2025-07-14 10:00:32Gunfire cracked like dry branches in a storm.The first man through the vault door didn’t even scream - Ares’s shot took him clean in the chest, dropping him over the threshold.Mira squeezed off two quick rounds, the muzzle flash painting her face in violent strobe.Another guard staggered back into the hall, dragging a smear of red along the concrete.“Reload!” Mira barked, voice sharp over the roar.Ares ejected his empty mag, fingers working by muscle memory.He could hear boots pounding on metal walkways outside the vault.They’d come heavy - Petrov never underestimated twice.Ares glanced at Mira.Her split lip bled again, teeth bright against the shadow.She spat pink onto the floor, eyes fixed on the vault door.“We hold here?”
“Too tight,” Ares growled.He shoved the fireproof case deeper into his pack, swung it onto his back.“They’ll box us in.We take the catwalks.Get height.”
Mira’s mouth curled into something feral.She snapped the slide on her pistol, grabbed two loose mags from a dead guard’s vest.“Up it is.”
They moved fast.Over the dead, through the echo of spent brass.Ares led her out a side door just as another volley of gunfire rattled the vault’s frame.Bullets sparked off rusted machinery as they ducked behind an old loom.Oil dripped from somewhere above, mixing with blood and rain tracked from their boots.Up ahead, a metal ladder clung to the brick wall like a spine.Ares boosted Mira first, his hands shoving her higher until she grabbed the rungs.He followed, boots thumping the rungs in time with his heartbeat.Below, voices barked orders - Petrov’s men realized the vault was empty of its real treasure.Mira reached the catwalk first, swinging herself over.She dropped to a crouch, pistol braced.Ares climbed up behind her, rifle stolen off a guard slung over his shoulder.He checked the magazine: half full.Enough for now.Through broken windows in the roof, rain blew in sideways.Thunder rolled so close it felt like the old mill might shake itself apart.Mira’s hair stuck to her cheek, her bruised eye swollen near shut.But her grin stayed razor sharp.“Reminds you of the docks in Rostov, huh?”
Ares gave a low grunt - half laugh, half growl.“We didn’t climb that time.We swam through shit water and rats.”
“And you complained the whole time.”
A burst of gunfire chewed the railing near Mira’s knee.Sparks danced.She fired back, popping off three shots that found a shape moving in the gloom below.The shape crumpled.The echo of the shot rolled away.Ares led them deeper into the mill’s rusted skeleton.The catwalks rattled under their boots, decades of neglect protesting every step.Below, flashlights danced - Petrov’s men sweeping the looms, the offices, hunting ghosts in the rain.At the far end of the mill, a row of old office windows looked out over a loading bay.Ares kicked out a loose pane, shards vanishing into the dark below.He peered through.Trucks.At least two - one idling under a flickering light, driver nowhere in sight.Mira squeezed in beside him, breath warm on his neck.“You thinking wheels?”
Ares nodded once.“If they block the front, we take the back.Fast.”
A shout below pulled their eyes down - three men moving toward the stairs that led to the catwalks.One pointed up, yelling something over the storm.Gun barrels rose.Mira fired first.One down.Ares’s stolen rifle barked - another fell, shot spun him into the railing.The third fired wildly.Bullets sparked off rust and steel.Mira ducked, cursing.Ares rose into the sight, squeezed.The last man folded, legs drumming the stairs as he tumbled back down.Silence, for a heartbeat.Then new boots clattered in the dark.Always more.Ares grabbed Mira’s arm, pulled her back from the window frame.They moved again, boots slamming metal grates.The old catwalk shuddered under their weight.Somewhere below, more voices rose - confused, angry, afraid.They dropped down a maintenance ladder, landing hard on the concrete floor near the loading bay doors.Ares didn’t pause.He slammed his shoulder into the rusted release bar - old hinges screamed.A shaft of cold rain and streetlight poured in.Outside, the idling truck hissed steam from its exhaust.Mira darted forward, boots skidding through puddles.Ares covered her, rifle sweeping the shadows.No shout.No muzzle flash.Just the wind.Mira yanked the cab door open - empty.Keys dangled from the ignition.She laughed, breathless, and shot Ares a look that almost made the night feel normal.“Lucky night.”
