The forest is thick with mist. Crickets and distant thunder fill the silence. Low red lights of a hidden perimeter flicker faintly through the trees. Two blacked-out vans idle beneath camouflage tarps. Milena checks the engines quietly while Williams scans the treeline with NVGs. Trella crouches over a map projected on Talia’s laptop. The faint blue glow illuminates a dozen grim faces. Michelle stands at Trella’s shoulder, trying to steady her breathing.

  “Entry points are minimal,” Trella said quietly. “The main gate’s suicide. Motion detectors, cameras and a kill-zone crossfire.”

  Talia tapped the keyboard, thermal overlays flickering across the map. “South perimeter has two roving patrols. The north side has a service door. Least coverage, but it’s badge-locked.”

  “I’ll take the first patrol,” Katya said calmly.

  Aya’s grin flashed in the dim light. “And I’ll eat the second.”

  Cherry Bomb flicks open a pouch of shaped charges, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  “No loud entries yet,” Trella cut in, firm. “We need intel before anything explodes.” Her gaze shifted to Michelle. “You’re on my six. You follow orders. No improvising.”

  Michelle nodded quickly. “Understood.”

  Williams hands Trella a comm unit. “We’ll be here. If things go bad, you run back this way. Milena and I will cover your retreat.”

  ***

  The Fangs crawl belly-low through pine needles. Drizzle slicks their gear. In the distance, faint electric hums and the whir of a generator carry through the woods. Katya and Aiko vanish into the darkness, ghosting toward the nearest guard posts. Aya and Amelie angle wide, setting up a diversion route. The others slither toward the north service door. A muffled thwip—Katya’s suppressed rifle. A soft grunt—Aiko’s blade work. Two silhouettes collapse soundlessly.

  “Patrols down,” Talia whispered over comms. “Camera disabled. You’re clear.”

  The service door clicks open after Samira works her improvised pick. The door slides silently. A sterile hallway stretches into darkness.

  “Go,” Trella whispered. “Slow.”

  The team slips inside. The faint echo of distant machinery vibrates through the floor. Somewhere below, something is very much alive. The lights hum softly overhead. Every footstep echoes like a gunshot. Trella signals a halt with a clenched fist. Maya slips forward, silent on rubber soles, scanning corners with her MP5.

  “Two cameras ahead,” Maya murmured after slipping forward. “Overlapping arcs. Someone’s working late.”

  A shadow moves at the far end of the hall. A lone oblivious worker in coveralls with earbuds in walks by. An electronic keycard is dangling from his neck.

  “Perfect,” Trella said. “Mei-Ling. Aiko. Quiet grab.”

  In a blur of motion, Aiko steps out of the darkness, one hand over the worker’s mouth, Mei-Ling’s kukri resting cold against his throat. “Don’t scream. Blink twice if you understand.”

  The terrified worker blinks twice. Liza pulls the badge from around his neck and pockets the keycard. Aya smiled softly. “Our golden ticket.”

  Trella motions and Aiko uses a zip-tie to bind and gag the worker, leaving him unconscious behind a supply cabinet. The stolen keycard opens a bulkhead door with a muted beep. Beyond lies a wider industrial hallway, security cameras blinking in every corner. Trella gestures for Talia to stay tight.

  “The deeper we go, the more encrypted traffic I’m seeing,” Talia said quietly, checking her detector. “There’s a whole secure network under our feet.”

  Michelle softly: “They’re moving a lot of data. This isn’t just an assembly line.”

  A low, mechanical whine vibrates through the floor, rising and falling like distant breathing.

  “And listen—” Maya muttered. “—something big’s running below.”

  The Fangs snake along the wall, twelve shadows moving as one. The keycard grants them access again. Another beep, another door sliding open. Through a small observation window ahead rows of sealed cargo crates stamped SIMCOR COMPONENTS are seen. A single motion-activated camera scans the room methodically.

  “That’s confirmation. We’re in the right place,” Trella said under her breath.

  Michelle swallows hard. “This is bigger than Atlanta.”

  The girls fan out, slipping deeper into the labyrinth of corridors.

  The metal steps creak under twelve careful sets of boots. Lights cast the walls in a cold, pale glow as the Fangs descend.

  “Level zero’s clear,” Trella said. “No chatter unless vital.”

  “Feels like the basement of hell down here,” Aya muttered.

  Michelle keeps close to Trella, laptop hugged to her chest, the stolen badge looped around her wrist.

  Talia checked her scanner. “Signal strength’s spiking. Whatever they don’t want anyone to see, it’s below.”

  The team halts at a heavy blast door labeled SUBLEVEL –1 ACCESS. A security camera sweeps the stairwell behind them. Close, but not on their side yet. Mei-Ling slips the badge into the reader; a green light blinks. The Fangs sweep through dim hallways lined with humming pipes and flickering strip lights. Their boots make only whispers on the concrete.

