Location: Central Building – Containment Room (Floor 50)

  The emergency lights are still flashing, casting long, distorted shadows against the cell's cracked glass. Henry walks down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the heavy silence. Behind him, Freya keeps a cautious distance, her hands folded over her womb in an almost imperceptible gesture.

  Gun is sitting in the center of the room, his chains pulled taut. He no longer looks like a king, but his eyes gleam with a wild intelligence as he sees the two approach.

  — The General and the Queen — Gun says, his voice raspy. — Did you come to ask me to sign your terms of surrender, or did you come to see if the glass is still holding up?

  Henry stops in front of the glass. He no longer wears the blue mask on his face; his eyes are sunken, burdened by the weight of Mika’s death.

  — We need to know what they are, Gun — Henry says, getting straight to the point. — Elijah spoke about the "Night Folk." He moves as if the world has no gravity. He killed Mika as if she were nothing.

  Gun stands up slowly, the metal of his handcuffs clinking.

  — Elijah... — Gun repeats the name, savoring the poison. — So of all of them, he’s the one who came. He is the deadliest among the Reapers.

  He walks up to the glass, standing face-to-face with Henry.

  — In my early years on Highway 97, when I was still building my empire with blood and oil, I encountered them — Gun begins, his gaze lost in the past. — There were only ten of them. Ten men against my original army. I thought they would be crushed in minutes.

  Gun looks down at his own calloused hands.

  — I was wrong. They are the first assassins of the Fall. They possess a military power I don't know where they scavenged from in this wasteland. Armor that absorbs impact, ammunition that never fails... and the combat. They don’t fight, Henry. They execute a dance we don't know. Alone, those ten killed fifty of my best men in a single night. I only survived because they decided I was "useful" to keep the chaos organized in Oregon.

  Freya steps forward, her voice trembling. — They are heading for the Hydro-Council, Gun. They want the water. If they control the biology, there will be nothing left for anyone. Not even for your... for our future.

  Gun fixes his eyes on her. The mention of "the future" hits him harder than any punch from Henry. He looks at Henry, a silent challenge shining on his face.

  — You want my help, Heretic? You want me to teach you how a wolf hunts a ghost?

  Henry clenches his fist. The hatred is immense, but the need is greater.

  — I want you to help us kill them — Henry responds. — After that, you go back to this cell. Or to the grave. The choice will be yours.

  Gun flashes a dark smile, revealing stained teeth.

  — Take these chains off. If we’re going to hunt Reapers, I’m going to need more than just campfire stories. I’m going to need a weapon.

  The Weight of Lead

  Henry enters the cell with a face of stone. He says nothing as he unlocks Gun’s handcuffs. The sound of the metal hitting the floor seems to echo throughout the entire floor.

  Henry reaches for his belt and pulls out the two high-caliber Magnums he had confiscated from Gun. He stares at them for a second—symbols of a power he detests, but which is now their only chance for survival.

  Henry reaches out and hands one of the revolvers to Gun. The other, he tucks firmly into his own holster.

  — Just one — Henry says, his voice as sharp as ice. — And if I see the barrel of that weapon pointed at any of my brothers, I guarantee you won’t have time to hear the shot.

  Gun holds the weapon with a haunting familiarity. He spins the cylinder, feeling the weight of the steel, and a flash of satisfaction returns to his eyes. He tucks the revolver into his waistband and walks out of the glass cell, stretching his arms.

  He crosses the hallway and enters the command floor’s living area, collapsing heavily onto the vandalized leather sofa.

  — Ah... it feels good to be free — Gun murmurs, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, as if he were in a luxury hotel rather than a besieged base.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Freya stands before him, arms crossed, staring at him with a gaze heavy with judgment and disappointment. Gun feels the weight of her stare even with his eyes closed. He opens just one eye, observing the silhouette of the woman he still calls his own.

