Concrete Veins

Chapter 9: Breach Point

3:45 AM – Planning and Shadows

The room had cooled to a brittle chill by the time the first light threatened the horizon, but the air inside the safehouse remained thick with adrenaline. Dorian paced back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck as Lana and Jay worked feverishly over the map, their whispers blending with the faint hum of the city waking outside.

“We can’t just storm in blind,” Lana said firmly, tracing a route along the map’s grid with a finger. “There are three main access points, but the eastern dock entrance is the most vulnerable during the early hours—security rotations are thinner, but still lethal.”

Jay scoffed. “Thin or not, those drones have eyes everywhere. We’ll need a distraction, maybe a well-timed blackout.”

Dorian stopped pacing, folding his arms. “And how do you propose we pull that off without bringing the whole city down?”

Jay smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Leave that to me. Let’s just say I know a guy who owes me a favor—or two.”

Lana shook her head, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Just don’t burn the place down before we get inside.”

As plans solidified, Rhea sat quietly in the corner, hands folded on her lap. Her eyes were distant, haunted. Dorian watched her from across the room. “You alright?” he asked gently.

She looked up, blinking slowly. “Every time I think about going back there—inside the Archive—it’s like the walls close in. Like I’m still trapped.”

“You’re not alone,” Dorian said. “We’re all in this. Together.”

Her lips curved into a faint, grateful smile.

Jay’s distraction plan was set in motion hours later. As the city clock struck 4 AM, the power grid at the eastern dock flickered and died, plunging the streets into eerie darkness. Sirens blared, floodlights spun erratically, and the usual hum of drones was drowned out by static.

“Now!” Lana hissed.

The team slipped through the shadows like ghosts, heartbeats synchronized with their careful steps. The dock was a maze of stacked shipping containers, steel beams, and thick fog curling in from the water.

Their first obstacle appeared faster than expected—a pair of armed guards rounding a corner, flashlights sweeping the mist. Jay froze, then ducked behind a crate, signaling the others to do the same.

“Two o’clock,” he whispered, steadying his pistol.

Lana nodded, pulling a small stun device from her belt. “Let me handle this.”

With practiced precision, she tossed the device. It exploded in a silent pulse of light, sending the guards into convulsions before they crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

“Nice work,” Dorian murmured as they hurried past.

The entrance to the facility was a heavy steel door, secured by biometric locks and guarded by cameras. Lana crouched beside the keypad, pulling out a slim data spike.

“Give me a minute,” she said, fingers flying over the device.

Dorian stood watch, senses sharpened to every sound—the faint drip of water, distant mechanical hums, the faintest whisper of footsteps.

Then, a soft beep. The door hissed open.

They slipped inside.

Inside, the Archive was a sterile nightmare of steel corridors, buzzing fluorescents, and faint antiseptic scents. Pipes rattled overhead. The distant clank of machinery echoed like a heartbeat.

They moved swiftly but silently, following the blueprint Lana had memorized. Every corner held potential danger—security patrols, traps, automated sentries.

Rhea’s steps faltered as they reached a junction. “This way,” she whispered, pulling Dorian toward a narrow stairwell.

“Are you sure?” Lana asked.

She nodded. “It’s a service route. Less monitored.”

The stairwell led down into the bowels of the facility—cold, damp, and dimly lit by flickering red emergency lights. The air smelled stale, thick with chemical tangs and old machinery.

Suddenly, distant voices echoed. They froze.

“Security,” Jay hissed. “They’re coming.”

Dorian’s heart hammered. “Hide.”

They pressed against the wall as two guards passed by, oblivious to the shadows clinging near.

When the footsteps faded, they continued, deeper into the labyrinth.

At last, they reached the containment wing—rows of pods lined up like tombstones. Inside each, a figure lay suspended, pale and still.

Lana moved forward, eyes scanning the panels. “They’re stable—for now. But the control system is here.”

Dorian pointed to a console blinking softly. “Can you shut it down?”

She hesitated. “If I do, it’ll trigger an alarm. But it’s the only way to stop the soldiers from activating.”

Rhea’s voice was steady. “Do it.”

Lana’s fingers flew over the keys. The screen flickered, alarms blared.

“Time to go!” Dorian shouted.

They sprinted through the corridors, alarms echoing behind them. The facility’s automated defenses kicked in—turret drones whirring to life, laser grids activating.

Jay fired at a drone, sparks flying. “Cover me!”

The team ducked behind a support beam as Jay disabled the turret with expert shots.

Lana grabbed the data drives, stuffing them into her pack. “We have what we came for.”

They burst outside into the cool dawn air, lungs burning from the sprint. The city was waking, oblivious to the chaos beneath its streets.

Dorian looked back at the looming silhouette of the Archive, smoke rising from the facility’s emergency vents.

“We did it,” Lana said, breathless. “But this is just the beginning.”

Back at the safehouse, exhaustion settled over them like a heavy blanket. But beneath the fatigue, hope simmered.

Dorian met Rhea’s eyes. “Tomorrow, we hit Voss where it hurts.”

Her smile was small but fierce. “Let’s finish this.”