Pocket Dimensions

The abandoned warehouse loomed before us, its rusted exterior blending into the dilapidated urban sprawl surrounding it. I glanced at Jessica, her steps light and purposeful as we approached. She'd been unusually quiet on the way here, save for the occasional nervous glance my way. The golden marker above her head pulsed faintly, like a firefly in the dark.

"You sure about this place?" I asked, my voice cutting through the silence.

She nodded, smiling faintly. "You'll see. They're... good people. Misfits, maybe, but loyal."

I hummed in acknowledgment but kept my guard up. The last time I trusted someone blindly, I ended up in a goddamn torture chamber. The GRA had taught me well—trust was currency, not charity.

As we reached the heavy, corroded double doors, I felt it before I saw it. A subtle ripple in the air, like static brushing against my skin. My system buzzed faintly in my mind.