Far from the chaos, beyond the wailing sirens, the trail of smoke staining the skylines, and the frantic rescue efforts, Claude's squad had taken shelter in an old, abandoned storage warehouse at the edge of the industrial district.
The place smelled of rust and stale oil, crates stacked high enough to conceal them from prying eyes. A single flickering bulb hung overhead, casting long, warped shadows against the concrete walls.
Claude knew this hiding spot wouldn't buy them much time.
Three members of his team were tagged by the UAO after all. With the barcodes on their bodies, it wouldn't be hard to locate them.
The clock was ticking.
"His lips remain shut," Terrius reported, stepping away from the captive.
Claude's expression darkened further. His gaze, overflowing with murderous intent, fixated on the man wearing a glaring mime mask. Every ounce of restraint he had was stretched thin and fraying.
