Flashback

  We’d never hit the precinct before.

  Four years into this nightmare and somehow, that old stone building east of the elevated tracks was still standing. Not scavenged. Not burned. Not claimed.

  It should’ve been a red flag.

  But Halcyon said it was worth the risk.

  And for once, I agreed.

  It was rare for me to feel anything like hope by this point. Rarer still to act on it. But this loop… this time felt different.

  We were gathering near Eden’s north gate under cover of night. Moonlight diffused through ash-choked clouds. Cold bit through the seams of our jackets, and breath fogged in the dark.

  Mark was crouched near a crate, sharpening the edge of his axe with steady hands. His sleeves were rolled up, his grin cocky.

  “Think they left any coffee in the breakroom?” he asked.

  “If they did, it’s older than Ferris’s hairline.”

  Ferris—towering, bald, and built like a bear trap—glared from across the yard.

  “I swear to God, if you keep talking about my damn head—”

  I didn’t turn. “Didn’t say anything about your head.”

  “You implied it.”

  Mark snorted. “He’s sensitive.”

  “I’m sensitive to bullshit, is what I am.”

  “That explains your entire personality,” I muttered.

  Ferris stomped over, slamming his sledgehammer onto his shoulder. “One of these days, Rex—”

  “You’ll finally grow hair?” I offered.

  Mark cracked up. “He’s gonna kill you in your sleep.”

  “That’s the plan,” Ferris muttered.

  We bantered because it took the edge off. Even Ferris knew that. He liked me, in his own way. He just hadn’t admitted it yet.

  Then Tanner showed up.

  The mood shifted the second he stepped into the light. Lean, focused, machetes strapped across his back like twin fangs. He didn’t joke. Didn’t smile. Just gave me a curt nod and handed me a folded map.

  “Vent shaft on the third floor is viable. Rear alley’s your entry. No patrols spotted nearby. Zionite activity reported westward, but nothing confirmed here.”

  I nodded, unfolding the map. Halcyon’s handwriting marked out every corner of the station—entry routes, fallback zones, kill corridors. It was a good plan. Solid.

  Too solid.

  But I didn’t question it.

  Tanner remained outside for overwatch. He’d circle the perimeter, cover our exit. That was the deal.

  We moved fast and quiet. The group: me, Mark, Ferris, Tanner on overwatch, Jeva the scout with her collapsible spear, and Briggs with his trench knife and quick hands. Guns were holstered. Steel stayed out.

  Five clicks through dead streets. The city slept like a carcass, bones jutting from blacktop. When demons appeared—three of them, twisted and fast—we handled it clean.

  Jeva speared the first through the chest. Ferris crushed the second with one brutal swing. The third lunged for Mark, but my katana took its head off in a single motion. Clean. Efficient.

  We reached the precinct in twenty minutes.

  It loomed like a monolith. Untouched. Sealed.

  Too quiet.

  And now we knew why.

  Inside, the building was crawling.

  Demons nested in the upper levels. We breached through the shaft—just as Halcyon planned—and found ourselves knee-deep in rot, bile, and snarling things with too many teeth.

  We fought room to room.

  Briggs took a claw across the ribs. Jeva broke her wrist bashing one into a wall. Ferris bled from his shoulder. I racked up bodies in silence.

  But we cleared it.

  All of it.

  We made it to the armory, breathless and aching, and what we found nearly stunned me.

  Ammo. Cases of it. Locked crates. Sealed mags. Ballistic vests in good shape. Handguns, carbines, even two shotguns that still cycled clean.

  It was real.

  Mark stepped beside me, breathing hard. “Holy shit.”

  I nodded. “Halcyon was right.”

  “You just said that out loud,” he smirked. “You okay?”

  “Shut up.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “You’re smiling again.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  We packed fast. Rucksacks filled. Inventory sorted. No sign of Zionites. No alarms. Not even movement outside.

  It felt like a win.

  It was supposed to be.

  Then the gunfire started.

  Distant. Controlled bursts.

  Not demons.

  I reached for my radio. “Tanner, report.”

  Nothing.

  “Tanner, this is Rex. Do you copy?”

  Silence.

  I glanced at the others. Mark frowned. Ferris gripped his hammer tighter.

  “He was outside,” I muttered. “Guard duty.”

  We made for the north exit—just like the plan.