  — Oh, don’t look at me like that, my queen — Gun says, with a smirk that blends mockery and exhaustion. — I need to rest a bit before the mission. Hunting ghosts requires the body to be ready, and this sofa of yours... well, the Heretics might not have ammo, but they know how to pick furniture.

  Freya remains standing for a few seconds, watching Gun relax on the sofa as if the chaos outside were mere background noise. Exhaustion finally breaks her posture. She sits at the other end of the cushion, maintaining a safe distance, but the weight of the secret she carries seems to pull her toward the center.

  Gun doesn't move, but his voice loses the mocking tone he used with Henry.

  — You’re pale, Freya — he says, eyes still closed. — The air up here is cleaner than at the Sawmill, but you breathe as if you’re suffocating.

  Freya looks at her own hands, which are trembling slightly on her knees.

  — I saw what he did to Mika, Gun. I saw the speed. That wasn't human. — She turns to him, her voice an urgent whisper. — Why did you never tell me about them? Why did you let me believe you were the top of the food chain?

  Gun opens his eyes and sits up, leaning forward. His face, without the leather mask, suddenly looks human and vulnerable.

  — Because an empire is built on myths, Freya. If my people knew there were ten demons who could decimate an entire army without firing a shot, no one would be afraid of me.

  Freya’s eyes well up with tears.

  — And now... now I’m carrying something that will be born into a world where these "Reapers" are the masters of the night.

  Gun doesn't respond with arrogance. For the first time, the face of the Highway 97 executioner contorts into an expression of genuine shame. He looks at the floor, feeling the weight of his failure to be the protector he promised to be.

  Slowly, with an almost ceremonial movement that contrasts with his brute strength, Gun slides off the sofa. He kneels on the cold marble before Freya. She flinches instinctively but stops when she sees the vulnerability in his eyes.

  Gun tilts his head and rests it gently against Freya’s womb. His large hands, scarred and stained by gunpowder, rest with supernatural lightness on the fabric of her dress.

  — I am not the father this world deserves — Gun whispers, his voice muffled against her belly. — But I am the only shield it has right now.

  He closes his eyes, feeling the life growing inside, oblivious to the demons surrounding the building.

  — I never had anything that was real, Freya. The empire was metal, the oil was smoke... but this right here... — He squeezes his hands slightly, as if holding a miracle. — If Elijah wants to touch this secret, he’s going to have to take me apart piece by piece.

  Freya hesitates but eventually rests one of her hands on Gun’s head. It is a gesture of bitter forgiveness. She looks toward the door and sees Henry’s silhouette, watching the scene in silence. Henry doesn't interrupt. He simply lowers his eyes in a sign of respect.

  Gun stands up, quickly wiping his face so no one sees the trace of his weakness. He returns to his corner of the sofa and recovers his harsh tone.

  — Sleep, Freya. Tomorrow, I’m taking them to the slaughterhouse in the Cascades. And I’m going to need you safe for our future.

  The Plan

  A few hours later, the atmosphere in the planning room is freezing. Gun stands before the tactical map, the light from an oil lamp casting his massive silhouette over the depiction of the Cascade Mountains. The surviving Heretics surround him, maintaining a safe distance but listening to every word with deadly attention.

  Gun points to the dense green patches on the map.

  — The Cascade forest is a labyrinth of 90% thick vegetation — Gun says, his raspy voice echoing against the marble. — But it has points you need to know if you want to survive more than an hour inside.

  He taps his finger on a small icon to the south.

  — We have an abandoned gas station here. It can serve for quick supplies, but it’s a visual trap. To the east, there’s an old, rustic mansion; it’s solid, hidden among the oaks, the best place to sleep if you need walls between you and the void. To the west, the abandoned airport, a dangerous open field.

  He slides his finger to the far north, where the map becomes more detailed with concrete markings.

  — And right here, to the north, is the Reapers' HQ. It’s not a sawmill or a junkyard, Henry. It’s a massive scientific base that belonged to the CIA before the Fall. High-end technology, systems that Beck would take years to understand.

