97: Chapter 98 The things in the darkness are faster than you.

The sound of hydraulic joints unfolding came from the depths of the darkness, segment by segment, accompanied by the screech of metal friction.

The helmet light of TW-078 was the only source of light. As the white beam swept across, the walker's first leg extended from its curled state, its metal joints clicking loudly.

Then came the second.

The third.

"Fall back!" TW-078 roared.

There was no need to wait for all six legs to fully extend. Having seen a Void Crusher on the Bridge of Sighs, they knew what this thing looked like when it stood up.

The ten men began retreating toward the passage. Their power armor boots struck the metal floor with rapid thuds. In the darkness, they could only rely on the helmet lights to navigate, the beams frantically jumping across the walls and ceiling.

Behind them, the walker stood up.

TW-078 didn't look back, but he heard it.

As the four-meter-tall metal body rose from its crouch, the hydraulic system let out a long hiss. Then came heavy footsteps; the metal legs slammed onto the floor, making the entire Underground Workshop tremble slightly with every step.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

It was walking. Towards them.

"Where is the passage?" TW-290's voice came from the right, tinged with obvious panic.

"Thirty meters ahead," TW-078 said. "Run."

They ran.

Ten Thunder Warriors ran at full speed in the darkness, the servo motors of their power armor humming sharply.

The entrance to the passage was ahead. The blast door had been open when they entered; they just needed to go through the passage and up the stairs to return to the surface.

A beam of light shot out from behind them.

It wasn't the white light of a lamp. It was orange-red, blazing hot, raising the temperature of the entire Underground Workshop instantly by several degrees.

Thermal weapon.

TW-078 instinctively rolled sideways. The orange-red beam grazed above his left shoulder and struck the wall ahead.

The concrete wall instantly turned dark red and began to melt, sizzling as it streamed down the surface. The air was filled with the smell of burnt lime.

"Scatter!"

A second beam followed immediately.

This time, it hit someone.

TW-304. A rookie, only three days out of the factory. Running at the back of the group, the beam pierced straight through his back. The power armor's back plate instantly melted through against the heat, and TW-304's body paused for a second before collapsing.

There was no scream.

TW-078 didn't stop. He couldn't stop.

"Passage entrance!" someone shouted ahead.

The outline of the blast door flickered in the darkness. The door was open, and behind it were upward stairs. There was faint light above the stairs—natural light filtering in from the Surface Warehouse.

Nine men rushed into the passage.

TW-078 was the last to enter. He turned around to face the darkness behind him.

The walker's footsteps grew closer, each step making the floor beneath them shake more violently.

He could see its silhouette now: the four-meter-tall metal body moved with six alternating legs, and the thermal weapon on its dorsal turret was charging, its heat sinks glowing dark red.

The passage was three meters wide. The walker was three meters wide.

It could squeeze through.

TW-078 glanced at the walls on both sides of the passage. Concrete structure, with a reinforced concrete support pillar every two meters.

He pulled two Bolt Shell Grenades from his waist.

"Everyone up the stairs," he said, his voice calm. "Don't stop."

"Commander—" TW-290 started.

"Go."

TW-290 looked at him, then turned and ran up the stairs.

TW-078 stood alone at the entrance of the passage.

The walker had reached a position less than ten meters from the passage entrance. It tucked in its six legs slightly, adjusting its posture to squeeze into the passage. The charging glow of the thermal weapon grew brighter, illuminating the entire Underground Workshop in dark red.

He pulled the pins from the two grenades and jammed them into the gaps at the base of the two support pillars on either side of the passage entrance.

Then he turned and ran.

Three seconds. The Bolt Shell Grenade delay was three seconds.

He ran two steps and leaped onto the stairs; the steps beneath his feet were vibrating.

One second.

The walker's first leg stepped into the passage. The metal leg struck the concrete floor with a dull crash.

Two seconds.

He was halfway up the stairs. More sounds of metal impact came from the passage behind him; the walker was forcing its way in, its armor scraping against the side walls with an ear-splitting shriek.

Three seconds.

Explosion.

The two Bolt Shell Grenades detonated simultaneously. The support pillars fractured in the blast, and the concrete ceiling above the passage entrance lost its support and collapsed with a crash. Several tons of concrete and rebar rained down.

TW-078 was pushed forward several steps by the shockwave, his knee hitting the edge of a step.

The power armor's shock absorption system absorbed most of the impact, but his ears still rang. Dust surged up from behind, instantly engulfing the entire staircase.

He lay prone on the steps, waiting for the dust to slowly settle.

The passage behind him no longer existed. In its place was a wall composed of shattered concrete, broken rebar, and twisted metal. From the other side of the wall came the sound of the walker—not footsteps, but the sound of metal being crushed and distorted. It was buried in the collapsed rubble.

It wasn't dead.

The hydraulic system was still working, letting out intermittent hisses.

It was trying to break free.

But at least for now, it couldn't get out.

He stood up, dusted himself off, and continued up the stairs.

The situation in the Surface Warehouse was worse than expected.

When TW-078 peeked out from the stairwell, the first thing he saw was TW-188, crouched behind a pile of sheet metal, his Bolter propped on broken bricks, firing towards the warehouse door.

