"Follow my lead!" Liam's voice echoed flatly through the damp concrete tunnels of the municipal sewer line.
Ethan ran at a steady, calculated pace, on his shoulders was the weight of Allen, whose fractured leg dragged uselessly along the walkway.
"What's the...?" Ethan asked, his breathing perfectly controlled despite the physical strain.
"I have an unlisted place, nearby," Liam shouted back, his flashlight beam slicing through the dark haze. "Move!"
Ethan nodded once. "Understood."
Minutes later, Liam halted at the base of a heavily rusted iron service ladder leading straight up into the street level.
"Up we go," Liam ordered, scaling the first few rungs with practiced agility. He looked down, extending a heavy boot. "Allen, lock your arms around my ankle. I'll haul your vertical weight. Ethan, cover our rear frame."
Allen clamped his hands tightly onto Liam's boot. Together, the trio scaled the dark shaft, pushing past a heavy iron grate to emerge into a quiet, residential grid lined with small, society.
Liam didn't waste time checking the perimeter. He sprinted toward a rusted security shutter at the end of an alleyway, quickly bypassing the manual lock. "Get inside."
They slipped into the darkened interior of an abandoned internet gaming café. The rows of dusty computer monitors, hollow PC towers, and torn leather gaming chairs gave the space a hollow, ghost-town atmosphere.
Ethan carefully guided Allen down onto a cracked leather sofa while Liam disappeared into a back utility room to retrieve an emergency med kit.
Returning back, Liam put the medical supplies onto a plastic table. The three men set to work in silence, cleaning the lacerations and blunt-force wounds sustained during the clash.
Ethan wrapped a tight layer of gauze around his bleeding forearm, his expression dark. "The raid on Third Branch was a completely useless. We found absolutely nothing to take down the Third Branch's."
"True, but the building was cut in half" Liam reasoned, pouring antiseptic over a deep cut on his palm. "Once the local authorities sift through the wreckage, the police or forensic experts will inevitably point toward a heavy cover-up. They might inadvertently uncover the dark business of Third Branch."
Ethan gave a slow nod of agreement. "So, now what should we do?"
Allen leaned back against the sofa cushions, carefully applying a soothing medical ointment to the deep bruising along his ribs.
"It's simple," Liam stated, his eyes scanning the dark windows of the café. "We anchor ourselves here for the night, then move to a secondary safehouse outside the city limits at dawn. We remain completely dark for the next few days."
Ethan and Allen nodded in unison. The exhausting physical toll of the battle finally caught up to them. Reclining against the hollow furniture, they allowed their consciousness to slip away into a deep, guarded sleep.
An hour later, Liam quietly rose from his seat. Glancing at the two sleeping operators, he slipped his jacket back on and crept toward the exit.
I need to bring in some ration, he thought, slipping out in front of the rising sun.
Roughly thirty minutes later, Liam returned unnoticed. He quietly stocked a small, humming mini-fridge in the corner of the café with wrapped convenience store meals and water bottles before finally collapsing onto a spare cot to catch a few hours of rest.
Nine hours later,
Ethan's eyes snapped open instantly, his internal biological clock waking him ahead of the others. Standing up without making a sound, he navigated through the maze of abandoned desks toward a lone, ancient desktop computer near the back wall. He flipped the power switch, waiting patiently as the outdated operating system groaned to life.
He opened a local news index, and his eyes instantly narrowed at the massive, bold headline dominating the screen:
BREAKING NEWS: CANADIAN MUSEUM OF NATURE COLLAPSES FOLLOWING UNEXPECTED SEISMIC ACTIVITY.
An earthquake? Ethan's mind raced as he skimmed the fabricated geological reports. A cover-up of this magnitude requires immense institutional leverage. Someone is actively erasing the blueprints of the night's disaster.
"Wow. Talk about an aggressive media scrubbing," Allen's groggy voice cut through the silence from behind his shoulder. He had hobbled over, using an old metal pipe as a makeshift crutch.
Ethan nodded slowly. "Yeah. But who possesses the motive and the operational reach to rewrite a localized military disaster as a natural phenomenon?"
Suddenly, the pieces fell into place in Ethan's mind. Could it be them? The Family of Himari or Akira?
"The Japanese Family," Ethan muttered aloud.
Allen paused, his brow furrowing as he processed the theory. "So you're saying their corporate branch executed the media blackout? It doesn't track, Ethan. They have no reason to protect. If anything, they could have easily pinned the entire collapse directly on us."
"They aren't protecting the Loop's reputation," Ethan replied, his voice deadpan. "They are erasing the operational signature of that swordswoman, Akira Shinomiya. They cannot afford to let people know about her."
"No, I get that," Allen clarified, leaning heavily on his pipe. "But I mean they had the perfect opportunity to make us the scapegoats. Why pass up a chance to frame us?"
Ethan nodded, conceding the point. "You raise a valid point. It's either a tactical play by the Japanese Family to keep their own internal assets hidden, or there is an entirely separate power pulling the strings from the shadows."
Suddenly, a chilling, volatile thought struck Ethan's mind—a faint, terrifying connection regarding what the Leader of the Shadow Syndicate said.
But he quickly shook his head, forcefully burying the speculation deep within his internal vault.
Allen noticed the sudden shift in his posture. "Is something wrong with the data?"
Ethan forced a calm, unbothered smile, turning away from the monitor. "No. I'm just realizing how empty my stomach is."
Allen let out a brief chuckle, nodding in understanding.
"Make sure, you leg gets full rest," Ethan said, stepping away from the desk. "I'll venture outside for some food."
Before his hand could touch the door handle, his smartphone vibrated inside his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text notification from Liam.
Liam: Rations are already secured. Check the corner mini-fridge.
Ethan slipped the device back into his pocket, turning back to Allen with a faint smirk. "Never mind. Liam already ran the logistics last night. Food's in the fridge."