The heavy blast doors of the Federation inner keep hissed shut behind them, sealing out the chaos of the courtyard.
The immediate silence was jarring. The thick, reinforced steel walls swallowed the sounds of the dying soldiers and the crackle of plasma fire outside, replacing them with the low, steady thrum of the depot's subterranean reactor. Emergency red lighting bathed the narrow corridor, casting long, jagged shadows across the polished concrete.
Elias walked near the back of the group, his right hand gripping the canvas strap of the medical bag so tightly his knuckles ached. His fractured ribs ground together with every heavy step. He kept his eyes locked on the floor, perfectly playing the part of the broken, subservient refugee, even as his mind raced.
He was inside. Behind enemy lines, entirely cut off from his team, surrounded by the highest echelon of the Primed Epics.
