Suddenly, two small objects rolled into view from the dark hallway ahead, clattering against the floor before coming to a stop in the center of the corridor. Ampelius tensed, expecting an explosion. But instead of fire or shrapnel, they began to hiss.

  Thick, dark-tinted gas erupted from the canisters, quickly flooding the space with a murky cloud that swallowed the lights in oily swirls. The red hue of the emergency lighting dissolved into a sickly smear.

  Before Ampelius could react, something unfolded across his face. Casper, without warning, shifted form. A sleek, angular mask snapped into place, sealing around his mouth and nose with unnatural precision. Transparent tubing extended along the sides, feeding filtered air through a thin silver mesh.

  Ampelius blinked. He hadn’t known Casper could do that. Perhaps it was Asventi tech, or maybe something Casper had kept secret until now. Either way, it worked.

  “Convenient,” Ampelius muttered.

  Casper replied from within the mask, voice crisp and unobstructed.

  “Designed for moments like this. The gas is non-lethal, but disorienting. Likely intended to incapacitate you without a fight.”

  “Well, let’s prove them wrong.”

  The puppets didn’t move. The gas swirled around them, but they stood motionless, unbothered by their expressionless faces. They stood like statues waiting for orders.

  Then came the sound, distant at first: boots striking metal, steady and synchronized. Another squad was approaching. Heavier. Just as disciplined. Possibly better prepared.

  Ampelius stepped between his minions, calm and deliberate. In the same breath, all seven moved with him, responding not to words but to will. Without hesitation, they advanced toward the enemy.

  Within seconds, the next squad stormed into view, flashlights mounted to their rifles cutting through the haze in harsh, blinding beams. Ampelius squinted, momentarily disoriented by the sudden glare, but it didn't stop his advance.

  The soldiers wasted no time. They formed a quick firing line and opened fire with their rifles.

  The puppets reacted instantly. Without needing orders, two of them moved to shield Ampelius, positioning themselves like guardian angels. The gunfire struck their armor in rapid succession, the rounds sparking and ricocheting off with metallic thuds. Their momentum barely slowed. The impact delayed them for only a second or two, which was enough to register, but not enough to matter.

  The first two puppets surged forward. They lunged at the nearest gunman with terrifying speed, but the squad had been trained for this. Two soldiers in the rear stepped forward with tall riot shields, bracing themselves just in time. The clash echoed through the corridor as metal slammed against reinforced plating, the force pushing the shield-bearers back a few steps.

  Commands were shouted in Latin, clipped and urgent. The squad moved with precision, shifting formation in response to the unexpected assault. But Ampelius didn’t understand their words. He didn’t need to. He kept walking forward, slow and confident, eyes fixed on the unfolding chaos ahead.

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  A grenade is suddenly thrown over the puppets and landed near his feet. Ampelius didn’t hesitate. He snatched it up in one fluid motion and hurled it back. It sailed over one of his minions, who was still grappling with the shield wall, and bounced once, then twice before slipping past the tip of a raised shield.

  A second later, the corridor shook with the blast.

  The explosion ripped through the front line. Two soldiers were caught in the direct path, their bodies thrown back in a burst of flame and shrapnel. Their armor did little to protect them at that range. They hit the floor, lying motionless as the others staggered, shields splintered and weapons clattering as they fell backward in disarray.

  One of them shouted in Latin, his voice in pain, but still commanding. The survivors didn’t argue. They dragged themselves into retreat, half-carrying one of the wounded, leaving behind a scene of wreckage.

  Ampelius thanked Casper for shielding his eyes and ears with the mask as he advanced slowly, scanning the aftermath. The blast had torn through the squad’s formation, but it hadn’t left much behind. One body was missing an arm and a leg, the exposed flesh charred and ruined. Another had no head. What kind of grenade was that? He asked himself. Most were too damaged to be of use. Except one.

  A single soldier, caught on the edge of the explosion, lay still but intact. His face was frozen in grim defiance, his body riddled with shrapnel but whole. He had made no attempt to flee. Whether by choice or sheer bad luck, he died alone, weapon still clenched in his hand.

  Ampelius stepped closer, as a puppet inserted a finger into his wound. Suddenly, the poor guy began to twitch, with a slight movement of his fingers. Then the blood around the wound began to shift, darkening, thickening into something metallic. The transformation began, slow as the liquid alloy crept from the base of the skull and began its spread.

  Ampelius said nothing. He simply watched, letting the metal finish its work, then turned back toward the corridor ahead. The dead remained where they fell. The wounded, if any still breathed, were silent now. After a minute, the survivor was another puppet to join the ranks.

  With a fluid motion, the puppets formed a defensive line just past the fallen bodies. They didn’t pursue the retreating survivors, only held the line, still and silent once again. Ampelius took a moment to observe them, impressed by their restraint, or perhaps, their programming.

  He moved toward the corpses, stepping over broken gear and scattered shell casings. The stench of blood and charred fabric clung to the air. As he crouched beside one of the bodies, he began checking for anything of value. He found a combat knife with a reinforced handle and a few grenades still intact. He took what he could, quickly pocketing or strapping them to his belt.

  Then something suddenly came to mind, what was down the direction the soldiers had come from? It wasn’t a hallway he recognized. In fact, he was certain he’d never been that deep into the facility before. The corridor behind them descended at a sharp angle, into something much darker.

  “Casper,” he said, turning toward the emptiness. “Are you aware of any facility blueprints that extend down that way?”

  There was a pause as Casper scanned, compiling whatever records he could access. Then his voice returned, calm and curious.

  “According to all available data, there is a stairwell at the far end leading to a sealed metal door. Beyond that, no records exist. Even Asventi archives have no detailed intelligence. It appears the area is intentionally unlisted.”

  A beat of silence passed.

  “Care to find out what’s behind it?” Ampelius asked, his voice calm but curious.

  Casper responded without delay. “The Asventi care to find out. They’re requesting full reconnaissance. Their directive is to map the remainder of the complex, especially the unrecorded sectors.”

  Ampelius gave a slight smirk, brushing the dust from his shoulder. “Their wishes are my command.”

  He turned toward the sloping corridor, its walls darker than the others. There was no telling what lay ahead, the only clue being that the soldiers had come from that direction, and whatever secrets they were protecting must be buried deep.

  “Let’s see where these soldiers lead us.”

  Behind him, the puppets fell into formation without a sound. The red emergency lights flickered overhead, casting warped shadows across the corridor floor. Ampelius gave one last glance at the battlefield behind him, the bodies, the scorched walls, the eerie stillness, then turned and stepped into the unknown, his minions trailing in silent lockstep behind hi