Mission 4: Cornered

"Okay, Steve," he muttered to himself. "Think. You need to get a message to Takashi or find another way out of here."

He rummaged through his pack and found a flare gun. It was a risky move, but it might be his best chance to signal for help. He moved to the roof of the building and fired a single flare into the sky, the bright light cutting through the early morning gloom.

Now, all he could do was wait and hope the signal was seen by someone friendly. But he couldn't have been more wrong. Within minutes, Steve found himself surrounded by Conclave operatives. The sound of boots crunching on gravel and the low murmur of voices alerted him to their presence.

He ducked behind a rusted metal barrel, gripping his weapon tightly. The flare had given away his position, and now he was in the middle of a trap. He cursed under his breath for being so naive, but there was no time for regret. He needed to act fast.

Peeking out from his cover, he saw a dozen heavily armed men fanning out, their guns ready. Steve took a deep breath, his mind racing. He had to create a diversion, something that would buy him a few precious moments to escape or turn the tables.

Spotting a stack of old oil drums nearby, he aimed and fired. The shot ignited the volatile liquid inside, causing a massive explosion. Flames and smoke billowed into the air, creating chaos among the Conclave operatives.

Using the confusion to his advantage, Steve sprinted towards a nearby warehouse. Bullets whizzed past him, but he managed to dive through a broken window, landing hard on the concrete floor inside. He winced, pain shooting through his side, but he forced himself to keep moving.

Inside the warehouse, Steve quickly scanned for any means of escape. The building was vast and cluttered with machinery and crates, providing plenty of hiding spots but few exits. He heard the operatives closing in, their shouts growing louder.

"Takashi, if you can hear me, I need backup now!" Steve hissed into his communicator, but the static was his only reply.

He gritted his teeth and made his way deeper into the warehouse. As he moved, he set traps using anything he could find—tripwires, makeshift explosives, and obstacles. Every second counted, and he was determined to make it as difficult as possible for the Conclave to reach him.

The first operative who entered the warehouse triggered a tripwire, setting off a small explosion that sent him flying. The others hesitated, giving Steve a crucial few moments to climb up a stack of crates and position himself with a better vantage point.

From his elevated position, he picked off several operatives with precise shots, each one dropping before they could return fire. But the Conclave was relentless, and more of them poured into the building, their sheer numbers overwhelming. Behind him was a window, but the problem was the drop—over six meters to the ground. Without much hesitation, Steve jumped.

As he plummeted, he braced himself for the impact. He landed hard, rolling to absorb the shock, but pain shot through his ankle. He gritted his teeth, knowing he couldn't afford to slow down. He pushed himself up and limped towards the shadows of the alley, trying to stay out of sight.

The operatives above shouted in confusion, and Steve could hear them repositioning. He needed to disappear quickly. He spotted an old service door partially hidden by debris and slipped inside. The room was dark and smelled of damp concrete and rust. He took a moment to catch his breath and assess his surroundings.

Steve pulled out his communicator, hoping to get a signal. "Takashi, it's Steve..." But only more static answered him.

Cursing under his breath, Steve knew he was on his own. He limped away from the window, trying to put as little weight as possible on his injured ankle. The alley he found himself in was narrow and littered with debris, providing some cover but also making his progress slow and painful.

As he moved, Steve kept an ear out for the sounds of pursuit. He could hear the Conclave operatives shouting orders to each other, their footsteps echoing off the walls. He needed to find a better hiding spot and regroup.

Ahead, he spotted an old, dilapidated building that looked like it had been abandoned for years. He slipped inside, the door creaking ominously behind him. The interior was dark and musty, the air thick with dust. Steve paused to catch his breath, leaning against a wall and listening for any signs of the Conclave.

His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. He couldn't stay in one place for long, but moving too much on his injured ankle would only slow him down further. He needed to find a place to hide and wait for the heat to die down, then figure out his next move.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps approached, echoing through the building. Steve ducked behind a pile of old crates, trying to make himself as small as possible. He held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest.

The footsteps grew closer, then stopped. Steve heard voices speaking in hushed tones. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but he knew they were looking for him. He reached for his sidearm, ready to defend himself if necessary.

Just as he was about to make his move, the voices receded, the footsteps moving away. Steve waited a few more minutes, straining to hear if anyone was still nearby. When he was sure it was clear, he let out a slow breath and relaxed slightly.

He pulled out his communicator again, praying for a better signal. "Takashi, come in. Do you read me? I need extraction ASAP."

The static crackled, but this time there was a faint reply. "Steve, it's Takashi. Your signal is weak. We're trying to pinpoint your location. Hold tight."

