Chapter 12
Author: ARGA27
last update2026-09-10 11:02:41

"I’m telling you, Jaka, you fire that gas-choked convection beast up without a baffle, and every tactical patrol from the Upper Concourse to the central transit hub is going to smell roasting garlic and trace our exact coordinates," Kanya warned, her tactical boots hitting the concrete platform with sharp, authoritative snaps as she marched straight toward the massive, commercial-grade oven. She jabbed a gloved finger at the heavy steel exhaust pipe running upward into the ceiling’s rusted grat
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  • chapter 33

    "Intelligence doesn't season a pot of broth," Jaka muttered, wiping a speck of flour from his apron as he stepped between Kanya and the security bulkhead. "And right now, my pantry is sitting at absolute zero on coarse salt. The preserved pork is sweating in the humidity, and if I don't cure it by tonight, we’ll be feeding the rats instead of the refugees."Kanya kept her sidearm raised, her cold, calculating eyes never leaving the shadowy outline of Captain Miller through the iron mesh. "You want to talk about salt while an extermination order is being drafted three levels above us?""I want to talk about salt because dead men don't need seasoning," Jaka replied sharply, his expression hardening. "Miller is your problem to sort out as a double agent. Feed him false deployment schedules, feed him garbage, feed him to the rats for all I care. But if the meat spoils because we’re out of sodium chloride, our entire supply chain collapses before the Heights even l

  • chapter 32

    "An exit strategy is just a trap with better branding," Jaka said, his voice flat as he stepped closer to the perimeter bulkhead. "Why should we trust a man whose entire division is currently sharpening their bayonets for our throats?""Because my division is starving," Miller shot back from the dark corridor beyond the iron bars, his voice tight with desperation. "The supply chains to the Heights collapsed three days ago. The commanders are eating protein paste while the rank-and-file chew on boot leather. If I bring back fake manifests, they’ll execute me for treason. If I bring back real ones, you buy yourselves a week to fortify. Use me, Kanya. That’s an order."Kanya didn't lower her weapon. Her eyes locked onto the shadowy silhouette visible through the mesh of the gate. "You're out of uniform, Miller. And you're out of rank. You don't give orders down here.""I'm giving you intelligence," Miller growled, pressing his palm flat against the ruste

  • chapter 31

    "A secure drive," Kanya repeated, her voice dropping into a flat, dangerous register that made the ambient hum of the subway station seem to vanish entirely. "You expect me to believe the Ninth Recon Division is handing out deployment manifests like pamphlets at a market stall?""I expect you to look at the blinking amber light on the perimeter sensor and realize I've been standing out in this damp, radioactive corridor for ten minutes waiting to be shot," Miller snapped back, his voice straining through the iron mesh of the security gate. "The commanders aren't playing tactical games anymore, Kanya. They’ve written off the lower sectors as a complete loss. The clearance sweep isn't a rumor. It’s an extermination order."Jaka stepped out from the shadow of the prep counter, a heavy steel cleaver resting casually against his thigh. His eyes flicked from Kanya’s rigid posture to the reinforced iron bars of the bulkhead. "An extermination order that comes with a

  • chapter 30

    "Open the gate, Kanya. You know me," a muffled voice rasped through the iron bars of the perimeter bulkhead. "We were running sector sweeps together before the command structure went up in smoke. I don't want trouble. I want a deal."Kanya didn't move an inch. Her boots remained locked to the cracked concrete tiles, her weight balanced evenly, and her right hand stayed clamped firmly over the grip of her sidearm. "Names don't carry weight down here anymore, ghost. State your designation and your primary objective before I give you a permanent discharge through your collarbone.""It's Miller," the voice replied, sounding strained, the rough edge of exhaustion bleeding through the hardened military cadence. "Captain Miller. Ninth Recon Division. And my objective is simple: survival. The commanders up in the Heights are drafting a total clearance sweep of the entire subterranean transit line. I brought the deployment manifests on a secure drive. All I'm asking for in exchange is safe pas

  • chapter 29

    The heavy iron grate at the perimeter check-point rattled once, twice, and then a third time with a deliberate, rhythmic metallic cadence that cut through the low hum of the station's ventilation unit.Jaka paused mid-stride, a cleaver hovering a mere inch above a block of hard-cured root vegetables, his eyes darting instantly toward the dimly lit mouth of the auxiliary service tunnel. "That’s not the Rust-Sider signal," he muttered, the dry rasp of his voice carrying clearly across the quiet platform. "Mara’s boys always strike the steel twice. Fast. Never three times."Kanya didn't answer right away. She was already on her feet, the tactical vest she had spent the entire previous evening patching rustling softly as she shifted her weight. Her hand dropped instinctively to the grip of her sidearm, her thumb flicking the safety catch with a faint, reassuring click. Her eyes were hard, narrowed down into analytical slits as she stared into the impenetrable shadows beyond the heavy stee

  • chapter 28

    The rhythmic clack-clack of a cleaning rod sliding down a steel barrel echoed through the damp concrete alcove, cutting cleanly through the steady, subterranean hum of the station’s filtration units. Kanya didn’t look up from her lap. Her fingers, calloused and stained with faint traces of carbon powder, worked with mechanical, hyper-focused precision. She pulled a flannel patch through the breach, inspected it under the dim, flickering amber glow of an overhead work lamp, and tossed it into a small metal tin already half-filled with grimy residue.Across the cramped, makeshift workbench, illuminated by the same harsh bulb, Jaka stood with his weight balanced evenly on the balls of his feet. He held a high-carbon utility knife pinched delicately between thumb and forefinger, drawing the blade across a flattened Japanese whetstone at a precise twenty-degree angle. Hiss-shhh. Hiss-shhh. The dry, abrasive rasp of steel on grit filled the quiet space between them, a familiar cadence born

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