Chaos was a symphony, and I was its conductor. The piercing wail of the alarm was the string section, a constant, nerve-shredding crescendo. The flashing crimson of the emergency lights was the percussion, a frantic, rhythmic pulse that painted the sterile corridors in shades of blood and shadow. My team moved through it with the deadly grace of a predator, our silenced weapons the quiet woodwinds in this orchestra of destruction.
We cleared the west wing in under a minute. The control room was empty, the screens displaying the flatlined heartbeats of the three murdered patients a silent testament to Diana’s cruelty. Caspian was gone. So was she.
“Headed for the central core,” I voxed, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. “She’ll try to wipe the servers or secure the primary data. Bravo-
