Brendon blinked awake.
He was in the plush bedroom of a high-rise penthouse. Morning light filtered through the large glass doors that led to a vast balcony that overlooked the main hub of The Sanctuary.
The room was minimalist and very high-end.
He lay on an enormous bed flanked by two black wood nightstands. Modern-looking night lights dressed the tops of them. An expensive-looking oil painting hung over a lacquered headboard.
Rolling over, he caught a glimpse of himself in the sleek mirror across the room. He was in the usual black trunks again, but this time long hair cascaded down his shoulders, framing a thick beard.
Staring at the reflection, Brendon felt different. This time it was like all of his senses had been boosted. He felt like he could hear a pin drop in the next building and read a menu a mile away.
Flexing his muscles, he felt a tremendous power thrumming through his body. Each sinew in his muscles tightened as he built tension, showcasing an impressive physique that had been honed from combat. He turned to face the wall to his left, and without thinking, he punched it with an unrestrained force. The impact echoed throughout the penthouse as a huge crater formed in the thick concrete next to the painting.
He had managed to impress himself.
Sliding open the glass doors, he stepped onto the balcony and took in the breathtaking view. From this height, at least eighty stories, he could see the geography of The Sanctuary clearly. He tuned his senses in to absorb as much input as he could.
He could see all the way to the coast.
Gleaming beachfront mansions lined the shoreline, their shingle-style façades reflecting the sunlight like polished mirrors. The vibrant colours of their blooming gardens spilled over tall white walls.
Elegance and serenity was everywhere he looked.
Expansive green lawns stretched out in every direction, dotted with clusters of mature trees that offered shady retreats from the sun. The sound of laughter floated up from sandy beaches where families splashed in gentle waves.
He could see private docks lined with sleek sailboats bobbing gently on crystal-clear waters. Brendon could pick up snippets of whispered conversations that filled the air, people speculating about lives entwined in this pristine bubble.
Further inland, the streets wound like ribbons into straighter avenues that fed into the section he was standing in. It had the feel of a business district with tall skyscrapers and fancy looking office blocks. It was all steel, glass and mirrors. Upscale boutiques lined their contours with curated displays, while gourmet restaurants served customers on sheltered sidewalk tables.
Brendon peered over the balcony rail.
Sentinels were starting to gather by the entrance. They were moving slow as if they were awaiting something. They must be picking up traces of his signature like Cody said they would, but they looked like they didn't have a definite location yet.
He knew he needed to move fast. He walked back into his bedroom and scanned it again.
Familiarity flooded into him.
All of a sudden he felt like he had lived here for years. His gaze landed on the built-in wardrobes on the wall opposite him. Elegantly designed, he slid one of the doors open. Inside was a rail of designer clothing with shoes neatly laid out on racks on the floor.
Something for every occasion.
A flicker of knowledge then guided him. Instinctively, he reached for a button on the left-hand side of the wall and pressed it. Brendon watched in fascination as the back wall of the wardrobe slid open smoothly, revealing a hidden room roughly the same size as the bedroom.
Inside, the air held a heavy metallic scent. The walls were lined with weapon racks and storage compartments, each meticulously organised. Dim LED lights illuminated the space gently.
He processed every detail.
Rows of firearms, grenades, clothing and other equipment that would have made any quartermaster proud. Brendon gently ran his hand across some of it, recalling each piece's name, calibre and function.
He moved swiftly to get dressed.
He selected black tactical trousers that hugged his legs but allowed for movement. Next, a fitted black T-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Everything fitted so well that it felt like it had been tailor-made for him. Finally, he strapped on a black ops vest and then knelt to lace up his boots.
Brendon's gaze fell upon an AR-15 rifle mounted on the wall. Gripping the weapon firmly, he pulled it down. Loading in a magazine felt instinctive; it clicked firmly into place.
He pocketed six additional magazines into the front of his ops vest and turned his attention to the array of grenades that lined up on a nearby shelf. Brendon selected a mix of high explosives, smoke, and phosphorous.
Next, a sidearm.
A compact pistol caught his eye. SIG Sauer P320. It felt comfortable and familiar in his grip. He slid it into the holster on his vest before reaching for the rugged locator module that was next to it.
Brendon powered it on. The screen lit up with data as it searched for Grace's location. Just like Cody had promised, it was designed for only one thing. To find Grace.
His heart raced when the pin appeared.