Ares grunted.“Luck’s for people who stay home.”
They climbed in - Mira behind the wheel this time.The seat was too big for her narrow frame, but her hands moved like they’d done this a thousand times.She jammed the truck into gear.Tires squealed on wet concrete.Gunfire cracked behind them - Petrov’s men spilling out from the mill’s side door.Bullets sparked off the truck’s rear gate.Mira slammed the pedal, engine growling under her boots.Ares twisted in the passenger seat, rifle braced on the window frame.He fired back in short, controlled bursts.A shape fell.Another dove behind a crate.Thunder swallowed the last shots as the truck roared into the city’s edge, past fences that once kept honest men out and dirty money in.They didn’t speak for a mile.Rain drummed the windshield.Mira’s breath fogged the glass.She cracked the window, letting cold air slap her awake.Ares reloaded, spent mags rattling in the glove box.At a red light, she glanced sideways.“You got enough in that pack to gut him?”
Ares didn’t look at her.He stared through the windshield like he could already see Petrov’s face when the knife slipped in.“More than enough.Enough to drown the whole council with him.”
Mira snorted, but her voice came soft.“Gonna feel like justice?”
Ares finally turned.His eyes were calm - too calm.“No.Nothing about this is justice.It’s just the debt coming due.”
The light turned green.Mira punched the gas.The city swallowed them - neon bleeding through mist and storm.Behind them, the textile mill sagged deeper into the dark, another rotting tooth ripped from Petrov’s rotten grin.They didn’t know where they’d sleep.Didn’t care.Somewhere ahead, a name waited.Petrov, in silk sheets, thinking old money and old ghosts would save him.Ares knew better.Blood never forgets.Beside him, Mira lit another cigarette, the flame fighting the wind.She inhaled deep, coughed, then laughed through the smoke.“Next stop?”
Ares checked the drive in his pocket, thumb tracing cold metal.“Next stop - Petrov’s front door.”
Mira flicked ash out the window.“Good.I’m tired of creeping around dead factories.”
Ares watched the city roll by, rain washing old sins into new rivers.His scars itched under the fresh blood on his knuckles.There was no way back.Not for him.Not for her.The night closed in.And the storm followed.
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ASH IN THE VEINS
The steel slab still stood at the western ridgeline when Ares returned at midday. The sun was higher now, carving the message deeper into the scorched metal with every flicker of heat. He didn’t touch it. Didn’t have to. The words were burned behind his eyes.We are not your past. We are your consequence.He stood there a moment longer, wind tugging at the collar of his coat, the dry scent of dust and burnt wire rising from the earth. Reyes approached from behind, silent, until the crunch of his boots gave him away.“They’re not just warning us,” he said. “They’re staging something. Making a show of memory.”Ares nodded slowly. “And calling it justice.”Reyes looked out toward the hills. “You think it’s just Vale?”“No.” Ares didn’t blink. “I think it’s what Vale left behind. A creed. A code. A wound still bleeding after all this time.”Reyes crossed his arms. “I’ve buried too many men to be haunted by ghosts.”Ares looked at him. “Then start digging again. Because this war... it didn
THOSE WHO REMEMBER
Because now, they had something worth defending.And for Ares Kai - the man who once lived only to destroy - that made him more dangerous than ever.The rooftop wind brushed over him, sharp with the chill of dusk but filled with the scent of food cooking in shared courtyards and the murmur of distant laughter. It was the kind of night that made a man forget, if only for a moment, how much blood had stained his past.But forgetting wasn’t an option.Mira stood at his side in silence. Her hand had long since slipped from his, but her presence hadn’t. She leaned against the railing, watching the city breathe. Her eyes were calm, but her voice, when it came, held a quiet weight.“Do you think they’ll come here? The ones watching?”He didn’t answer right away.Then, “Not yet. But they’ve taken notice.”She tilted her head. “Of you?”“No,” he said. “Of us.”Mira glanced back at the glowing blocks of Lin City - at the rebuilt shelters, the lights flickering in the old Assembly Hall, the hum
