“Wait here,” Titus said firmly, his eyes scanning the hallway.

  He moved ahead cautiously. A moment later, a sudden burst of gunfire echoed through the corridor.

  A woman stumbled out of a nearby room, frantic and disoriented, screaming as she waved a pistol wildly. Titus reacted instantly, moving in and speaking sharply but calmly. Within seconds, he had disarmed her and guided her toward the stairwell, where Emmett and Vulcan were waiting.

  She was trembling, tears streaking her face, blood smeared across her clothes. Her black, curly hair hung loose and tangled around her shoulders. Emmett watched her quietly, wondering what she had seen, but said nothing as Titus brought her closer.

  “She’s in shock,” Titus said quietly. “But she’ll be okay. We need to keep moving.”

  He gently helped her down the stairs, supporting her as they descended. Vulcan followed close behind.

  Emmett lingered for a moment, glancing back down the hallway. Through a shattered window, he caught sight of the armored craft rising into view, twisting sharply as a missile streaked toward it.

  The impact came seconds later.

  A massive explosion tore into the building. Glass and debris flew outward as a powerful shockwave surged through the corridor. Instinct took over. Emmett dove aside as the force of the blast hurled him down the stairwell.

  He began to tumble—

  Vulcan grabbed his arm and wrenched him back, stopping his fall.

  Titus and the woman stared up at them, confused.

  Then the roar of a Roman fighter jet thundered past outside, rattling the walls and answering their unspoken question.

  “That’s a Papillio,” Titus said over the noise. “Fastest thing in the sky. Fun fact—it’s named after a family of butterflies.”

  Emmett blinked. “Isn’t that a prototype? I think it just hit that thing outside.”

  “Prototype?” Titus scoffed. “That fighter’s been around for decades. It was classified until after the invasion. Once they saw how effective it was, they built thousands of them. It’s the standard now. How do you not know that?”

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  “He’s been in hibernation for five years,” Vulcan said.

  “Oh. Right,” Titus muttered. “You’ve got some catching up to do. For now, let’s stay alive. Armory’s this way.”

  They descended several more flights, moving carefully and pausing often to listen.

  On every floor, the puppets could be heard—metallic footsteps echoing through corridors, followed by screams that were abruptly cut short. Emmett caught brief glimpses of them as they passed, moving with mechanical precision, searching methodically.

  They reached the one hundred twenty-fifth floor, home to one of the building’s armories.

  Titus advanced first, sweeping the hallway with his rifle. It was silent.

  “Clear—for now,” he said. “Stay close.”

  Ceiling panels dangled overhead. Lights flickered weakly. The corridor felt abandoned.

  They reached the armory door. It was intact. No signs of forced entry.

  Titus frowned at a disabled security camera nearby.

  “I don’t like this,” he muttered. He knocked hard. “Open up! It’s Titus!”

  No response.

  “That camera was working when I left,” he snapped. “They should be in there. Come on—open the damn door!”

  “Keep your voice down,” Vulcan whispered. “You’ll draw attention.”

  Suddenly, the red-haired woman screamed and pointed toward the stairwell.

  Several puppets burst into view, sprinting toward them.

  Titus rushed forward and opened fire. One by one, they fell, metallic armor collapsing inward as the substance retreated into the bullet wounds.

  More followed.

  He reloaded quickly, but their numbers kept growing.

  They were being pushed back—

  Then the armory door creaked open.

  Two armorers leaned out and fired, dropping another pair of puppets.

  “Move!” Titus shouted.

  Everyone rushed inside. The heavy door slammed shut behind them just as bodies crashed against it from the outside.

  Silence followed.

  For a moment, no one spoke. The air reeked of gunpowder. Adrenaline burned in their veins.

  “I was starting to think you idiots were dead,” Titus said. “What took so long?”

  “One of those things destroyed our camera,” an armorer replied. “We didn’t know who was out there.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Vulcan said. “You opened the door. What’s the situation?”

  The armory supervisor stepped forward—a young man with short black hair and an absurdly thin mustache.

  “About half the building is overrun,” he reported. “Local security and the garrison are forming a perimeter. The Air Force is still engaging the craft. Most cameras are down. Casualties are estimated between one hundred and five hundred.”

  “Load every RAPR round you’ve got,” Titus ordered.

  “We don’t have many left,” one of the armorers warned.

  “I can help,” Emmett said.

  Vulcan hesitated. “I wouldn’t recommend—”

  Suddenly, thin glowing lines appeared across the armory door.

  They spread rapidly, carving into the metal like acid, forming a spiderweb of destruction.

  The puppets were eating their way inside.

  Everyone stared.

  “…Give him a gun,” Vulcan said quietly.

  Then louder: “Actually—give everyone a gun. Now.”