  But the moment we stepped into the alley, the trap snapped shut.

  Gunfire erupted from both sides.

  Briggs dropped instantly—headshot, clean. Jeva turned to retreat and took a round in the back. Her bag tumbled to the ground.

  Zionites.

  Red cloth. Silver suns.

  I saw their insignia clear as the muzzle flash.

  “They waited,” I growled. “They fucking waited.”

  Stolen story; please report.

  Ferris dragged Jeva’s body. Mark covered our flank. I led the charge back through the station, down into the emergency stairwell.

  South gate.

  We had to take the long way out.

  But the south alley was flooded with demons—drawn by the noise and blood.

  We pushed through them, bleeding and half-dead.

  Ferris lost his hammer. Mark limped. I got clawed across the ribs. But we didn’t stop.

  We broke through. Barely.

  By the time the gates of Eden closed behind us, we were missing two.

  And the Zionites?

  They got what they came for.

  Briggs’s bag. Jeva’s, too.

  All they had to do was wait.

  Later, I sat on the roof of the infirmary.

  Bandaged. Bitter. Bruised.

  I couldn’t sleep.

  I kept staring at the rooftops beyond Eden’s wall, at the alley where Tanner was supposed to be. At the place we’d trusted.

  This was the first time I’d tried that raid.

  First time I thought maybe, just maybe, we could pull it off.

  But someone had known our plan.

  And I couldn’t shake the thought that we hadn’t just been unlucky.

  We’d been ratted out.

  _______

  My boots hit the dirt harder than they should.

  Same place. Same mission.

  Different loop.

  The buildings around us are nothing but black silhouettes against a bruised sky. The sun hasn’t risen yet, but there’s enough light to see the cracks in the road and the ash clinging to the corners of Eden’s outer walls.

  We’re jogging.

  Should be running—but Luna’s still hurt. And no one says it, but we’re pacing ourselves for her.

  I glance to my side.

  She keeps up, jaw set, breath even, machete strapped to her back. Her arm’s still bound tight, but she’s hiding the limp well. She’s strong. Proud. Charismatic enough to keep people calm when everything else is burning. She shouldn’t be here.

  But she is.

  Ferris is out front, setting the pace like a pissed-off rhino. His hammer is slung over one shoulder, his bald head glinting in the low light.

  Behind me, Mark mutters something under his breath.

  I catch only part of it. Something about déjà vu.

  Yeah.

  Tell me about it.

  Jeva and Briggs aren’t here this time.

  They’re long dead. Or still running around the city. Or maybe even holed up somewhere in Eden doing supply runs or handing out meds. Honestly, I don’t know.

  And I don’t care.

  Tanner?

  That bastard can go to hell.

  He was on guard duty that night. Said he’d cover the perimeter. Said we’d be fine.

  He didn’t say much else after that.

  Not to me, anyway.

  Ahead of us, Ferris grunts. “Keep it tight. No heroics.”

  “Too late,” I mutter.

  Mark hears me and snorts.

  I pull my scarf up over my mouth, eyes scanning rooftops and alleys.

  This time, we know the precinct is dangerous. Halcyon said the building's empty now, that the Zionites have pulled back from this side of the city. Said our intel was solid.

  But I’ve heard that before.

  I grip my katana tighter. Its weight is familiar. Comforting.

  It hasn’t failed me yet.

  Not in any loop.

  Not in any death.

  I look at Luna again. She meets my eyes, just for a second. There’s no warmth in it—but there’s understanding.

  She knows I’ve got blood in my past.

  She just doesn’t know how much.

  I keep moving.

  And in the back of my mind, I wonder—

  Are we walking into another trap?

  Or is this the loop where things finally go right?

  Either way…

  I’m ready to bleed for it.

  _______

  The armory door swings open with a slow, metallic groan.

  Same room.

  Same cold concrete walls. Same cracked security cameras. Same flickering lights, threatening to die.

  And inside—stacks.

  Ammo. Rifles. Mags. Medkits. Vests. Everything.

  Even more than last time.

  Wren steps past me first, giving a low whistle. “Alright… now that’s a sight.”

  Ferris shoulders into the room and immediately cracks open a box of rounds. “Still sealed. Holy shit.”

  Mark grabs a vest, turning it over. “Clean. Not even dust.”

  One of the scouts lets out a half-laugh. “We should raid precincts more often.”