  “Eyes sharp,” Trella whispered. “We grab intel before anything goes loud.”

  Maya signals an unlocked side door ahead. “Unsecured. That’s either a trap or a gift.”

  “Let’s take the gift.”

  A cramped space with three active monitors, a half-empty coffee mug and a humming server stack. Michelle’s eyes widened. “The system’s still logged in!”

  Talia’s fingers twitch with anticipation. “We need network credentials. Let’s—”

  The door creaks. A white-coated technician steps back in, freezes at the sight of twelve armed teenagers.

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  “Wrong place, wrong time, buddy,” Aya growled.

  The girls yank him inside, shove him against a cabinet and pointed weapons at him.

  “Y-you can’t be—” he stammered.

  Amelie stepped forward, the muzzle of her BAR lifting his chin. Her grin was wide, unhinged, almost playful. “Oh, we can be. Key. Now.”

  His courage evaporates. He logs them in, hands shaking. Michelle and Talia dive onto the terminals. “We’re in. Pulling schematics and shipment logs.”

  Grabbing research files. This is… oh my God. Neural grafts, hybrid protocols… Schmidt’s making soldiers that heal like monsters.”

  Michelle plugs her laptop into the port, data is streaming. The progress bar hits 67%. Suddenly the monitors flash red: NETWORK BREACH DETECTED – SECURITY LOCKDOWN. Sirens howl through the sublevel; lights turn crimson.

  “We’re cut off!” Talia snapped.

  Michelle yanked the cable free. “Got most of it. It’s enough.”

  Trella cracks the tech on the temple with a rifle butt. He crumples unconscious. “That’s it. No more sneaking.”

  Aya cocked her grenade launcher with a satisfied click. “Finally.”

  “Schmidt’s plans end tonight,” Trella continued. “We blow the whole place.”

  The girls shoulder weapons. The raid is no longer silent. The sirens continue their wail as the Fangs pour out of the computer room and toward a wide industrial corridor. Sparks flicker from the disabled elevator panel Aiko’s blade severed the control wires moments ago.

  “Elevator’s dead,” Maya whispered over comms. “The only way out is the stairs.”

  “Good,” Trella replied. “No one runs. No one calls for backup topside.”

  The hallway opens into a vast warehouse. Towering shelves stacked with cybernetic limbs, fiber coils, servo motors, crates of surgical steel. A squad of SimCor security soldiers in dark tac-gear scramble for weapons. They spot the intruders. Gunfire erupts. The Fangs fan out: Katya takes the sniper angle behind shelving, Amelie shoulders her BAR, Aya sweeps the left flank with grenades. Sparks shower from ricochets; crates splinter under bursts of gunfire. Samira whips a flashbang around a corner blinding the soldiers. Mei-Ling spins a rope dart around a crate corner, disarms one guard, and pulls him into Aya’s line of fire. Trella leads a tight push down the central aisle, Michelle staying low behind her while Talia keeps her pistol drawn but mostly covers Michelle. Maya vaults over a pallet, lands on a guard’s back and uses his own rifle to drop another. Liza tosses a small gas ampule, forcing a pair of guards out of cover and into Amelie’s sights. Within moments, the warehouse is a ruin of overturned crates and sparking equipment. One surviving guard dives for a wall alarm, but Aiko pins his hand to the panel with her short blade before finishing him silently.

  “All of this…” Talia breathed. “It’s enough for an army.”

  Michelle checks her laptop. “And this is only spare hardware. The real nightmare is deeper.”

  “Then deeper we go,” Trella said.

  The team tightens formation, weapons ready and starts toward the stairwell marked SUBLEVEL –2 – RESEARCH.

  The Fangs descend in silence. The air here feels different—sterile and chilled, humming with the faint buzz of servers. Frosted-glass partitions reveal long rows of terminals, workbenches, and delicate surgical instruments. Holo-screens glow with anatomical schematics: human spines overlaid with carbon frameworks.

  A pair of SimCor soldiers patrol near a secured lab door. Aya silently signals two fingers forward. Trella nods. Aiko glides behind one, blade flashing. Aya tackles the second before he can shout. Both fall without a sound. The squad enters the main corridor. Behind one panel of glass white-coated researchers frantically copy files, trying to secure drives.

  “They’re locking data… and probably alerting everyone below,” Michelle said.

  “If any of them escape, this whole nightmare starts again,” Talia adds quietly.

  “We stop it here.” Trella snaps.

  The researchers freeze as the barrel of Amelie’s BAR shatters the glass with a deafening crack. “Hands where I can see them!”

  Some comply, trembling. One older scientist lunges for a hidden pistol, Anya guns him down instantly. The others stare in horror. Michelle lowers her weapon slightly, her face pale, but she forces herself forward. “You built monsters out of children.”

  The room became silent. Aya slings her SMG, her expression hard but heavy. “We can’t let this spread. Not to anyone.”

  Michelle swallows hard and finally nods. “ …Do it.”

