Concrete Veins

Chapter 8: Lines in the Dark

1:10 AM – Dorian’s Hideout, East Dockside

The sirens’ distant wail was swallowed by the thick concrete walls of the safehouse, but their urgency clung to the stale air inside like a thick fog. The dim neon lamp overhead flickered unevenly, casting erratic shadows that danced on peeling paint and scarred metal surfaces. Outside, the city breathed with a restless, dangerous rhythm — a pulse of unrest, secrecy, and shadows moving just beyond sight.

Dorian sat at the battered metal table, fingers tracing the folded map Lana had produced moments earlier. His dark eyes reflected a storm of frustration and resolve. Beside him, Rhea leaned back against the cracked wall, her gaze distant but sharp, the small cut on her forearm wrapped tightly by Jay’s rough hands.

“So,” Dorian began, voice low and steady, “you say the Archive’s building a biological weapon — programmable soldiers like Rhea and the others. What exactly are we dealing with?”

Lana exhaled slowly, folding her arms as her sharp eyes flicked over the map’s worn creases, tracing routes and guarded facilities. “It’s worse than anything you’ve seen before,” she said, her voice clipped but heavy with warning. “Legacy Protocol’s final project isn’t just about control anymore. It’s about creating an army that can be switched on and off — manipulated remotely. No loyalty. No conscience. Just pure obedience.”

Jay, sprawled across the threadbare couch, let out a low whistle. “Remote-controlled zombies? Sounds like a bad sci-fi flick, man.”

Rhea’s hands trembled as she clasped her knees, eyes narrowing. “They’re playing with lives. Not machines.”

Dorian’s jaw clenched. “So Voss wants to use this army to tighten his grip on the city.”

Lana’s nod was slow but certain. “Exactly. And he’s not stopping at control. The Archive’s been testing on the streets — people disappearing, then showing up as those things you fought tonight. It’s a chain reaction waiting to ignite.”

The silence between them was thick, filled with the weight of unspoken fears. Then, a sudden clatter at the door shattered the fragile stillness. Jay sprang to his feet, pistol drawn, eyes sharp in the dim light.

The door creaked open just enough to reveal a wiry young man, soaked from the drizzle outside, his cheeks flushed from the cold. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “Easy, easy,” he said, voice hoarse. “I’m Leo — contact from the East Side. I have something you need to see.”

Dorian’s gaze flickered between the newcomer and Lana, weighing trust like a stone in his gut. Finally, he gestured him in.

Leo stepped inside, shedding a drenched jacket to reveal a lean frame, eyes sharp beneath dark curls. Without ceremony, he dropped a small data drive onto the table. “This is footage from last night near the industrial docks. Shows the Archive testing a new batch of ‘soldiers.’ I think it might give us an edge.”

Lana’s eyes narrowed, taking the drive with a steady hand. “Good. Because if we want to stop Voss, we need to strike before he goes public with this weapon.”

Jay loaded his pistol with a grin. “Well, looks like our cozy little hideout just turned into a war room.”

The four of them gathered around the flickering laptop screen as Lana connected the drive. Static burst through the speakers, then shifted into grainy, night-vision footage. A harsh fluorescent light flickered over a wide underground chamber cluttered with steel tables and tangled wires. Shadowy figures in hazmat suits moved methodically, their faces obscured behind protective masks.

“Look at this,” Lana whispered, pausing the video on a rack lined with pods—each containing a pale figure slumped inside, hooked up to tubes and monitors.

Dorian’s breath caught. “Those are people.”

Rhea’s eyes flared. “Like me. Like the others.”

“Exactly,” Lana said. “They’re manufacturing these ‘soldiers’ en masse. Not just fighters, but programmable. They’re stripping away their autonomy.”

Jay frowned, rubbing his temple. “And they want to unleash this nightmare on the city.”

“It’s more than control,” Lana said, voice cold. “It’s domination. Voss wants the entire population under his thumb — and if you resist, you become the enemy. These soldiers are designed to hunt you down, mindless but deadly.”

Dorian slammed his fist on the table. “We can’t let that happen.”

Lana’s eyes locked on his, fierce. “Then we need to hit them where it hurts — the facility itself.”

Rhea shifted uncomfortably. “It’s heavily guarded, right?”

Lana nodded. “Armed security, surveillance drones, automated defenses — the works. Getting in will require more than just brute force.”

Jay grinned, adjusting his pistol. “I know a guy with explosives. Might make a nice distraction.”

The room hummed with tension and tentative hope.

Hours slipped by as they mapped routes, rehearsed plans, and fortified their resolve. Jay cracked jokes about everything from their shabby hideout to how Dorian never smiled anymore, drawing reluctant smiles from even Rhea. Despite the looming danger, those brief moments of levity reminded them they were still human — flawed, fragile, and fiercely alive.

At some point, Dorian found himself alone with Rhea, standing by the cracked window that overlooked the restless city below. Rain streaked the glass, blurring neon lights into smeared colors.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said softly. “You don’t have to be their weapon.”

She turned, blue eyes glistening. “I’m already part of it. But maybe... maybe I can be something else, too.”

Dorian nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “We’ll find a way out. Together.”

Outside, the city’s heartbeat quickened — sirens, footsteps, whispered deals in shadowed corners. Somewhere in the night, Voss was making moves that could drown them all.

But in that cramped, battered safehouse, four unlikely allies prepared to fight the rising tide — one small flicker of light pushing back the darkness.