Relief washed over Steve. At least he knew Takashi was out there, working to find him. He just needed to hold on a little longer.

He looked around the room, searching for anything that could help him. In the corner, he spotted an old maintenance ladder leading up to a second floor. It was risky, but it might give him a better vantage point and buy him some time.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Steve climbed the ladder. Each step was agony, but he pushed through, knowing he had no other choice. At the top, he found a small room with a broken window overlooking the street. It wasn't much, but it was something.

He settled in, trying to stay as quiet as possible. Outside, he could hear the Conclave operatives moving through the alley, their search intensifying. Steve knew he was running out of time.

Minutes felt like hours as Steve attempted to communicate again. This time, Takashi's voice crackled through the static. "Steve, we've pinpointed your location, but we need to extract you through the underground ducts. The entrance is about 200 meters from your position."

Steve glanced around, assessing his situation. The building was still swarming with Conclave operatives, and his injured ankle throbbed with every movement. But he had no choice; he needed to make it to that entrance.

"Copy that, Takashi. I'll make my way there," Steve replied, his voice steady despite the pain.

Using the shadows for cover, Steve slipped out of the building and into the night. He moved cautiously, keeping an ear out for any approaching enemies. The streets were eerily quiet, but he knew that the Conclave wouldn't be far behind.

He navigated through back alleys and over debris, each step a reminder of his injury. When he finally reached the entrance to the underground ducts, he paused to catch his breath. The entrance was hidden behind a rusty metal grate, partially obscured by an old, weathered billboard.

Steve pried the grate open, the metal groaning in protest. He slipped inside and replaced the grate, hoping it would buy him some time. The ducts were dark and damp, the air thick with the smell of mildew. He activated his flashlight and started moving, the beam cutting through the darkness.

"Takashi, I'm in the ducts. Which way do I go?" Steve whispered into his communicator.

Takashi's voice came through, clearer now. "Head straight for about 100 meters, then take the left fork. We'll be monitoring your progress and guiding you through."

Steve followed the instructions, his footsteps echoing in the confined space. The ducts twisted and turned, but Takashi's guidance kept him on the right path. He could hear the faint sounds of pursuit behind him, but he pushed on, determined to reach the extraction point.

As he approached the designated location, he saw a faint light ahead. Takashi's voice came through again, this time filled with relief. "You're almost there, Steve. Just a few more meters."

Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through his back. A gunshot. The force of the bullet threw him forward, and he hit the ground hard. Steve gasped, his vision blurring as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. His fingers instinctively reached for the wound, feeling the warmth of his own blood seeping through his clothes.

"Steve! Steve, do you copy?" Takashi's voice crackled urgently in his ear, but Steve could barely focus on the words.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Steve forced himself to move. He couldn't afford to stay down, not now. Using his remaining strength, he crawled towards the light, each movement agony. He knew he had to keep going, had to reach the extraction team.

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed ominously. The Conclave operatives were closing in. Steve's mind raced, trying to come up with a plan. He reached into his vest and pulled out a flashbang, yanking the pin and tossing it behind him.

The grenade exploded in a brilliant flash of light and deafening noise, buying him precious seconds. He dragged himself forward, the duct walls seeming to close in on him. Finally, he reached the chamber where the extraction team was waiting.

Takashi and the others rushed to him, pulling him to safety. "We need to move, now!" Takashi shouted, his voice barely audible over the ringing in Steve's ears.

They lifted Steve, supporting his weight between them, and made a break for the hidden exit. Bullets whizzed past them, ricocheting off the metal walls. The Conclave was relentless, but Takashi and the team moved with practiced efficiency, keeping Steve protected as they navigated the narrow passages.

Emerging into the deserted industrial area, they hurried to the waiting vehicle. Takashi pressed a hand to Steve's wound, trying to stem the bleeding. "Stay with us, Steve. We're almost there."

The vehicle roared to life, speeding away from the danger. As they put distance between themselves and the Conclave, Steve's vision began to fade. He could hear Takashi calling out instructions, feel the rough fabric of the seat beneath him, but everything was slipping away.

"Hold on, Steve," Takashi's voice cut through the haze. "We're getting you to safety."

Back at the safe house, the team worked quickly to stabilize Steve. He was drifting in and out of consciousness, the pain and blood loss taking their toll. As they treated his wound, Steve's mind wandered. Images of the mission flashed before him—Reen's grateful nod, the relentless pursuit, the moment he fell, In the chaos of his thoughts, a distinct sound echoed through his mind—a system activating.

"System online..."