The gates of Outpost Nine groaned as they opened, metal scraping against metal — a sound like something waking from a long sleep.
Beyond them, the ruins had been reshaped into a fortress of survival.
Old military structures had been reinforced with scavenged armor plates, solar panels patched together from different eras.
Lines of cables ran between broken walls like veins. Every surface bore the scars of war and the marks of those still fighting it.
As 24 and Lu stepped inside, eyes turned toward them — sharp, distrustful, calculating.
Every person carried a weapon. Every movement was deliberate.
These weren't civilians. These were survivors who had chosen not to die quietly.
The woman who'd found them — tall, lean, with gray streaks through her short dark hair — led them deeper into the compound. Her voice carried easily over the hum of machinery and distant gunfire drills.
"You'll speak to our commander," she said. "He decides who stays and who doesn't."
24 said nothing. The scarf around his neck hid the faint brand on his skin — 24, burned deep and unmistakable. He kept it angled out of sight. The less attention it drew, the better.
Lu followed close, silent but alert. Her eyes moved constantly — mapping exits, counting sentries, noting weak spots in the walls. Training had changed her. She looked more like a soldier now, less like a survivor.
They were led into a large chamber that had once been a bunker command room.
Old monitors flickered with static. Maps covered the walls — some drawn by hand, others digital relics showing regions long destroyed.
At the far end sat a man behind a cracked steel desk.
He was broad-shouldered, mid-forties, with a beard going gray and a cybernetic eye glowing faintly red.
He didn't rise when they entered — just leaned forward slightly, studying them.
"Strays," he said, voice gravelly. "Haven't seen new faces in months."
The woman saluted lightly. "Found them at the perimeter, Commander. Said they're travelers."
"Travelers," he repeated, tasting the word like it didn't belong here.
"What are your names?"
24 didn't hesitate. "Kane," he said. The name came flat, natural — a reflex.
Lu caught his glance and followed his lead. "I'm Sara."
The Commander's gaze lingered on her mask for a moment — a dark, smooth surface hiding everything but her eyes.
"You always wear that?" he asked.
"Yes," she said evenly.
"Why?"
Her voice didn't waver. "It covers a bad scar. I don't like showing it."
The Commander studied her a beat longer, then nodded slightly — not prying further, but not convinced either.
"Fair enough," he said finally.
He leaned back in his chair, eye flickering faintly in the dim light.
"No last names?"
"No point in keeping ghosts," Kane — 24 — said quietly.
That earned a faint smirk.
"Fair enough. You don't look EGI, and you don't look like locals.
So tell me, Kane — why come here?"
"We heard about the stronghold from a settlement east of here.
We're not looking to join. Just to pass through, maybe trade work for shelter."
"Work," the Commander repeated. "What kind?"
24's eyes were steady. "The kind that keeps you alive."
A long silence stretched between them. The hum of old machinery filled the room,
punctuated by distant drills and a faint radio transmission crackling in the background.
Finally, the Commander rose from his chair.
He was taller than 24 expected — his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.
"You'll stay the night," he said finally.
"But don't think being here makes you one of us.
Everyone in this place carries their weight — or they don't carry it long."
24 nodded once. "Understood."
The Commander's gaze lingered a second longer on him — as if searching for something beneath the calm exterior —
then he gestured to the woman.
"Put them in the south quarters. Keep an eye on them."
"Yes, sir."
Outside the command room, Lu exhaled softly, tension bleeding from her shoulders.
"Kane and Sara?" she whispered as they walked.
"First names that came to mind," 24 said.
"You're good at lying."
"I've had practice."
They passed through narrow halls lit by low, humming lamps. The smell of oil and dust filled the air.
Through an open doorway, they caught glimpses of others — resistance soldiers maintaining weapons, cleaning armor, stitching torn jackets.
All of them looked at the newcomers the same way — a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
The woman stopped at a rusted door and opened it.
"You'll stay here. Don't wander after lights out. Trust me — people get nervous."
24 nodded. "We'll stay put."
She gave him a lingering look, as if trying to decide whether she believed that,
then shut the door behind them.
The room was small but serviceable — two cots, a cracked mirror, and a single lantern flickering in the corner.
24 pulled off his jacket, sitting on the edge of his cot. The scarf slid down slightly, revealing the faint curve of the branded 24 on his neck.
Lu caught the glint in the lantern light.
"You should keep that covered," she murmured. "Someone sees it, they'll start asking questions."
"They'll ask anyway," he said, rewrapping the cloth tightly.
"But by the time they do, we'll know what kind of people they really are."
Lu sat across from him, resting her chin on her knees. "You think they'll let us stay long?"
"If we're useful," 24 said. "If not…"
He looked at the cracked wall — listening to the hum of the generators below,
the muffled footsteps beyond the door,
the sound of a war still breathing just beneath the surface.
"Then we'll disappear again."
That night, as the outpost settled into uneasy quiet,
24 stayed awake — eyes fixed on the ceiling, every muscle alert.
He could feel it already — the tension in the air,
the unspoken understanding that peace here was only borrowed, never earned.
Outpost Nine might have been hiding from EGI…
but something told him they weren't the only ones.