them toward a side room, where more wounded were being treated.

The resistance leader turned back to the rest of them. "Your team can rest here," he said. "Get food, clean up, sleep. You're safe."

Velkan narrowed his eyes. "For how long?"

The resistance leader smirked. "That depends."

Ghost crossed her arms. "On what?"

"On whether you're ready to fight back."

Silence settled between them.

Velkan knew there was no such thing as free shelter in this war. The resistance didn't save them just to be nice—they wanted something. And he had a bad feeling they weren't going to take no for an answer.

Velkan exhaled slowly, his hands resting on his belt as he took in the underground base once more. The resistance had resources, manpower, and a plan—things Fireteam Specter sorely lacked after weeks of running, bleeding, and barely surviving. But that didn't mean trust came easy.

Wren took a step forward, rubbing the dirt from her face with the back of her hand. "Let's cut the bullshit. What exactly do you want from us?"

The resistance leader gave a small chuckle, clearly expecting the question. He motioned toward the central command area where maps were pinned up, scrawled over with lines, markers, and notes in hurried script.

"Fireteam Specter has done more damage to the Dictator's regime in the past few weeks than we have in months. People are talking about you—rebels, civilians, even some inside the enemy ranks who are starting to question their loyalty." His gaze sharpened. "That kind of impact is exactly what we need."

Ghost shifted slightly, still holding her rifle across her chest. "You're saying we're symbols now?" Her voice was laced with skepticism. "We're just soldiers. We don't do speeches and rebellions."

The resistance leader's expression darkened. "No, you don't. You fight. And that's exactly why you're valuable. This isn't just about survival anymore." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "The Dictator's forces are stretched thinner than they let on. The Red Hand is brutal, but even they have limits. If we strike the right places, we can weaken them. If we take out the right targets, we can win."

Velkan wasn't convinced yet. "And you have proof of this? A plan? Or is this just another 'hope and prayers' revolution?"

One of the resistance operatives—an older man with a scar down his cheek—spoke up. "We have intelligence. And now, thanks to you, we have an opportunity."

He pointed to a section of the map, where a marked compound was circled in red.

"After your escape, security around the city is tighter than ever. But that means the Dictator is getting paranoid. We've identified a facility near the central district—one of the Red Hand's key supply hubs. It's where they process weapons shipments, fuel for their vehicles, and possibly something even bigger."

Doc, who had remained quiet up to this point, finally spoke. "Something bigger?"

The resistance leader nodded. "A project. Something the Dictator doesn't want anyone knowing about. We don't have the full details yet, but whatever it is, it's important enough that they're reinforcing the site with additional mercenary units and shifting key personnel there."

Ghost exhaled sharply. "Let me guess. You want us to go in and find out what's inside."

"You're the only ones who can," the leader said simply. "Your team has already slipped past their defenses before. You know how they operate. And—" He glanced at Velkan. "—let's be honest. You're out of options."

That last part stung because it was true.

Specter was battered, outgunned, and running on fumes. They couldn't keep running forever, and they sure as hell couldn't take on the Dictator's forces alone. If there was a chance to strike back in a way that mattered, maybe this was it.

Velkan ran a hand through his hair, glancing at his team. Ghost was unreadable as always, but she wasn't rejecting the idea outright. Doc looked wary but thoughtful. Wren's sharp gaze flickered to the map, already considering possibilities.

And Kane... Kane wasn't here to weigh in.

That alone made the decision harder.

"Give us time to think," Velkan said finally. "We need to rest, check on our guy, and figure out what's next."

The resistance leader nodded. "Understood. But don't take too long." He glanced toward the map again. "Because whether you help us or not, the war isn't going to wait."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Fireteam Specter standing there, staring at a choice they weren't sure they were ready to make.