By dawn, the outpost still hadn't realized what had happened in the night.
No alarms. No missing patrol calls. Just the same old static hum of the generators and the slow grind of gears coming to life.
But the air had changed.
It felt cleaner — thinner somehow, as if the quiet had been sharpened by something invisible.
24 and Lu stood outside the Command Hall, both splattered faintly with the dry dust of the dorm corridors. They had cleaned the blood, burned the evidence, and buried the bodies beyond the perimeter before sunrise. No trace left for anyone to find — not unless they knew exactly where to look.
The Commander was already awake. His cybernetic eye glowed faintly red as 24 and Lu stepped in. He had been expecting them.
"I saw the motion data spike near the dorms," the Commander said, voice low, gravel thick with fatigue.
"Then… nothing. No alarms. No comms. What happened?"
24 dropped something onto the table — a small black data chip, cracked down the center.
"Kill squad," he said simply. "Four men. EGI. Embedded with your last convoy."
The Commander froze mid-motion.
"You're sure?"
"I counted their heartbeats," 24 said flatly. "They're gone."
Lu stepped forward, her mask catching the faint blue light of the terminal.
"No one saw us. No one even knows they were here."
The Commander's eyes flicked between them.
"You're telling me you eliminated a trained EGI kill unit without waking a single man in my base?"
24 didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence between them spoke louder than any boast.
The Commander exhaled, running a hand down his face.
"You realize what you've just done? If EGI sent a kill team here, they already know about this outpost. Which means we're compromised."
"They already knew," 24 corrected. "They've known for days. Those men weren't scouts—they were cleanup."
The Commander frowned.
"Cleanup?"
24 nodded once.
"Someone in your command was marked for silence. We just happened to be in the way."
That landed heavy.
The Commander's jaw worked for a moment before he finally looked up.
"You expect me to believe that?"
"No," 24 said. "I expect you to start watching who you trust."
For a moment, the room held only the sound of the old computer fan. Then 24 spoke again.
"We need a place," he said.
"A place?"
"Away from cameras. No guards. No drones."
The Commander raised an eyebrow.
"You're asking for a lot of trust from a man you just threatened two nights ago."
24 leaned forward, voice calm but carrying that quiet, unmovable weight that came from experience born of violence.
"You want this place to survive? Then you need someone who can see before the killing starts.
But if you keep a camera on me, your surveillance becomes their surveillance."
That gave the Commander pause.
"You're saying the EGI can see through our feeds?"
"If they sent a kill squad," 24 said, "they already can."
Lu added softly,
"We just need space to train. To stay sharp. And if we're seen, we'll draw attention. You can't afford that."
The Commander finally nodded slowly.
"There's an old utility block on the west edge of camp. Half-collapsed, no active cameras, no one goes there since the fire last winter. You'll have to clean it yourselves."
24's mouth twitched — the closest he came to approval.
"Good."
"I'll have someone bring you supplies," the Commander said.
"Don't," 24 interrupted. "If someone starts bringing us things, people start asking questions."
The Commander studied him a moment longer, then exhaled through his nose.
"You're a difficult man to help, Kane."
24 gave the faintest shrug.
"That's how I'm still alive."
As they turned to leave, the Commander called out one last time.
"Kane."
24 paused in the doorway.
"You said they were cleanup. If that's true… who were they sent to clean up?"
24's eyes flicked to the glowing red lens on the man's face.
"You should ask yourself," he said quietly, "why they came after you stopped trusting your own people."
He didn't wait for a reply.
Outside, the early morning light cut across the sand like dull steel. Lu followed in silence as they crossed the outer yard toward the western edge.
The utility block stood half-buried under soot and rust — an old power station with a partially caved-in roof. The metal doors groaned when 24 pushed them open, revealing a long hall lined with broken cables, cracked floor tiles, and the faint smell of smoke and dust.
It was perfect.
Lu looked around and exhaled through her mask.
"It's quiet."
24 nodded, setting his blades down on a bench warped by heat.
"Quiet means we can work."
They spent the rest of the day cleaning the space — dragging out debris, sealing gaps, rigging a tarp over the collapsed section of roof. By dusk, it looked less like a ruin and more like a den — theirs.
When they finally sat down, Lu pulled her mask up just enough to drink from her canteen, eyes lingering on 24's back as he worked.
"You really think they'll leave us alone now?"
24's voice came from the shadows near the wall.
"No. But now, they won't see us coming next time."