"Mercy is the slowest bullet."
The sky over Rustlane bled amber. Smog hung low across the ruins, thick enough to choke on. Less and Khale trudged through the skeletal outskirts, their silhouettes haloed by the dying light. Every building here leaned with exhaustion, glassless and hollow, their bones held together by rust and willpower.
Rustlane had once been a mining city. Now, it was a graveyard of machines—massive cranes and crawler vehicles frozen mid-motion, their frames fused with moss and decay. The wind sang through them like a broken instrument.
Khale's voice cut through the silence. "You sure this is the place?"
Less adjusted her rifle strap. "Helix's signal died here. Something's blocking it."
"Could be radiation."
"Could be something worse."
The road sloped downward toward what had once been the city's heart: a sunken crater surrounded by collapsed towers. Lights flickered faintly within—firelight.
Less crouched behind a rusted vehicle and lifted her scope. Through the lens, she saw people—half-starved survivors moving between the skeletal remains of buildings. Makeshift tents glowed dimly beneath tarps, and the air shimmered with heat from burning fuel.
"Civilians," she murmured.
Khale leaned in. "Impossible. Nobody survives this deep."
"They're surviving."
She lowered the scope and started forward.
The closer they came, the stronger the smell of medicine and decay. It was the scent of desperate healing—sterilizer mixed with blood. They followed it into a half-collapsed hospital marked by a flickering neon sign: ST. M— RESEARCH & RECOVERY.
Inside, the air was thick and electric, humming faintly with power from a salvaged generator. Crates of medical supplies were stacked against the walls. The main hall had been converted into a ward—cots arranged in rows, each occupied by someone pale and trembling.
A girl stood at the center, her hands steady despite her youth. She couldn't have been older than eighteen. Her lilac-gray hair was tied back, and a white coat hung loosely from her thin shoulders. Her eyes, sharp and luminous, flicked toward them the moment they entered.
"Stop right there." Her voice was firm but frayed from exhaustion.
Khale raised both hands. "Easy. We're not here to—"
"Put the guns down," she said. "Or I'll put you down."
Less saw the weapon in her hand—an injector rifle, the kind Helix used for chemical sedatives. Modified. Dangerous in close quarters.
Less slowly unslung her rifle and set it aside. "We're looking for information. Not trouble."
The girl didn't lower the weapon. "That's what the last ones said before they took our generator."
"We're not raiders," Khale said.
"Then prove it."
Less stepped forward into the light, her scarf catching the glow. "You're alive because someone chose to be more than what this world turned them into. I'm not here to ruin that."
The girl studied her a long moment, then finally lowered the injector. "Name's Shelly," she said. "You're lucky I'm running low on sedatives."
Shelly led them deeper into the ward. The survivors on the cots were twisted by radiation and genetic sickness—some with faint scales beneath their skin, others with eyes clouded by mutation. Shelly moved among them with practiced precision, adjusting IV drips, injecting clear fluid from her vials.
Khale watched, his brow furrowed. "You're treating mutations."
"I'm keeping people alive," she corrected. "Helix made them this way. Someone has to undo the damage."
Less followed her movements, noting the steady rhythm of her hands. "Where'd you learn to do this?"
"Helix Academy. Before it fell."
"You worked for them?"
"I studied under them," Shelly said bitterly. "Didn't take long to realize the only thing Helix cared about curing was their own guilt."
She moved to a patient whose breathing had slowed. "Hand me that stabilizer."
Less hesitated but obeyed, passing her the vial. Shelly injected it smoothly, murmuring to the unconscious woman. After a moment, the patient's pulse steadied.
Shelly exhaled. "That's the fifth one today. They keep coming from the outer zones—burned, poisoned, mutated. And Helix still sends drones to 'collect data.'"
Khale crouched beside one of the cots, studying a man whose veins glowed faintly blue. "You've been experimenting with inhibitors."
Shelly shot him a glare. "I prefer to call it medicine."
Less scanned the room. "You have a lab somewhere?"
Shelly hesitated. "Downstairs. But you're not—"
A deep rumble cut her off. The walls trembled. Bottles rattled on shelves.
Khale was on his feet instantly. "Raiders."
Shelly cursed. "They hit us last week. I thought they'd moved on."
Less grabbed her rifle. "Where's the entry point?"
"Courtyard," Shelly said, already loading syringes into her belt. "There's at least ten of them."
