The only sound was the water dripping from the pipes above.

Kane crouched in the filth of the sewer tunnel, his rifle resting against his knee. They had escaped the Smiling Demons. For now. But at what cost?

Ghost sat across from him, back against the cold concrete, her breathing steady but tense. Her hands were still gripping her rifle too tightly. Even she wasn't used to running from something she couldn't kill.

Doc muttered, "I don't ever want to see that shit again." He was pressing a bandage against a gash on his arm, wincing as he tied it off.

Kane didn't respond. His mind was still replaying what they had seen in the tunnels. Those... things.

Smiling, empty-eyed. Not quite human anymore.

The Smiling Demons had herded them into that hellhole like prey, but in the end, even those elite killers hadn't followed them in. That meant only one thing—

They knew what was down here.

And they feared it.

Viper's voice crackled over comms. "Specter, status?"

Kane exhaled, pushing the image of those creatures out of his head. Focus on the mission.

"We're alive," he answered. "Where's our exit?"

A pause.

Then Viper said, "You're not gonna like it."

Ghost groaned. "Why is it never good news?"

Viper ignored her. "You're too deep in the tunnels. Surface streets are locked down, and the Red Zone is crawling with patrols. Only way out is forward."

Kane wiped the sweat from his brow. "And what's forward?"

Another pause.

Then Viper's voice was grim. "Sector 12."

Doc swore. "You're joking."

Ghost's expression hardened. "No one goes to Sector 12."

Kane already knew why. It was the deepest part of the underground, where even scavengers refused to tread. A forgotten ruin beneath the city.

A place full of bodies that no one ever found.

Viper's voice was firm. "I know. But it's your only shot."

Kane took a slow breath.

No choice.

"Then we go."

The sewers stretched on like a maze.

Every step echoed off the walls, the stagnant water swirling around their boots. It stank of rot and something worse.

Kane led the way, his rifle up, scanning the darkness. The deeper they went, the worse the feeling got.

Doc muttered, "Feels like we're walking into a grave."

Ghost didn't respond.

She just kept moving.

Then Kane stopped.

The tunnel wasn't empty anymore.

The bodies were fresh.

Not from weeks ago. Not from the war.

These people had died recently.

Some were Red Hand. Others wore the uniforms of the Dictator's forces.

All of them were torn apart.

Ghost crouched beside one, her gloved fingers brushing the corpse's neck. Her voice was quiet.

"Teeth marks."

Doc's face paled. "That's not possible."

Kane's grip on his rifle tightened. This wasn't just a bad place.

Something was hunting down here.

Something that didn't care who it killed.

And now it knew they were here too.

Ahead, the tunnel split in two.

One path led into even deeper darkness. The other had a faint, flickering light at the end.

Kane turned to Ghost. "Pick one."

She hesitated, then nodded toward the darkness.

"We go deeper."

No hesitation.

No turning back.

Because if they stayed in one place too long...

They wouldn't be the hunters anymore.

They'd be the prey.

The distant sound of boots on metal grates sent a chill down Kane's spine.

They weren't alone anymore.

Ghost raised a fist, signaling for silence. Doc pressed himself against the slick concrete wall, gripping his rifle tight.

Above them, flashlights flickered through rusted sewer grates. Voices murmured—low, disciplined.

The Dictator's men.

They had found their trail.

Kane scanned their surroundings. Nowhere to run.

The tunnel was too narrow, the bodies around them too obvious a sign of passage. If the patrol had even an ounce of training, they'd know Specter was here.

Ghost's voice was barely a whisper. "We need to disappear. Now."

She nodded toward the filthy, stagnant water pooling at their feet.

Kane barely stopped himself from cursing. "You can't be serious."

Doc swallowed hard. "You got a better idea?"

The voices above were getting closer.

Kane clenched his jaw. No time.

He exhaled sharply, then slipped into the water.

It was ice cold and thick with filth. The moment it reached his face, he had to fight every instinct screaming at him to surface.

Doc and Ghost followed, submerging beside him. Only their eyes stayed above the waterline, barely visible through the floating debris.

Then—flashlights cut through the tunnel.

The Dictator's forces moved in pairs. Their rifles were raised, scanning every inch of the tunnel with methodical precision.

Elite. Not the usual thugs.

One of them—a soldier in black combat gear, his visor reflecting the dim glow of their searchlights—stepped dangerously close to the water's edge.

Kane's lungs burned. He had to stay still.

The soldier paused. His rifle swept over the bodies littering the tunnel.

Then he knelt, running his fingers over the torn flesh of one of the corpses. His voice was cold, clinical.

"This isn't their work."

His partner shifted. "Then what did this?"

The first soldier didn't answer.

Instead, he stood, scanning the tunnel again.

Kane stayed perfectly still, heart hammering. He could see the soldier's trigger finger resting just outside the guard. One wrong move...

