The corridor felt like the inside of an industrial slaughterhouse. Flickering lumen strips cast harsh, strobing light over cracked concrete and ruined heavy plate armor. The thick stench of ozone and spilled Praetorian blood hung heavily in the stagnant air. Maddie dragged her boots through the flooded sludge. The freezing water soaked entirely through her worn leather soles. Her rusted sign-halberd scraped loudly against the grated floorboards, leaving a visible gouge in the metal. The weapon felt like it weighed three hundred pounds. Every step sent a fresh, blinding spike of white-hot agony up her bruised spine.
They had been fighting corporate guard units block by block for six straight hours. The Praetorians never retreated. They just died in place, forcing the Faction to climb over their shattered breastplates to advance.
