Page 31 of Rescuing Ember

I feel more exposed than I ever have in my life.

He speaks, and his voice is a low rumble that I feel in my chest more than hear, but the words aren’t for me.

“Target acquired. Secondary package located. Moving to extract.”

The thought barely finishes forming when a low, mechanical whir cuts through the chaos. A sleek, black shape detaches itself from the shadows behind the armored figure. For a surreal moment, I think my addled brain has conjured the Rottweiler from my imagination.

But this is no dog.

At least, no dog I’ve ever seen.

The thing moves with an unsettling fluidity, more machine than animal. Its body is a streamlined chassis of matte-black metal, articulated legs ending in rubberized pads that grip the debris-strewn floor with eerie silence. Where a real dog’s head would be, this thing sports an array of sensors and what looks unsettlingly like weapon mounts.

A robotic dog. Because apparently, this situation isn’t sci-fi enough already.

The mechanical hound pads up beside the armored giant, its head swiveling toward me. I feel it scanning me, assessing threat levels, and cataloging weaknesses. My heart, already racing, kicks into overdrive. If I thought I was outmatched before…

The armored figure doesn’t even acknowledge the robotic companion. As if having a weaponized robo-dog at his side is the most normal thing in the world.

I tense, muscles coiled, ready to spring in any direction. Flight or fight, the age-old dance of survival. But then he does something so unexpected, so utterly at odds with his terrifying appearance, that it stops me cold.

TEN

Blaze

Smoke and Mirrors

The warehouse looms before us,a hulking beast of rust and shadows. My pulse quickens, a familiar rush of adrenaline flooding my system.

It’s time to dance with the devil.

Mitzy’s voice cuts through the static in our HUDs.“Deploying bumblebee drones now. Reception’s spotty, but we’ve got heat signatures. Looks like the hostages are in the northeast quadrant.”

The HUD flickers, a grainy thermal image materializing before my eyes. Red and orange blobs cluster together, surrounded by cooler blue shapes. Hostages and captors.

“Delta team, move in. Delta-Five, take point.”Jenny’s voice crackles in my earpiece.

“Copy that.”

Jon and I advance, the Rufi unit a silent shadow at our side. Its sensors sweep the area, feeding data directly to our HUDs. Mitzy’s voice comes through again, clearer this time.

“Bumblebee drones are airborne. They’ll provide overhead coverage and help map out the interior. Watch for blind spots—this place is a signal killer.”

We flow through the night like wraiths, years of training evident in every silent step. The Rufi units flank us, their sensors probing the darkness. A soft chirp in my earpiece—hostiles detected, twelve o’clock.

Time slows. My rifle rises, muscle memory taking over. Two tangos appear in the doorway, eyes widening in surprise. They never stood a chance.

Pop. Pop.

Suppressed shots, mere whispers in the night. Both drop, crimson blooming on their chests.

“Clear,” Jon mutters beside me. “But they’ll have heard that.”

He’s right. Any element of surprise is gone now. I key my comm.“Delta-One, this is Delta-Five. We’ve engaged hostiles at the entrance. Proceeding with caution.”

“Copy that, Delta-Five.”Jenny’s response is immediate.“All units, weapons free. Engage at will.”

Suddenly, Mitzy’s voice cuts through the comm chatter, urgent and tense.“Delta team, be advised. Bumblebees are picking up multiple tangos. I count three dozen men. It’s a trap. Six against eighteen.”

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