The laboratory no longer looked like a place of research.
It looked like a carcass.
Broken ceiling panels hung by sparking wires. Glass crunched beneath every step. The sharp scent of chemicals mixed with smoke until the air itself felt poisonous. Somewhere deeper in the facility, metal groaned like the building was slowly folding inward from the bombing.
Nobody spoke much.
There wasn't energy left for panic.
Only movement.
Only survival.
Corvin organized the search with mechanical precision despite the exhaustion dragging beneath his eyes. He directed people aisle by aisle, storage room by storage room, forcing order onto chaos like tightening bolts on a machine falling apart.
"Take anything sealed," he said. "If you don't know what it is, bring it anyway."
Astrid and Mei Lin cleared out the medical cabinets first. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Bandages. Sterile gauze. Surgical gloves. Burn cream. Anything that still had intact packaging disappeared into backpacks and plastic storage bins.
Astrid's hands shook while sorting syringes, though her voice remained steady.
"We'll need disinfectants too," she muttered. "And saline if there's any left."
"There," Chase said softly, pointing toward a lower cabinet half-buried under debris.
Nearby, Dimitri and Marco worked through chemical storage shelves with cautious efficiency. Bottles clinked carefully into reinforced crates. Ethanol. Industrial cleaners. Water purification compounds. Lab-grade alcohol.
"Useful for medicine," Dimitri said.
"Or fire," Aisha replied while hefting another box onto a cart.
Priya emerged from a side room wearing an oversized protective coat three sizes too large for her.
"I look like a radioactive potato," she declared dramatically.
For the first time in hours, somebody laughed.
Not loudly. Not long.
But enough to remind them they were still human.
They gathered protective equipment next. Respirator masks. Heavy gloves. Chemical-resistant clothing. Face shields. Portable flashlights. Spare batteries. Even small things suddenly mattered now. Tape. Zip ties. Multi-tools.
Civilization had collapsed so quickly that ordinary objects had become treasure.
By the time they finished, the pile of salvaged supplies looked less like scavenging and more like preparation for a siege.
Then came the waiting.
Fifteen hours trapped inside the fractured remains of the laboratory while the fires outside slowly burned themselves into exhaustion.
The group settled in shifts near reinforced corridors away from shattered windows. Nobody truly slept. The distant roar of collapsing buildings echoed through the city at irregular intervals like thunder from a dying world.
Smoke drifted past broken glass panels in slow gray rivers.
Eventually, the orange glow outside began to dim.
The sky darkened gradually, trading ash-colored evening for a heavy black night illuminated only by scattered fires across the ruined cityscape. The silence afterward felt unnatural.
Too large.
Too empty.
Corvin finally stood. "We move now."
Nobody argued.
The group pushed through maintenance corridors toward the underground service area, carrying bags that dug painfully into their shoulders. Flashlights swept across concrete walls stained by smoke and leaking water.
Their footsteps echoed softly.
That was when Mei Lin noticed it.
Small things.
A vending machine recently forced open.
Empty food wrappers near a corner pillar.
Fresh shoe prints through a layer of ash that should have settled undisturbed hours ago.
And near the vehicle bay entrance—
A cigarette ember, still faintly warm.
Her expression tightened slightly.
Occupied.
Or recently occupied.
She glanced toward the others marching ahead through the darkness. Exhausted. Hungry. Vulnerable.
Mei Lin opened her mouth to speak.
Then stopped.
Maybe she was wrong.
Maybe she only wanted to be wrong.
The service garage sat beneath the facility like the belly of some sleeping beast.
Concrete pillars stretched into darkness. Rows of maintenance vehicles and university transport vans rested beneath flickering emergency lights that buzzed weakly overhead. The air smelled of oil, dust, smoke, and something faintly metallic.
Their footsteps echoed too loudly.
Corvin immediately slowed his pace.
Something felt off.
At first glance, the garage looked abandoned like the rest of the campus. Most of the vehicles were buried beneath a thin gray layer of ash that had drifted down through damaged ventilation shafts after the bombing. Dust coated windshields. Debris littered the floor. One sedan had a shattered rear window sparkling faintly under the dim light.
But then Chase noticed it.
"…Wait."
Several vehicles near the far maintenance bay looked different.
Clean.
Not spotless, but recently wiped down. Their windows were clear. Tire tracks cut through the ash-covered floor in fresh lines. One van even had its side door left slightly open.
Aisha's grip tightened around the sledgehammer resting on her shoulder.
"Someone's here," she said quietly.
Nobody answered.
Nobody needed to.
The atmosphere changed instantly. The group subtly shifted closer together, exhaustion evaporating beneath a wave of adrenaline. Flashlights lowered. Weapons tightened in trembling hands.
Mei Lin scanned the shadows between the pillars.
Too many blind spots.
Too quiet.
Then movement.
Three figures emerged almost simultaneously from different sides of the garage.
Fast.
Controlled.
Like they had rehearsed it.
One stepped out near the maintenance office entrance. Another climbed down from atop a service truck holding a metal pipe.
The third appeared directly ahead of the group.
And in his hands—
A pistol.
Everything stopped.
"Don't move," the man said calmly.
The words weren't shouted. Somehow that made them worse.
The gun looked worn but functional, its dark metal unmistakable beneath the flickering lights.
Aisha's eyes narrowed instantly.
"That's Security Guard's gun," she muttered under her breath.
The man heard her.
His expression hardened slightly, though he kept the weapon steady.
"Was," he corrected. "Now it's mine."
The garage fell silent enough to hear distant dripping water somewhere deeper underground.
The armed man looked to be in his early twenties, tall and lean with soot streaked across his face and jacket. Despite the exhaustion visible beneath his eyes, he stood confidently, shoulders squared like someone forcing himself not to show fear.
"My name is Muhammad Ali," he said. "And unless you want this night getting uglier, I suggest nobody does anything stupid."
The two beside him tightened their grips on their metal pipes.
One was broad-shouldered with a shaved head and tense posture. The other looked younger, nervous but trying hard not to appear it.
Corvin slowly raised one hand away from his wrench.
"We're not looking for trouble," he said evenly.
"Funny," Ali replied. "Most people holding weapons say that."
Around Corvin, the group instinctively shifted into defensive positions.
Aisha angled herself slightly forward like a coiled spring ready to launch. Marco positioned near the center where he could intercept either side. Dimitri quietly adjusted his grip on the baseball bat. Priya's knife gleamed faintly beneath the emergency lighting.
Astrid looked pale but refused to step backward.
Mei Lin remained perfectly still.
But inside, recognition sparked immediately.
Muhammad Ali.
Third-year law department.
Debate team.
Known for dismantling professors during constitutional law discussions with unnerving calm.
She had seen him before across lecture halls and campus events.
He was smart.
Careful.
Dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with the gun.
But judging from his expression, Ali clearly had no idea who she was.
Corvin slowly spoke again.
"I'm Corvin."
Ali gave a small nod but didn't lower the pistol.
Neither side moved.
Neither side blinked first.
The tension wrapped around the garage like tightening wire.
Eight against three should have been simple.
But the gun changed everything.
Aisha could probably close the distance before Ali fired once.
Probably.
Marco and Chase could take the others.
Probably.
But probably was a graveyard word now.
One shot inside this cramped garage could trigger panic, chaos, injuries. Maybe deaths. Even if they won, they would lose people doing it.
And everyone there knew it.
So both groups stood frozen beneath flickering lights and drifting ash, trapped inside a silent equation where nobody could afford to make the first mistake.