  Luna checks the corners, then the walls, before easing up. Even she looks impressed. “We pack what we can, now.”

  They get to work. Hands moving fast. The mood shifts—lighter, excited. A little victory.

  Everyone except me.

  I stay by the door. Katana out. Watching the hallway. The cold in my chest hasn’t gone anywhere.

  Wren leans against the frame beside me. “You’re not joining the celebration?”

  “We’re still in Zionite territory,” I say.

  She frowns. “You think it’s bait?”

  “I think it’s too easy.”

  Ferris hears me. “Don’t start.”

  “Just enjoy it for five minutes, man,” Mark adds. “We actually pulled something off.”

  I don’t turn. “We didn’t pull anything off. We walked into something they let us have.”

  They grumble, but no one argues.

  Because I’m right.

  We’re nearly packed when the first explosion hits.

  BOOM.

  The floor lurches.

  Lights cut out.

  A second one rips through the side hall, closer this time.

  Shelves crash. Dust pours from the ceiling.

  “MOVE!” I shout.

  The team scrambles. Wren grabs her knives. Mark pulls Luna behind a pillar.

  “East stairwell’s gone!” a scout yells. “They’re breaching!”

  Ferris kicks open a side door—and fire spills through the frame.

  “We’re boxed!” he snarls.

  “Try the west!” Luna shouts.

  We run.

  But the hall ends in rubble. Smoke pours in through broken vents.

  I grab a scout and shove her toward cover. “Where’s our exit?!”

  “They’re already on the back lot!” she yells. “Look!”

  We huddle behind the reinforced door. I slide open a rusted peep window—

  Outside.

  Twenty or thirty of them.

  Zionites.

  Armored. Armed. Calm. No panic. They’ve done this before.

  They’re not storming.

  They’re surrounding.

  Waiting.

  I see more movement—on the rooftops, the alley, even across the street.

  They’re dug in.

  Wren appears beside me, breathing hard. “We’re pinned.”

  “Correction,” I say. “We’re surrounded.”

  There’s silence.

  Then Mark speaks. “...They want us to run.”

  One of the scouts points toward a break in the line. “There. South gate. It’s open.”

  I look.

  He’s right.

  No guards. No fire. Just a clean, clear exit.

  Too clean.

  “That’s a funnel,” I say. “They’re herding us.”

  “So what do we do?” Ferris growls. “Just sit here?”

  “Damn right we do,” I snap. “They want panic. They want us to scatter.”

  “You taking point now?” a scout mutters. “I thought Luna was leading this.”

  “She is,” Luna says without missing a beat. “But I want to hear what he’s thinking.”

  They all turn to me.

  I take a breath.

  Calm.

  Cold.

  Like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

  Because I have.

  “We lock down. We hold the building until they try to breach.”

  “And then what?” Wren asks.

  “We give them a reason to regret it.”

  Mark raises an eyebrow. “You got a plan?”

  I nod. “We rig the precinct. Multiple points. Doors, corners, stairwells.”

  Ferris leans forward. “Explosives?”

  “Diversions.”

  Mark squints. “And we sneak out the back?”

  “No,” I say. “We go out the front.”

  Everyone blinks.

  “The front is the most guarded side,” a scout says flatly.

  “Exactly.”

  They stare.

  Wren tilts her head. “You want to escape through the wall of guns.”

  “No one expects that,” I say. “They’ll pull back from other posts to watch the traps. We make them panic. Then push straight through the last place they’d expect us to try.”

  Luna’s quiet. Processing.

  Mark frowns. “Wait—explosives? How do you even know how to—”

  “Don’t ask,” I cut him off.

  He doesn’t.

  I crouch beside the supply bag, pulling out what we need.

  Wires. Powder. Fuel from the storage tanks. Stripped batteries.

  Wren crouches beside me, watching without speaking.

  “Everyone split,” I say. “Set charges. Two on the east side, one in the west stairwell, one near the loading dock. Small blasts. Scare them. We don’t collapse the building—just make noise.”

  “What about you?” Ferris asks.

  “I’ll prep the breach.”

  They move.

  Luna pauses beside me. “You’ve done this before?”

  I don’t answer.

  She doesn’t ask again.

  She just nods, and walks away.

  I crouch lower, listening to the static on the emergency channel.

  And wait.

  Because we’re not breaking.

  Not here.

  Not yet.