The warehouse door had been blown open. Not from the inside, but from the outside. The door panel was dented inward, the hinges were broken, and half the door lay crooked on the ground. Sunlight streamed in from outside, but shadows were moving in the light.

Silhouettes. Many silhouettes.

"How many?" TW-078 crouched beside TW-188 and asked in a low voice.

"At least forty," TW-188's voice was tight. "Deep crimson armor, standard issue gear. Not scavengers."

Forty. They only had twenty-nine men left. TW-304 had died underground.

And the enemy was prepared. They were not.

"What about communications?"

"It's jammed. It was intermittent since we entered the warehouse, and now we have no signal at all. They have jammers."

The Sun Warriors have Electronic Warfare capabilities. This isn't a guerrilla force; it's a regular army.

A voice came from outside the warehouse. Not gunfire, but a human voice. Amplified by a loudspeaker, delivered in a tone so calm it could almost be called polite.

"Soldiers of the Empire, you are surrounded. Lay down your weapons, and I guarantee your safety."

TW-078 and TW-188 exchanged glances.

"Do you believe him?" TW-188 asked.

"What do you think?"

TW-188 didn't answer. He switched the safety on his Bolter off, then on, then off again.

The voice outside the warehouse continued: "I know you collapsed the underground passage. Clever. But that only buys you time; you won't be able to leave."

TW-078 ignored the voice. He was observing the structure of the warehouse.

Sheet metal walls, steel beam roof, concrete floor. On the back wall of the warehouse was a row of vents, each about half a meter square and three meters above the ground. Too small for a Thunder Warrior in power armor to squeeze through.

But the vents connected to ventilation ducts. The ducts led outside.

If he could extend the communicator's antenna into the ventilation duct and use the duct's metal structure as a signal amplifier, it might not break through the jamming, but it was worth a try.

"TW-188."

"Here."

"I need you to buy me three minutes."

"To do what?"

"Send a signal."

TW-188 looked at him and then nodded.

"Three minutes is enough."

He stood up and shouted to the others in the warehouse: "Listen up, everyone! Suppressing fire! Keep those red beetles' heads down!"

Twenty Bolters fired simultaneously. A dense barrage poured out from inside the warehouse, hitting the rubble at the doorway and the cover outside. The miniature bolt shells exploded upon impact, scattering shards of stone and metal fragments.

The Sun Warriors soldiers were suppressed, huddled behind cover, temporarily unable to return fire.

TW-078 used this window of opportunity to run to the base of the warehouse's back wall. He looked up at the position of the vent, slung his Bolter behind him, grabbed a protruding rebar on the wall, and started climbing up.

The power armor was heavy. But the power armor was also powerful. His fingers hooked into the crevices of the concrete wall, and his boots stepped on the rebar as he climbed step by step.

Two meters.

Two and a half meters.

Three meters.

His hand reached the edge of the vent. The sheet metal grille was rusted; with a strong pull, the grille came off, revealing the ventilation duct behind it.

He took the communicator from his waist, pulled the antenna to its full length, and extended it into the ventilation duct.

He pressed the transmit button for the emergency distress channel.

"This is Tracking Squad, codename TW-078. Ambushed at Manila Fortress. Sun Warriors, at least forty men with heavy equipment. We are surrounded, requesting reinforcement. Repeat, requesting reinforcement."

He released the transmit button and waited two seconds.

Only static crackled in the communicator.

He pressed it again.

"Tracking Squad requests reinforcement. Manila Fortress. Sun Warriors ambush. Heavy equipment. Surrounded. Requesting reinforcement."

Static. Still static.

His fingers tightened around the communicator.

Behind him, the sound of Bolter fire began to thin out; ammunition was running low. TW-188's suppressing fire wouldn't last much longer.

He pushed the communicator a few more centimeters deeper into the duct and adjusted the antenna angle.

The third time.

"Tracking Squad TW-078. Manila Fortress. Ambush. Requesting reinforcement."

Static.

Then—

"...received...tracking...confirming coordinates..."

Intermittent. But it was a human voice. It was the base's communication channel.

The signal got through.

TW-078 closed his eyes briefly.

"Coordinates sent. We can hold out. Hurry."

He released the transmit button, pulled the communicator out of the duct, and jumped back to the floor.

The moment he landed, the firepower outside the warehouse suddenly intensified. The Sun Warriors were counterattacking. Bullets struck the sheet metal walls with a rapid clanging sound.

"The signal went through!" TW-078 shouted to TW-188.

TW-188 was crouched behind cover, a bloody scratch mark on his face from flying sheet metal. Hearing TW-078's words, he grimaced.

Not a smile. It was confirmation.

"Then we hold," he said.

Seven hundred kilometers away.

The alarm light in Li Cang's Cockpit lit up.

Red.

He was looking at the follow-up analysis data for Reverse Engineering, and when the alarm light suddenly came on, his first reaction was to assume a system malfunction.

Then he saw the emergency communication window pop up.

[Emergency Communication, Tracking Squad]

[Signal Strength: 12%, Extremely Weak/Jamming Environment]

[Content, Partially Recovered:]

"...Manila Fortress...ambush...Sun Warriors...at least forty men...heavy equipment...surrounded...requesting reinforcement..."

Li Cang's hand froze mid-air.

He stared at the text for three seconds.

Then he closed the analysis data and opened the Tactical Map.