Everyone gathered in the center of the lobby, breaths ragged, chests heaving, but their spirits still burned hot with adrenaline. "We need to get to the second floor," someone said, and the group answered with a firm collective nod.
Boots echoed across the marble as they moved toward the obsidian staircase. Each step reflecting their silhouettes as they ascended. Micheal took the lead, jaw tight, his every sense sharpened.
But the moment he reached the top, a blinding white light washed over him. He winced, throwing an arm up to shield his face. When his vision steadied, shapes materialized and dark silhouettes lining the balcony, rifles, pistols, and long-range weapons glinting under the floodlights.
The instant the shooters recognized him, gunfire erupted.
"Holy shit—GET DOWN! FALL BACK!" Micheal roared, stumbling as bullets tore into the railing beside him, obsidian shards spraying across the steps.
The Rebels scrambled, boots skidding, bodies colliding as they dove for cover. Sparks danced from the walls as more rounds rained down.
Micheal grabbed Shirley's arm and dragged him behind a cracked pillar. Tucker slid in beside them, heartbeat rattling in his ears.
"What the hell is this?!" Tucker hissed as another burst of bullets screamed past.
Micheal peeked around the pillar, just long enough to see at least a dozen gunmen positioned with perfect aim.
"They were waiting for us," he muttered. "Second floor is a killbox."
Shirley clenched his jaw, eyes narrow, presence faintly flickering. "Then how do we get through?"
Micheal's mind raced. He scanned the lobby, the angles, the shadows, the cover. The team was pinned, but not helpless.
"We split their fire," Micheal said quietly. "Force them to move. If we stay here, we're dead."
A bullet slammed into the pillar beside his head, showering him with dust.
Tucker grinned despite the chaos. "Alright then. What's the move?"
Micheal steadied himself as bullets carved chunks out of the obsidian steps. The rebels ducked behind fallen debris and broken furniture, but they were pinned hard.
"We can't rush the stairs," Micheal shouted. "They'll mow us down!"
Doug peeked around a shattered pillar and fired a quick burst upward, forcing a sniper to pull back. "Then what's the call?!"
Micheal's brain ran hot, "Split their vision!" he yelled. "Rebels, give covering fire, force them to spread out! Tucker, Shirley—"
Tucker cracked his knuckles. "I already know."
Shirley nodded once. "Close the distance."
Micheal pointed sharply.
"Left squad, flank and climb up the far side! Right squad, hug the wall and go for the vents! Keep pressure on them!!"
He took a breath.
"GO!"
The lobby burst into coordinated chaos.
Rebels leaned out from cover, firing in tight, controlled bursts. The gunmen above were forced to shift, duck, and change angles. Some backed up to avoid getting shot. Others leaned over the railing to return fire.
A group of rebels sprinted for the left side, but the gunfire was unforgiving. Three were struck instantly, collapsing mid-run. Another two dove behind a metal fixture, but bullets punched through it like paper.
Tucker and Shirley didn't wait.
Tucker sprinted, weaving between debris, moving so unpredictably the shooters overshot him. Bullets ripped the air behind him.
Shirley stayed low, sliding behind a fallen column, then exploding upward, grabbing the edge of a balcony support beam and yanking himself up with raw strength.
Doug and the rebels kept the shooters distracted, firing upward to chip away at their formation.
"You got openings!" Doug yelled. "Move!!"
From below, Micheal watched Tucker charge straight at the base of the stairs, not to climb them, but to leap onto a cracked support wall. He ran while hugging the wall, pushing off into a jump that slammed him onto the balcony railing.
Gunmen swung their rifles toward him, but Shirley was already there, grabbing a shooter by the leg and hurling him backward into two others. The impact broke their formation completely.
The rebels on the sides finally reached their climb points. They hauled themselves up, grabbing pipes, broken ornaments, and decorative stonework to flank the shooters.
The second-floor defenders panicked.
"LEFT SIDE! LEFT SIDE—!"
"Someone's on the railing—!"
They were overwhelmed from three angles at once.
Tucker rushed forward, disarming two shooters with brutal, clean strikes, elbow, knee, throat. Shirley kicked a rifle out of another man's hands, then slammed him into the wall hard enough to crack it.
Meanwhile, Doug and the rebels climbed over the balcony, guns still hot. Close-quarters firing echoed across the hall. Blood was sprayed, and screams erupted.
A dozen rebels dropped, then another few. The push was costly. But the tide was clearly shifting.
Micheal charged up the stairs with the front squad as the last gunman ran out of space and tried to reload, but Shirley was already behind him.
"Yo." Shirley asked almost calmly.
The gunman didn't have time to answer before Shirley knocked him out cold with a palm strike.