A map clearly displayed her position, but it didn't seem nearby. It was offshore. On a small island around one hundred miles out to sea. The chances of finding her quickly just fell away. His mind started to process his options and formulate a plan of action quickly.
He walked back out onto the balcony again. Below him, more Sentinels had arrived now, in cars and on bikes. They still seemed to be just milling around, but there were around forty or fifty of them, Brendon guessed. Overhead, quadcopter drones buzzed, snooping into the rooms on the floors above him.
All of a sudden, a drone popped up from below. Rising right in front of him like a released spring. It swung its camera pod to face him and then maneuvered to line up its machine gun. Without hesitation, Brendon reached round and fired a burst from his slung rifle. It sparked and spluttered, and when it could no longer grip the air, fell out of the sky like a dropped brick.
Brendon watched it go, concluding in a small puff of smoke on the street. His cover was blown. He moved back inside, avoiding the swarm of drones now converging on him. They opened fire, devastating the bedroom in seconds just as he made it into the next room.
He turned sharply and strode through his penthouse to its front door. Outside, he made his way to the elevators. Once in one, he hit the button for the top floor.
He watched as the digital counter counted up to one hundred and twenty-five. The doors slid open with a soft ding. He stepped into the dimly lit service corridor and headed for the staircase to the roof.
Once there, Brendon scanned his surroundings before moving from cover. His left arm vibrated, and he pulled back the sleeve. His console was flashing a location pin right next to him. One of Cody's caches was nearby. He looked to the right, and his eyes fell upon something. A dark shape obscured beneath black camouflage netting. That must be it. He approached and pulled away the material, revealing a sleek one-man quadcopter underneath.
It resembled a fearsome shamrock.
An armored cockpit hung below four powerful rotors tucked neatly within protective casings. It looked like the front of an indie car had been sliced off and then armed to the teeth. Angular reflective panels with matte black paint gave it a small radar cross-section. Stub wings on either side each held a rocket pod, three bombs, and twin cannon machine guns. It even had a winch.
Sliding into the cockpit felt natural.
He stowed his rifle in a purpose-built rack on the side of the hull. No room inside.
Brendon knew precisely what to do. The seat cradled him snugly. He grabbed the joystick confidently, instantly recalling how to work it for flight.
The sensation was exhilarating.
It was as if a dormant part of his brain had been awakened; muscle memory sparked connections between his thoughts and his actions. He recalled every detail about flying from past experiences and moments. His hands adjusted effortlessly to press buttons and flick switches, readying systems for takeoff without hesitation.
A digital map illuminated on one of the displays. His locator module had synced successfully with the aircraft's navigation system. It displayed Grace's position out on that island.
He was ready to get airborne.
The electric motors began powering up and the turbines started to quietly spin in a low buzz. Brendon worked fast to get through the rest of the pre-flight routine, but as he did, he sensed danger coming from his right.
Two quadcopters rose over the sides of the roof like angry hornets. Each piloted by a Sentinel and carrying a similar payload to Brendon's but with the addition of two further bots sitting on the stubs.
These bots had the look of Sentinels, but there was something more to them. Covered in a green camouflage pattern, they were covered in angular armoured plates. Matte in colour, they looked intimidating. Sensors poked out of holes in their black faceplates. Sharp edges and angular contours gave them an aggressive profile. These Sentinels were optimised for combat. Normally Sentinels had the air of an approachable policeman about them; these versions did not.
On their torsos, an impressive array of weaponry was integrated into their bodies. Two mounted cannons protruded from their shoulders while each held a big, heavy weapon that looked like some kind of energy-based pulse rifle.
Without hesitation, Brendon gathered his rifle and fired at one of the approaching craft. The bullets struck true, forcing it into evasive manoeuvres while the others followed suit. This momentary distraction bought him some time.
Brendon pivoted back to the quadcopter's controls and hurriedly began powering it up. His fingers flew across the interface as he uploaded a flight route to Grace's Island into its computer system.
The display flashed green.
Good to go.
Just as he initiated the takeoff, a loud crash echoed from behind the door that led back into the building. It burst open and more black Sentinels poured out like a relentless tide, their weapons drawn and aimed directly at him. "Come on!" Brendon growled under his breath as he forced the craft airborne.
He swung around just in time to see them open fire, blue pulse rounds peppering the ground around him as sparks erupted from the concrete debris. Brendon squeezed off a long burst from his rifle at the group while simultaneously piloting, working the controls to take off with his knees. The quadcopter's rotors spun faster now as it lifted off precariously, just barely escaping the barrage that followed.
