The warehouse rang with the sharp clang of the rusted pipe striking the forklift, a sound that shattered the stillness and set the air alight with tension. Aadi crouched behind a crate, his breath shallow, the hum in his chest a frantic pulse syncing with the chaos unfolding below. Manisha gripped her jagged plank, her knuckles white, her braid swinging as she peered over the edge. Neha clutched a brick, her glasses fogged slightly from the damp air, her steady gaze locked on the two figures advancing through the shadows of the warehouse floor.
The rifleman spun toward the noise, firing a burst into the darkness—bullets punched through steel, sparks flaring like fireflies. The second figure, the scanner operative, darted forward, device raised, its rhythmic beep cutting through the echoes of gunfire. Aadi's scars burned, the hum roaring a warning he couldn't ignore. This was it—the first test of his plan, the first chance to peel back Axiom's layers. He glanced at Manisha and Neha, their faces set with a determination that mirrored his own. Together. No splitting up. That was the deal.
"Now," Aadi whispered, surging from behind the crate. He leapt down to the warehouse floor, landing hard on a stack of crates, pain jolting through his knees. Manisha followed, her plank swinging in a wide arc—wood met flesh as it cracked against the rifleman's arm, sending the gun skittering across the concrete. Neha hurled her brick from the loft's edge, a perfect arc that smashed into the scanner operative's temple. The figure crumpled, device clattering beside them, its beep silenced.
Aadi tackled the rifleman, fists slamming into ribs, the hum guiding his strikes—quick, brutal, relentless. The man grunted, swinging back, a fist grazing Aadi's jaw, but the hum flared, sharpening his focus. He ducked, drove an elbow into the rifleman's gut, then a knee to the chin—bone crunched, and the figure went limp, sprawling across the floor. Aadi staggered back, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles, the copper tang sharp in his nose.
Manisha stood over the scanner operative, plank raised, her breath ragged. "Stay down," she muttered, kicking the device away. Neha slid down the stairs, brick still in hand, her eyes wide but steady as she joined them. The warehouse fell quiet, save for the faint drip of water and the creak of settling steel. Aadi wiped sweat from his brow, the hum settling, but a prickle of unease crawled up his spine. Too fast. Too clean.
"Check them," he said, voice low. "Gear, comms—anything we can use."
Manisha nodded, dropping to rummage through the rifleman's pockets. Neha knelt by the scanner operative, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulled a comms unit from their ear—a small black bud, its red light blinking faintly. Aadi retrieved the rifle, its weight cold and unfamiliar, and slung it over his shoulder. He moved to the scanner device, its screen cracked but glowing with a faint map—red dots pulsed, one centered on the warehouse.
"They tracked us," Neha said, holding up the comms unit. "This was live. Someone's listening."
Aadi's stomach twisted, the hum spiking. "Then they know we're here. More'll come." He turned to the lockbox he'd found, pulling the key and gun from his pocket. "Manisha, east wall—there's a locker. Dad's note said it's there. Go."
She bolted, plank still in hand, while Neha handed him the comms unit. He pressed it to his ear, static crackling before a voice cut through—low, clipped, female. "Unit Three, report. Target status?"
Aadi froze, the hum roaring. Leela? No—different, colder. He didn't respond, but the silence stretched, the voice hardening. "Unit Three, confirm. If compromised, extraction's en route. Secure the asset."
"Asset?" Neha whispered, her brow furrowing.
"Me," Aadi said, dropping the comms and crushing it under his boot. "They want me alive. That's why Leela didn't finish it clean."
Manisha returned, hauling a duffel bag from the locker. She unzipped it, revealing a stash—ammo clips, a folded knife, a scratched-up phone, and a thin notebook, its pages yellowed. "Jackpot," she said, tossing Aadi the knife. "Your dad wasn't messing around."
Aadi flipped open the notebook, Ramesh's handwriting spilling across the pages—dates, codes, fragments of names. "Axiom—cell structure. No central base. Operatives rotate. Trust breaks them." His pulse quickened, the hum syncing with a realization. "He was mapping them. This is gold—locations, patterns. We can use this."
Before he could read more, the SUV's back door creaked open outside, a slow groan that snapped their attention. A third figure emerged—taller, clad in black, a curved blade glinting in their hand. No gun, no haste—just a deliberate stride, boots crunching glass. The hum screamed, scars flaring as the figure stepped into the faint light, their face obscured by a hood.
"Axiom doesn't waste time," the figure said, voice low, edged with menace. "You're a glitch, kid. A loose thread they can't pull."
Aadi gripped the knife, stepping forward, Manisha and Neha flanking him. "Who are you?" he demanded, the hum a war drum now.
The figure tilted their head, blade catching the dim glow. "Call me Shade. I tie up what Leela leaves dangling. You've got fight—impressive. But it ends here."
Manisha snorted, raising her plank. "Three on one. Bad odds, Shade."
Shade's laugh was a dry rasp. "Odds don't matter when you're out of your depth." They lunged, blade slicing the air—Aadi ducked, the hum guiding him as steel grazed his sleeve. Manisha swung, but Shade sidestepped, kicking her legs out; she hit the ground hard, plank skidding away. Neha hurled her brick, but Shade deflected it with the blade's flat, advancing on Aadi.
He parried with the knife, metal clashing, sparks flaring. The hum roared, time slowing in his mind—Shade's stance, precise, trained, a predator's grace. Aadi twisted, slashing at their arm, drawing blood, but Shade barely flinched, driving a knee into his gut. Air rushed out, pain blooming, but he rolled away, the hum screaming reset—not yet, not yet.
Manisha scrambled up, grabbing the rifle from the floor. "Back off!" she shouted, aiming shaky hands. Shade paused, blade lowering slightly, their hooded gaze flicking between them.
"You're not the threat," Shade said, nodding at Aadi. "He is. What's your trick, kid? Luck doesn't cover this."
Aadi spat blood, the hum steadying. "You'll find out." He lunged, knife arcing—Shade parried, but Manisha fired, a wild shot that grazed their shoulder. Shade hissed, retreating a step, blood seeping through black fabric.
"Next one's your head," Manisha growled, steadying the rifle.
Shade chuckled, low and dark. "Keep him. For now." They backed toward the door, blade still raised. "Axiom's patient. You'll slip." With a final glance, they vanished into the night, the SUV's engine roaring to life and fading down the road.
Aadi slumped against a crate, chest heaving, the hum settling into a dull ache. Manisha lowered the rifle, her hands trembling. Neha rushed over, grabbing his arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he rasped, wiping blood from his lip. "Shade's right—we're out of our depth. But we've got something now." He held up the notebook, its pages fluttering. "Ramesh gave us a start. We're not running anymore."
Neha adjusted her glasses, her voice soft but firm. "What's next, then?"
Aadi flipped to a page marked with a circled date—two days from now. "Drop point—Biscuit Factory, 3 a.m. Cell 7." He met their eyes, resolve hardening. "We hit them there. Small, fast. Steal what we can, reset if it goes bad. We build on this—every move, every fight. Axiom's not invincible."
Manisha smirked, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. "Guess we're in the game now. Let's make it hurt."
Aadi nodded, the hum a steady pulse, scars throbbing but alive. Shade was a warning, a glimpse of Axiom's reach, but Ramesh's notebook was a weapon—one he'd wield with every reset until they broke. The fight wasn't over. It was just beginning.