Then, above them, another voice crackled over the radio.

"Delta Team, report. Any sign of the Specter operatives?"**

The soldier hesitated.

Then, after one last long look at the water, he clicked his comms.

"Negative."

Kane barely stopped himself from exhaling in relief.

The soldiers moved on, their boots splashing through the tunnel.

For a few agonizing seconds, Specter waited.

Then—**finally—**the footsteps faded.

Ghost surfaced first, gasping quietly for air.

Kane followed, wiping the filth from his face. His skin was crawling.

Doc coughed, spitting out something that definitely wasn't just water.

"That," he muttered, "was the worst idea we've ever had."

Ghost wiped her mouth with the back of her glove. "We're alive, aren't we?"

Kane scanned the tunnel ahead. The soldiers were gone, but not for long.

They needed to move.

Because sooner or later...

The Dictator's men wouldn't be the worst thing hunting them in these tunnels.

The moment the Dictator's men were out of earshot, Kane pulled himself from the filthy sewer water, suppressing a shiver as the cold clung to his skin. He could still feel the grime in his gear, but now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

Ghost was already up, checking her rifle. Doc coughed again, shaking his head.

"Next time," he muttered, "remind me to pick the mission where we get to assassinate some warlord from a rooftop. Not go swimming in a damn sewer."

Kane ignored him. His focus was on their surroundings.

The tunnel stretched on ahead, but now that they were alone, the silence was worse. The smell of rot was everywhere. There was no fresh air, just the stench of stagnant water, mold, and decay.

Ghost tapped his shoulder. "We need to keep moving."

Kane nodded. The patrol would realize soon enough that they hadn't doubled back. When that happened, they'd come sweeping through this area again.

And next time, they wouldn't just search.

They'd burn the tunnels down to get them.

They moved fast, keeping low and quiet.

The deeper they went, the older the infrastructure became. The walls were lined with rusted pipes, some cracked and leaking. Faded markings on the walls suggested this section of the sewer hadn't been used properly in years.

Doc clicked his tongue. "Feels like we're the first ones down here in a while."

Ghost shook her head. "Someone's been here. Recently."

She pointed to the wet boot prints just ahead.

Kane froze. Not their tracks.

Someone else had come through here. And not long ago.

Doc's expression darkened. "Red Hand?"

Kane scanned the prints. No. Too disciplined. Too careful. The spacing, the depth of the steps...

"Military." Kane exhaled. "Not the Dictator's regulars. Special Forces."

Ghost tensed. "More Smiling Demons?"

Maybe. Or maybe something worse.

They reached a junction where the tunnel split in two. The path on the left descended deeper, while the one on the right sloped slightly upward—toward what looked like an old service access tunnel.

Ghost glanced at Kane. "We need to go up."

She was right. The deeper they went, the fewer exits they'd have. If they wanted a shot at resurfacing, they had to start climbing now.

Kane signaled forward. "Right side. Stay sharp."

The three of them moved carefully, every step deliberate. The old metal catwalk groaned under their boots, but it held.

At the end of the tunnel, a rusted steel door stood slightly ajar.

Kane signaled for Ghost to stack up. He took point, Ghost behind him, Doc covering the rear.

Kane reached forward, pushed the door open just enough to see inside.

And froze.

The room beyond was a war zone.

Spent shell casings littered the ground. Blood smeared the walls. The bodies of four soldiers lay slumped against the concrete, bullet wounds still fresh.

Kane took a slow step inside, sweeping his rifle across the room. Ghost and Doc followed, covering their angles.

Doc crouched beside one of the bodies. "These guys were elite." He pointed to their gear—top-tier weapons, custom body armor. Not the Dictator's standard units.

Ghost touched one of the patches on a dead man's shoulder. Her expression darkened.

"These aren't Smiling Demons."

Kane frowned. Then who the hell were they?

Before he could answer, Ghost spoke again. "Check the wounds. They weren't killed by small arms."

Kane looked closer.

Large exit wounds. High-caliber rounds.

Not standard rifles. Heavy weapons. Machine guns.

Doc exhaled sharply. "These guys got shredded."

Kane looked toward the far side of the room—where the opposite door had been blown clean off its hinges.

Something hit them here. Hard.

And whoever had killed them...

Hadn't stuck around to finish the job.

Kane keyed his radio. "Viper, we've got a problem."

A pause. Then Viper's voice came through, tense. "What now?"

"Unidentified operators. Not Red Hand. Not Smiling Demons. Well-equipped. All dead."

Viper swore. "Describe their gear."

Kane did. Viper went silent.

Then, finally—"Get out of there. Now."

Kane's stomach tightened. "You know who they are, don't you?"

Viper exhaled. "I don't know for sure. But if I'm right... you're not just dealing with the Dictator anymore."

Kane exchanged a glance with Ghost. Something bigger was happening here.

And Specter was in the middle of it.