A sudden, heavy silence fell. The second floor was now theirs.
Breaths trembled, boots slid over broken glass and spent casings, smoke hung in the air.
Micheal gripped the railing, scanning the bodies, rebels and CORE soldiers both.
"Let's move," he said quietly.
Shirley nodded, eyes narrowing toward the hall ahead.
CORE'S CHAMBER
The heavy doors to CORE's chamber slammed open, but not because they were forced, but because the servant was too terrified to slow down. She stumbled inside, immediately dropping to her knees as her breath caught in her throat.
"F–Father…! Father, forgive me, but—" She bowed so low her forehead nearly hit the floor. "They've infiltrated the castle. Th-The rebels! They've already reached the second floor—your gunmen are all down!"
CORE did not rise.
He did not shout.
He simply exhaled once, long and quiet.
His single visible eye twitched downward, thoughtful, almost… curious.
"…That quickly?" he murmured, tapping a finger against the arm of his throne. "Interesting."
He tilted his head toward the ceiling, as if listening to someone only he could hear.
"So this is the power of that 'genius' everyone keeps whispering about."
The servant didn't dare look up.
CORE finally stood, slow, and deliberate, shadows bending strangely around him.
"Send Panda and her unit," he said, each word precise. "Have them clean up the mess."
Then he paused. "And the leader…"
His tone sharpened, a blade sliding free.
"The one orchestrating this little rebellion… bring them to me alive."
His eye gleamed, a smile cutting across his silence.
"I want to hear their reasoning. Personally."
The servant swallowed hard, nodded rapidly, and sprinted out of the chamber, anything to escape the weight of CORE's presence.
Behind her, CORE returned to his throne, the quiet hum of the castle vibrating under his palm.
"Come, then," he whispered.
"Enter my home… and let's see how far you make it."
SECOND FLOOR — EAST HALL
The rebels moved in formation, weapons raised, sweeping each hall in careful bursts. But Shirley and Tucker… were not exactly part of that coordinated sweep.
The moment they stepped out of the firefight, their curiosity took over.
"Yo, this castle got doors for days," Tucker whispered, peeking into a random room.
Shirley opened one directly beside him.
Inside was… a bathroom, with candles.
And a bathtub full of brown water.
Shirley shut the door immediately. "Nope. Not touching that."
They continued down the hall, opening door after door.
—A room filled entirely with mirrors.
—A room with a single chair facing a wall.
—A broom closet containing nothing but a broom.
"Bro… this castle surprises me each second," Tucker muttered, taking a cautious step back from the broom.
Shirley kept opening doors confidently, "This one's gotta be normal," he said, gripping the handle.
He swung it open.
Inside was a pitch-black room. So dark it ate the light from the hallway. No sound, no air, nothing at all.
Shirley closed it even faster than the bathroom. "Okay, that one tried to steal my soul."
Tucker snorted. "We're definitely getting cursed just for walking through this place."
They turned a corner and immediately froze.
Footsteps. Soft, they were measured, almost rhythmic.
Shirley raised his cleaver.
Tucker balled his fists.
Out from the dimness walked a girl, tall, calm, almost eerily relaxed. Her hair was short and messy, her expression unreadable. She wore camo pants, a snug brown turtleneck, and a purple scarf that fluttered faintly as she moved. Her hands were tucked casually into her sleeves like she was warming them… or hiding something sharp.
The moment she saw the boys, she stopped.
Tilted her head, smiled just a little.
"Oh," she said quietly. Her voice was soft, but it carried through the hall like a blade slipping from a sheath. "So you're the ones making all the noise."
Tucker whispered out of the side of his mouth, "Yo… who snitched?"
Shirley didn't answer. His stance dropped lower.
The girl's eyes drifted over them, bored, unimpressed, almost curious.
"I'm Panda," she said. "CORE told me to clean up whatever was left on this floor."
She shifted forward, nearly floating, hands still hidden in her sleeves.
"And it looks like you two… made a mess."
Tucker chuckled. "Don't worry I saw a broom in one of those doors back there, I'll clean it up for ya."
Shirley stared hard, but his face tightened as he thought to himself. "No… I can't read her."
Panda gave a small, polite bow, the scarf slipping slightly as she did.
"That's because you won't live long enough to figure it out."
The air around her snapped, silent but sharp, and Shirley and Tucker instantly felt it.
Pressure.
Killing intent.
Murder.
Tucker grinned. "Aight. So she crazy."
Shirley lifted his cleaver. "Stay sharp."
Panda's eyes glimmered as she raised one hand slowly from her sleeve.
"Don't worry," she whispered.
"I intend to."