  Henry crosses his arms, his blue mask hooked to his belt. — What’s the infiltration plan?

  — Ideally, we go at night — Gun responds, looking Henry in the eye. — At night, they don’t activate the hunting drones; thermal signatures are harder to process in the thick forest. The problem... — Gun pauses grimly — ...is that the Reapers themselves come out at night to hunt. They are the "Night Folk," remember?

  Leo gulps, and Kol grips the handle of his axe.

  — How will we know if we’ve entered their range before getting our throats slit? — Kol asks.

  Gun lets out a heavy sigh, as if remembering something he’d rather forget.

  — You’ll know. If you see piles of burned corpses crucified on tree stakes, that’s the sign. They don’t mark territory with branch crosses like you do, or with fences like I do. They mark it with what’s left of those who tried to resist. If you see the stakes, it means the territory is theirs... or that they are already behind you.

  Henry looks at the group, then at the Magnum on Gun’s belt.

  — Pack your bags. If the night belongs to them, let’s show them that the Heretics know how to walk in the shadows.

  The Flow Massacre

  Location: Willamette Hydroelectric Plant (Hydro-Council Base)

  Regent Maros’s sentries wear clean uniforms and carry harpoons as weapons, but they lack the soul of a warrior. When the first motion sensor is cut, they think it’s just an animal. Seconds later, the darkness inside the plant becomes solid.

  Elijah and Ian (the second Reaper from the night before) enter through the main ventilation duct. They don't use explosives; the entry is surgical.

  In the center of the control room, Regent Maros watches the monitors as they begin to hiss and go dark one by one. — What is this? A problem with turbine four? — Maros asks, adjusting his impeccable suit.

  — It’s not the turbine, sir — a guard responds, trembling. — Something... something deactivated the external security. No shots fired. No alarms.

  Suddenly, the door is breached. Ian enters first.

  — Targets identified — Ian’s voice through the modulator is higher and more electric than Elijah’s.

  Maros’s guards try to react, but it’s too late. Elijah emerges from the shadows behind the first squad. In a blur of Krav Maga, he breaks a soldier's arm and uses his body as a human shield against the harpoon fire from the others' crossbows.

  Ian moves with a different kind of agility; he prefers low-profile combat, sliding across the floor and slashing the guards' tendons. It is a silent and rhythmic slaughterhouse.

  — STOP! — Maros screams, backing into the corner of the room. — I am the Regent! I control the water! If I die, the purification system locks!

  Elijah stops just inches from Maros. The guards' blood drips from his leather gloves with wrist-mounted blades, but his black suit remains spotless. He removes the voice modulator for a moment, letting his natural voice—cold and devoid of emotion—echo.

  — You control nothing, Maros — Elijah says. — The water belongs to the Earth. You are just a parasite who put a faucet on it. We’ve come to settle the tab.

  Ian approaches, sheathing his knives and connecting a portable device to the dam's central terminal. — Elijah, Silas is going to like this. The outflow is triple what we predicted. We can dry out the rebel cities in ten minutes.

  Elijah looks at Maros, who is shaking and sweating. — We’re not going to kill you yet, Regent. We need your fingerprints to authorize full access to the encrypted systems. After that, I’ll decide whether to kill you or give you a one-way ticket to hell.

  Ian laughs, a dry, metallic sound. — Tomorrow, Oregon will find out what real thirst feels like.

  Elijah squeezes Maros’s neck. — Excellent. I want the Heretics to watch the world die of thirst before I break his neck.

  On the Way to the Cascades

  The scene cuts to the Heretics and Gun. They are crossing the border into the forest. The atmosphere has changed; the air is thicker, more humid.

  Henry stops. — What is it? — Gun asks, drawing his Magnum.

  Henry points to the trees by the roadside. There they are: the stakes. Twelve corpses of Hydro-Council scouts, crucified and burned, forming a macabre corridor pointing north.

  — They’ve already taken the dam — Henry says, his voice heavy with hatred.

  END OF SEASON 2