  The Fangs sweep the labs methodically. Servers smashed, drives pocketed or wiped. They move room to room, disabling cameras, cutting power to critical machines and leaving explosives in key corners.

  A frightened young tech tries to run, but Liza intercepts him, her P90 hissing softly. The team secures the remaining researchers, binds them and leaves them on the floor. They regroup at the central corridor door leading to SUBLEVEL –3 – ASSEMBLY.

  “No going back. Let's finish the job,” Trella said coldly.

  The stairwell door creaks as they descend toward the lowest level, where the true horror waits. The door opens to a cavernous chamber humming with pumps and life-support machinery. Tubes snake from massive nutrient tanks, inside are half-formed cyborgs float limply in pale green fluid. The Fangs fan out cautiously, weapons raised. Trella gestures two fingers—advance slow.

  Suddenly, overhead lights flare and through a bulletproof glass observation deck, they see Dr. Johann Schmidt flanked by two suited VIPs: an older defense contractor and a stern CIA deputy director. Their expressions are a mixture of shock and fury.

  Schmidt’s voice purred over the intercom. “Well… the prodigals return. I’d hoped Sung’s demise would buy me more time. Clearly, I underestimated you.”

  Michelle catches sight of the CIA brass, her face drains. She realizes just how high this goes. She whispered… “Oh my god… Dad’s boss.”

  The VIPs vanish behind a closing blast door. Schmidt smirks one last time and slams a control panel. A deep mechanical hiss fills the hall. One of the largest biotanks vents its fluid violently. A half-finished cyborg drops to the wet floor, steaming and dripping, its synthetic eye flickering to life. Its movements are jerky at first, but stabilize rapidly. It turns its head toward the girls.

  “Fresh out of the tank…” Aiko breathed.

  “…and already wants to kill us,” Aya finished.

  The cyborg lunges, moving with terrifying speed despite its incomplete form. Trella’s shotgun blast staggers it but doesn’t drop it. Amelia’s BAR rattles, sparks fly as rounds glance off reinforced plating. Mei-Ling darts in with her kukri, scoring a shallow slash before being flung across the floor. The Fangs are forced to scatter, using columns for cover. The cyborg backhands Anya, sending her skidding. Aiko dives low, slicing hydraulic tubing at its knee, fluid sprays, momentarily crippling its balance.

  Trella yells. “Hit the joints and optics!”

  Amelie drives her scythe through a weak point in its shoulder and quickly evades; Aya follows with a grenade launcher round at point-blank blowing off an arm. It rises again, sparking, but slower now. Aiko finishes it with a swift blade strike to the skull’s weak seam. The cyborg spasms, collapses and lies still, fluid pooling beneath it.

  The Fangs stand, breathing heavily, bruised and scraped but alive.

  “They’re building monsters faster now,” Trella said grimly.

  They exchange weary but determined glances. The destroyed cyborg steams at their feet as the blast door to Schmidt’s inner lab seals tight below. The door hums with electronic locks. Aya stomps forward, snarling. She grabs the access console, muscles straining and rips it clean from the wall. Wires are dangling like torn veins. Sparks shower across the floor. “Door problem solved.”

  Talia slides beside the exposed wiring, her fingers a blur as she hotwires the circuits. Sparks flicker, then a satisfying hiss of hydraulics. The blast door grinds open.

  Inside is a sterile command lab filled with glowing monitors and surgical tables. Schmidt, the CIA deputy director and the contractor spin toward them. The deputy’s hand goes to his shoulder holster and draws a gun. “Don’t—!”

  Too late. Liza, Amelie, and Anya unload in perfect sync. The deputy is shredded in a heartbeat. Armor-piercing rounds tear him apart, his pistol clattering uselessly to the floor.

  The contractor freezes, unarmed, trembling.

  Michelle whispered. “He… he can’t walk out of here.”

  Aiko steps forward in silence, sword flashes. One precise arc and the contractor’s head tumbles free, rolling across the sterile tiles.

  Schmidt staggers back, chest heaving, a desperate, psychotic grin stretching his face. “You can’t stop progress. You can’t stop science. And don’t forget, you crawled out of a test tube, too.”

  Trella levels her shotgun, her eyes cold as winter steel. “This isn’t progress. And you’re worse than the monsters who made us. Time to take a deep breath… through your big-ass forehead.”

  The BOOM of Trella’s shotgun at point-blank fills the lab. Schmidt’s body crumples, the wall behind him painted red. Silence falls, broken only by the drip of fluids and the distant alarms. The Fangs exchange grim looks. No celebration, only the heavy weight of what they’ve just done. Trella lowers her shotgun. Her hands tremble almost imperceptibly. Aya’s fierce mask slips. Even Amelie’s grin is gone. The room feels heavier than any firefight.

  Michelle whispers. “We… We crossed a line tonight.”

  Trella's voice was steady as steel. “We crossed it the second they came after us.”