I slowly crept towards the faint voice, ensuring no echo on each step. My heart thudded like a wild animal. Knowing that I was surrounded by SCAR agents whose order was to kill on sight wasn’t something my mind could easily forget. Especially what happened the last time I encountered a SCAR agent.

  I lucked out that time. This time, luck wasn’t something I leaned on. I had to disregard it. No way I would get lucky twice in a row.

  Sydney faced her own problems. Fernando was in the east wing, waiting. Alice wasn’t going to save me from wherever she was.

  I was alone.

  No one was coming to save me.

  If I were in trouble, then sheer will and determination would have to be enough.

  The voice grew. I only heard one. Was he speaking to himself? Was there an unresponsive SCAR agent? Was he talking to an unconscious Roger?

  Thoughts streamed into my head. I had no choice but to shake them off. There was no time for assumptions.

  As I crept my way closer to the voice, something pressed against my back. I froze, not looking back.

  I knew this feeling. I never felt this, but I knew what it was.

  It was a barrel of a gun.

  “You’re not supposed to be here,” a voice said. Surprisingly, it wasn’t robotic or muffled.

  Without saying anything, I slowly raised my hand to show I carried nothing. My heart pounded even more.

  The barrel no longer pressed against my back. “Turn around.” He said.

  I followed directions and did what he told me to do. He analyzed me, glancing his eyes from head to toe, his beard spiked through his face with a little crumb of leftovers stuck.

  “Follow me. I don’t want to disturb the boss.”

  I hesitated, but listened.

  He led me down a narrow corridor. The farther we went, the quieter the warehouse became. No echoes, no wind. Just footsteps.

  He pushed open a metal door.

  Inside, the room was unfinished like the rest of the site, but cleaner and brighter. Portable lights were mounted along the walls. A few crates were stacked in the corners, and a folding table sat off to the side with half-empty cups and a deck of cards scattered across it.

  Three people were already inside.

  They looked up when I entered.

  One leaned back against a crate, arms crossed, helmet off. Another sat on the table, boots dangling, slowly rolling a coin across their knuckles. The third stood near the wall, stretching his neck like he was warming up before a workout.

  They were all SCAR, their suits on the side.

  However, they seemed relaxed.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” the one on the table said, grinning. “You actually caught something.”

  The man behind me shut the door and finally lowered his weapon. “Didn’t want to bother Ridley,” he said casually. “Figured we could handle this.”

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  I kept my face neutral, but my heart spiked. These people didn’t seem like basic patrol units. Their stances were too confident. These were the kind of people who didn’t need orders to know what to do.

  The one stretching glanced at me. “She doesn’t look like much.”

  The one with the coin shrugged. “Neither do half the people who put others in the ground.”

  They all laughed.

  The man who brought me in tilted his head toward me. “You know how boring guard duty gets. Figured I’d make my time worth something.”

  I exhaled slowly through my nose. “What do you want?” I asked.

  Silence lingered after my words.

  The one leaning against the crate pushed off and rolled his shoulders. “A fight.”

  “No weapons,” the coin-flipper added. He flicked the coin into his pocket. “Boss doesn’t like blood on the floor unless he asks for it.”

  The door behind me clicked, presumably locked.

  I flexed my fingers, feeling the familiar shivers under my skin.

  Four bored SCAR agents without armor.

  They smiled as though they found a new toy.

  The man who brought me in gestured toward the open space in the center of the room. “Try not to scream. The walls are thin.”

  I stepped forward. I had no other choice but to entertain them. “Who’s first?”

  The coin-flipper spoke. “Greg, you caught her, you start the honors.”

  He smiled back at the coin-flipper. “It’ll be my pleasure.” He turned to me with confidence, standing tall, grinning. “You know how to fight?”

  I matched his confidence. “Only one way to find out.”

  He scoffed, keeping his grin. He turned to his friends and gestured with his finger at me. Then, as soon as he turned back, he shifted his weight and threw a punch aimed at my face.

  I dodged. Using his forward momentum, I grabbed the hair on the back of his head and used my front leg to trip and drag him to the ground. I quickly stomped on the back of his head, breaking his nose in the process. He groaned on the ground, rolled on his side, holding his face. I left no room for mercy and kicked his defenseless face, and stomped on him again.

  His friends went silent in disbelief. They looked blood-hungry for revenge for their fallen, broken friend.

  The one leaning against the crate pushed himself off and rolled his shoulders. “You're gonna pay for that. You fucking bitch!”

  He charged in with the intent to tackle. I maneuvered away. As he flew past, I spun and caught his wrist and used his own momentum to slam him against the wall. The man let out a grunt of pain, sinking to his knees. It’s like these people didn’t learn.

  The coin-flipper and the one stretching were the remaining two agents. The two exchanged looks that were more serious than playful.

  “Don’t get so cocky.” The flipper said.

  The one who was stretching didn’t speak. He dropped into a low stance that looked a tad professional. All previous signs of boredom disappeared. No more fun and games. Everything was serious.

  The coin-flipper casually strolled from side to side while the other pushed forward, closing the gap between him and me.

  The stretcher lunged first with a quick, low kick against my knee. I pulled back, letting the kick get all the air. Before his foot could touch the ground, I stepped in and used the short distance to drive an elbow into his ribs. He wheezed. I didn’t give him a chance to recover and followed up with a quick strike to the jaw. He stumbled back, shaking his head.

  The coin-flopper saw an opening and rushed in from behind, grabbing me from behind. He used his body weight to throw me to the ground. I quickly rolled away before his stomp could touch my head. He missed his strike while I recovered. I used his inexperience to my advantage. Like the first guy, when he threw a punch, I dodged and grabbed his arm. But instead of pinning him to the ground, I sent him sprawling over the folding table. Cups, cards, and the table itself crashed into the floor. The sound echoed in the unfinished room.

  The man who brought me in, Greg, still clutched his face, trying to push himself up. I stomped on his back, making him fight for breath.

  I looked around and wiped my hands on my pants. Their ego and inexperience brought them to their fatal defeat.

  Noticing their inexperience in fighting, I wondered whether SCAR trained their human agents in hand-to-hand combat. They were way too easy to take down. In fact, I had more challenging times with bandits back in the outside world than with these people.

  Regardless, I was glad that this didn’t drag on for long.

  I patted my waist. I didn’t bring any weapons with me. I came here with the intent to save, not to kill. Anyone who stood in my way would not die, but would be injured. Which was why I ignored the gun on the ground and unlocked the door to exit the room.

  I wasted precious time, and I couldn’t let any more interference occur.

  But that hope didn’t last for long.