THE WEIGHT OF STILLNESS
Ares didn’t move.He sat by Elijah’s bedside long after the boy had turned back into sleep, his small hands tucked beneath his cheek, his breaths soft and untroubled. The notebook lay closed beside them - those sketches still etched into Ares’ mind.That last drawing... the three of them standing beneath a sun not yet drawn. No smoke. No sirens. No shadows clawing at the edge of their peace. Just presence.Ares leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, his head buried in his hands. His back ached from old wounds. His fingers were calloused from war. But none of that compared to the pressure behind his ribs now - the unfamiliar weight of not having to fight.Outside, the windowpane rattled gently in the breeze. There was no storm tonight. No cries. No coded transmissions. Just wind brushing across the roof and the distant clatter of tools as the early workers began their shifts.Mira’s door was still ajar across the hall, warm light spilling through the gap. He could have gone to her
EMBERS AND ROOTS
Mira didn’t move for a long time.She sat cross-legged on the floor, her arms resting on her knees, eyes fixed on the sleeping boy and the man beside him. The only sound was the low hum of the generator outside and the steady breath of a child who finally, finally, had no reason to be afraid.Ares didn’t speak either. He leaned back against the wall, knees bent, one hand resting protectively near Elijah’s shoulder, the other slack on his thigh. Every now and then, his eyes flickered open - checking, listening - but the tension he used to wear like armor had softened into something else.Stillness.Not weakness. Not surrender.Just the absence of running.Mira eventually pushed herself up, bones stiff, and moved to sit beside Ares. He shifted slightly, making room, careful not to wake the boy.They didn’t touch - not yet. But their shoulders were close enough to share warmth.“You should sleep too,” she murmured.“I will,” Ares said. “Just... not yet.”She nodded.A long breath passed
THE PROMISE OF STAYING
The Assembly Hall was quiet the next morning.Not silent - there were distant boots on tile, quiet murmurs of volunteers laying cables and pinning up maps -but the kind of quiet that came after storms. The kind you earned. Ares stood near the north-facing window, watching as the mist lifted off the shattered rooftops of Lin City.Behind him, Elijah tugged at his sleeve.“Is this where they argue?” he asked.Ares smirked. “Sometimes. Mostly, they try to listen.”Elijah nodded solemnly, like that was harder.The boy wore a scarf too big for him and boots slightly too worn. His hair still stuck up in wild tufts from sleep, and he held The Little Prince under one arm like it was a secret weapon. Ares rested a steady hand on his son’s back as they stepped inside.Some of the council members were already seated. Kara gave a quick wave. The woman from the South End was bouncing her baby with one hand and flipping through ration figures with the other. Hawk stood by the coffee dispenser, pour
THE WEIGHT OF PEACE
The Assembly Hall was quiet the next morning.Not silent - there were distant boots on tile, quiet murmurs of volunteers laying cables and pinning up maps - but the kind of quiet that came after storms. The kind you earned. Ares stood near the north-facing window, watching as the mist lifted off the shattered rooftops of Lin City.Behind him, Elijah tugged at his sleeve.“Is this where they argue?” he asked.Ares smirked. “Sometimes. Mostly, they try to listen.”Elijah nodded solemnly, like that was harder.The boy wore a scarf too big for him and boots slightly too worn. His hair still stuck up in wild tufts from sleep, and he held The Little Prince under one arm like it was a secret weapon. Ares rested a steady hand on his son’s back as they stepped inside.Some of the council members were already seated. Kara gave a quick wave. The woman from the South End was bouncing her baby with one hand and flipping through ration figures with the other. Hawk stood by the coffee dispenser, pou
