The first muzzle flash lit the chamber like a lightning strike.
Sound followed a heartbeat later—sharp, concussive, bouncing off the curved ceiling until it became a rolling thunder that made every breath taste of cordite.
Keller dropped low behind the broken ticket kiosk as shards of plastiglass erupted where his head had been a moment before. The kiosk's metal frame groaned under the impact of incoming fire, but it was thick enough to hold. For now.
Lin, crouched by the abandoned maglev car, returned fire in short, disciplined bursts—two shots, pause, two more. No wasted ammunition, no panic in his movements. He shifted after every volley, never firing from the same spot twice. Keller noticed it, filed it away. Old instincts like that didn't fade.