"Then we'll make it eight," Khale said, unsheathing his curved blades.
The first explosion shattered the front doors. Shards of glass rained across the tiles as figures stormed in—men in scavenged armor, faces hidden behind scrap-metal masks. They carried torches, guns, and desperation.
Less took position on the second-floor balcony, her rifle balanced against a cracked railing. She sighted the first raider through her scope. One breath. One trigger pull. The man's skull opened like glass.
Khale was already moving below, his blades cutting arcs of silver through the smoke. Every motion was poetry edged in violence.
Shelly darted between the cots, firing syringes that hissed like serpents. The darts hit exposed skin, delivering doses that paralyzed within seconds.
The ward became chaos—gunfire, shouting, the hum of drones overhead.
Less moved through it all with surgical calm. Each shot she fired was a punctuation mark to the battle's rhythm. When a raider broke past Khale's defense and reached Shelly, Less's bullet dropped him before he could swing.
Khale glanced up briefly, eyes meeting hers through the smoke. A nod. No words needed.
Within minutes, it was over. Bodies sprawled across the floor, blood mixing with spilled chemicals.
Shelly sank against a wall, trembling. "That's the last of them."
Khale wiped his blades clean and sheathed them. "For now."
Less descended from the balcony, scanning the carnage. "You should move these people. Helix will track the gunfire."
"We can't," Shelly said quietly. "Most of them can't walk."
Less studied her. The girl's hands were shaking, but her eyes burned with stubborn fire. "You'll die if you stay."
"Then I die trying to save them."
Khale sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "You're a terrible negotiator, kid."
Shelly glared at him. "And you're bleeding."
He looked down. A shallow cut ran along his side. "Just a scratch."
Shelly grabbed a medical pack and approached. "Sit."
Khale raised a brow. "You're bossy for someone half my size."
"Sit."
He sat.
Less watched, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly.
Shelly cleaned the wound in silence. "You both fight like Helix soldiers," she said finally. "You were with them, weren't you?"
Khale didn't answer.
Less said, "Once."
Shelly tied the bandage tight. "Then you know what they're capable of."
Khale stood, testing his ribs. "We've seen it."
"Then help me stop them," Shelly said. "You came here looking for something. I can help you find it."
Less's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"Because I've seen your face before," Shelly said softly. "In Helix files. Project Vanguard. You're L-01."
Less froze.
Khale's hand drifted toward his weapon, but Shelly raised a hand. "I'm not your enemy. I'm your proof."
"What proof?" Less demanded.
Shelly turned toward the stairwell. "Come with me."
The basement lab was colder than the upper floors, its walls lined with shattered glass tanks and humming consoles. Blue light spilled from a central chamber where liquid still glowed faintly.
"This used to be a Helix outpost," Shelly said. "I rebuilt what I could. The rest is ghosts."
Less approached one of the consoles. Symbols scrolled across the cracked screen—genetic sequences, neural patterns. Then a name.
Project Vanguard: Subject L-01 — Lysandra Vogue.
Less's heart stopped.
She reached out, touching the glass as if it could give her back the memory.
Shelly's voice softened. "She designed you to survive. To end what Helix began."
Khale stood beside her, silent.
Less stared at the flickering name until her reflection blurred with the letters. Lysandra Vogue.
The storm outside intensified, thunder shaking the walls.
She whispered, "Mother."
The word barely left her lips, but it filled the room like a confession.
Hours later, the three of them stood on the hospital roof. The city stretched below, still burning faintly in the dark.
Shelly tightened her coat against the wind. "Where will you go now?"
Less watched the horizon. "Sector Theta."
Khale adjusted his blades. "That's suicide."
"So was coming here," Less said.
Shelly hesitated. "Then take me with you."
Less turned to her. "You'll slow us down."
"I can heal faster than you can reload."
Khale chuckled. "She's got a point."
Less stared at Shelly's determined face, then exhaled. "Fine. But you follow orders."
Shelly smiled, faint but fierce. "Understood, Captain."
Khale smirked. "Looks like we've got ourselves a team."
Less didn't respond. Her eyes were fixed on the storm over the reactor fields, where Helix's towers blinked like distant stars.
For the first time in a long while, she didn't feel entirely alone.
But the warmth was brief. Because somewhere beneath that storm, Helix was waiting—and it knew she was coming.