Brendon wrestled the little plane under control as it buzzed between the skyscrapers. Its electric engines whined loudly as Brendon pushed them aggressively to evade the bursts of fire from the Sentinels he had left on the roof.
Three quadcopters now dropped in behind him and were tracking him.
One launched a rocket that streaked towards him.
He swerved sharply to the left, barely avoiding the explosion and shrapnel as the ordnance impacted into the side of a building. Without thinking, he activated his flares and chaff dispensers, scattering them behind him to confuse his attackers and disrupt any other missiles. The tight spaces between the buildings quickly filled with the smoke and metal dust from Brendon's countermeasures.
He dropped low to street level, weaving through bustling traffic as cars honked and swerved around him. Brendon's heart did not race; adrenaline did not surge. He remained calm and relaxed as he expertly manoeuvred between vehicles, the quadcopter barely inches from multiple collisions.
But the bots remained relentless.
Bursts of blue fire shot past him barely inches from his face. Close enough to feel the heat.
Brendon looked to his left and saw a black silhouette on the nearest copter, aiming his rifle at him.
It fired indiscriminately.
Pulses of plasma tearing through the air and striking nearby. To evade, Brendon turned sharply around a corner, barely avoiding contact with a bus travelling in the opposite direction.
The lead copter continued to pursue.
Pulling back hard on the control stick, the tiny aircraft climbed steeply, rising higher than the chasing quads. With no time to react, his pursuers flew past, only able to glance over their shoulders as they overshot. The street they were on too narrow to bank around or give chase.
Now almost vertical, the climb began to turn into a stall, and Brendon brought the aircraft back to level flight, now just below the tops of the buildings.
However, the respite was short-lived.
The first copter's wingman moved in behind and opened fire, its rounds striking true, causing sparks to fly from the fuselage and damaging its controls. Brendon, now feeling a tinge of anger and annoyance, pulled a grenade from his vest, leaned out of his cockpit and casually tossed it at the pursuing aircraft.
The grenade clamped to its hull with a loud clunk. The three Sentinels looked on in a state of confusion.
Then it detonated.
Metal shards flew off of it as it spiraled out of control and crashed into an adjacent building in a spectacular fireball.
Brendon's flight controls started to illuminate.
Lights started flashing, and alarms started to sound. He'd sustained damage and was losing altitude and airspeed. The first copter had slowed by now and was starting to rotate around to face him. Brendon, quickly weighing up his options, adjusted his angle of descent with gentle nudges of the control stick and slammed into the top of it, crushing it like a drink can against the street. His own craft catapulted forward from the impact. Brendon quickly released his harness and leapt out of the careening vehicle. He landed in a neat, controlled commando roll on the sidewalk of the boulevard.
Bullets and pulses whizzed past him.
Some ricocheted against nearby debris while others struck home in various places along the pile of smoldering, mangled debris. Forced into cover behind the wreckage, he was now pinned down as more copters flew overhead in tight formation.
Without hesitation, Brendon grabbed the winch cable from his decimated craft and sprang to the top of the heap of mangled metal to hook the wheel of the low-flying copter that had just strafed him. The winch cable smoked as it rapidly wound out.
Brendon leapt to safety as it reached the end and pulled taut. The whole pile of metal sprang forward, flying inches from Brendon, who stood fully upright, pressing himself against the window of an adjacent boutique. The quadcopter struggled to counter the sudden jerk. One of the stub sitting Sentinels tumbled off head first. Its electronic brains spilling all over the road. The cavorting copter then gave up the fight and cartwheeled into the tarmac nearby. Exploding in another awesome display.
The air threat subdued for now, Brendon took a beat to take in his surroundings. He was about forty meters from the entrance to the marina, and ground elements were beginning to flow into the street.
Bots on bikes and in SUVs charged at him, weaving in and out of the stranded traffic. Brendon pulled out two large smoke grenades from his vest. He calmly pulled the pin from one and hurled it to the far side of the street. Then, he did the same with the other, throwing it to the side nearer him.
Quickly, a curtain of smoke swept across the street as the sea breeze formed it into an opaque barrier. His retreat concealed as well as it could be, Brendon sprinted for the marina.
As the harbour opened up in front of him, his arm vibrated. On his console, a pin showed a location about one hundred meters to his left. Among a long quay of yachts, pleasure craft, and speed boats, there was only one that was clearly meant for him.