Bernadette was just attempting to make sense of the shouting when the noise erupted from the tunnel.
The sound wasn't loud at first.
Then something hit her from the inside of her skull, and the world lurched sideways. She caught a concrete pillar with both hands. Her ears collapsed into a single droning hum that swallowed everything — voices, footsteps, the echo of the blast.
Her hands were shaking. She couldn't tell if she was moving or the platform was.
A figure sprinted past her, mouth open wide. She saw the shape of a scream but heard nothing.
She took a step forward. Her foot caught on something.
A man lay sprawled across the floor, one leg bent wrong beneath him. Blood pooled against the concrete. His chest moved. His jaw moved like he was trying to say something.
She stood over him and couldn't make herself move.
What happened?
The lights died. Darkness hit like a second blow.
Phone screens flared to life around her — cold rectangles of white and blue cutting through the smoke. Someone dragged themselves across the floor. A child clung to a woman's coat, face buried in the fabric, small hands fisted tight.
The power flickered back on overhead.
Off.
Again.
Each flash was worse than the last.
A woman sat against the wall staring at her own hands, palms red. A man knelt, hugging his ribs, rocking slowly. Two people dragged a third across the floor by the arms, legs trailing.
The hum in her ears grew louder. Her breathing came fast and shallow. She tried to slow it down.
*What's going on. What's going on. What's—*
Hands closed around her shoulders.
"Hey, Bernadette"
The pressure snapped her back. She blinked, trying to clear her eyes.
Stanley.
Dust smeared across his face. Blood on his sleeve she didn't remember seeing before. He said something.
She couldn't hear it, but she felt the urgency in his grip.
"What's happening?" she asked.
He leaned in close. "Start moving first."
His hand shifted to her wrist and pulled.
They pushed through the bodies pressing from every direction. Someone hit his shoulder. Another caught him from behind. Nobody stopped. Nobody looked back.
"Keep wak."
The stairs came into view ahead. Stanley took the third step — a body rolled down.
He yanked her sideways.
A high whine cut through the smoke, cycling faster and faster as it closed in. She felt his hand tighten.
Something came out of the haze.
Metal. Small. Quick.
"Hide!"
He spun and pulled her to the left, slamming them both against a concrete pillar. His back hit first. He shoved her in front of him and locked one arm across her shoulders.
They were pressed tightly together. Time seemed to stand still for a split second.
Smoke rolled across the platform in slow waves. The lights overhead stuttered in irregular bursts — broken images of the chaos flickering in and out like a failing projector.
Then the flickering stopped. The lights held.
The platform came into focus.
Bodies on the ground. Some still. Others crawling, dragging themselves out of the open. A few tried to run and made it two steps before they didn't.
"What you doing?" Bernadette's voice finally cut through the ringing in her ears. She pushed against his arm. "Get off me, you filthy—"
"Stop." His voice was quiet. "You wanna die?."
She went still. "I knew it. This is exactly what you were waiting for."
He didn't answer.
He leaned out just far enough to see past the pillar's edge.
The stairs were blocked. Dark shapes hovered above them in loose formation, red lights burning dull through the haze.
Drones.
He pulled back and looked at her. "Close your eyes. You don't want to see what happens next."
"What—"
The firing started.
People who broke for open ground dropped mid-stride. Screams rose and were swallowed almost immediately by the echoing space. Those who understood pressed themselves flat — against pillars, against benches, against anything solid enough to matter.
A man came sprinting straight at their pillar, eyes fixed on the concrete like it was the last solid thing in the world. Stanley saw it and opened his mouth.
The man's legs buckled. He hit the floor and slid forward, stopping just short of where they stood. His helmet rolled away and rattled softly against the base of the pillar.
Bernadette's eyes snapped shut. Her fingers found Stanley's shirt and fisted in the fabric. She pressed herself into him, shoulders shaking, trying to make herself as small as the space allowed.
He tightened his arm around her and said nothing.
His eyes stayed on the drones as they repositioned. The firing had stopped. The echo was the only sound left.
Then someone screamed and threw a bag.
The drone split it in midair without slowing. Pieces scattered across the platform. A pipe followed. Same result.
The drone on the right tilted slightly, just enough — and began drifting forward. The people nearest to it scrambled backward.
Stanley watched the gap it left behind.
"Now."
He moved and she went with him. Through the wreckage. Over what was on the ground. She stumbled once and he didn't slow — just held tighter and kept going.
The train sat open at the far end of the platform, its doors hanging wide, the metal along its sides buckled and scorched. He pushed her through and moved forward through the carriage.
Gunfire punched through the walls behind them. He dropped, taking her down with him. Sparks tore across the frame overhead.
"YOU BASTARD."
Stanley looked back through the open door.
A man was swinging a metal pipe at the nearest drone. He hit it full force. The drone tilted, fighting to stabilize. Smoke began leaking from its casing.
The man kept swinging, again and again, until the red light started to pulse — and then went out. The drone hit the ground and didn't move.
The man spat, wiped his mouth, and glanced once at Stanley and Bernadette.
Then he dropped off the train and was gone into the smoke.
"That's Rick," Bernadette said.
Stanley followed her gaze to the far side of the platform.
Rick was on the other side of the platform, down behind cover with a few others. The shooting stopped.
Rick started running, as did a teenage boy in the vicinity; this was simultaneous.
Rick slammed into him.
The boy flew backward and crashed into a metal bench. The metal met the neck, it twisted and snapped. The boy died.
Rick froze. Suddenly, he wasn't moving anywhere.
Stanley's eyes whipped sideways.
A drone behind Rick turned, its head adjusted. Red lights focused.
"What's he doing?" Bernadette whispered. "It wasn't his fault. He'll die if he doesn't move."
"It wasn't his fault," Bernadette whispered. "He would've died if he hadn't moved."
The drone fired.
The shots went through Rick.
He flinched. Looked down at himself. Looked back at the drone. His eyes went wide — and then he ran, full speed, straight at the solid wall behind him.
And disappeared into it.
Stanley stared at the empty space where Rick had been.
"Where did he go?" Bernadette whispered.
He didn't answer right away. He'd seen it clearly: Rick hadn't stopped at the wall. He'd gone through it — like it had opened for him, or like it had never been there at all.
"Something's off."