The cell door slammed shut behind Dan with a metallic clang. The place was cramped and smelled of sweat and mildew. Light seeped in through a small, barred window, cutting through the dimness. Dan stared at the wall, his fists clenched. Dr. Sanders had played his cards well. Accusing him of trying to kill Lauren was a stretch, but the Doctor had money, lawyers, and enough connections to make things stick. Dan had barely spoken to his court-appointed lawyer—an overworked man who seemed more interested in clearing his schedule than fighting for him. It was obvious doctor Sanders had it all wrapped up. He was done Dan tried not to believe it, but doubt gnawed at him. Lauren’s father had made it clear he didn’t want Dan around his daughter. But to go this far? It felt personal. Prison life was rough, and Dan did his best to avoid trouble. Most days, he kept his head down, only speaking when necessary. But staying out of sight didn’t stop the rumors or the knowing looks from the other

Dan’s body screamed in protest as he dragged himself through the shattered window. His palms sliced on jagged glass, knees scraping asphalt. Behind him, Felix groaned, wedged between the deflated airbag and the twisted steering column. "Felix!" Dan coughed, grabbing his friend by the collar and yanking. The smell of leaking fuel filled the air, sharp and dangerous. Riley crawled out of the backseat, clutching her ribs and wincing. Her laptop was smashed, wires and fragments trailing from her backpack. “I’m okay,” she rasped, eyes wide as she scanned the wreckage. “Dan, they’re coming.” He turned. The men moved with ruthless efficiency, dressed in tactical black, no insignias—just cold purpose. One held a compact rifle low, sweeping it across the wreck like he was clearing a room. Another moved toward Dan, his boots crunching glass underfoot. Dan barely got to his feet, shielding Felix. “We don’t have anything you want,” he shouted. “On the contrary,” the lead man replied, raising

The tunnels smelled of rust and damp concrete. Felix leaned heavily against Dan, his breath ragged from the gunshot wound in his side. Riley led the way, her flashlight cutting through the darkness as they navigated the labyrinth of forgotten maintenance shafts. "Almost there," she muttered, more to herself than to themThey reached a rusted grate tucked behind a collapsed service corridor. Riley knocked twice, paused, then knocked again—an old rhythm she had picked up from a dead forum thread months ago.There was silence.Dan adjusted his grip on Felix, whose face was pale with pain and said, “ he's not gonna shoot us on sight right? " It worked.The grate hissed open. A man in a patched jacket and rebreather mask gestured them inside. The room beyond was dimly lit, cluttered with soldered tech, cables, monitors blinking with scrambled static. One of the Collective’s hideouts.The man pulled off his mask—mid-fortie