A Helping Hand

Lena stood defiant, silhouetted against the dying light filtering through the shattered windows of Cinderhold.

Dust motes danced in the air, illuminated by the harsh glare of the Syndicate soldiers' helmet lamps.

"You want the serum?" she challenged, her voice rough but firm, each word a hurled stone. "Come and get it."

The two closest soldiers lunged, their movements honed by countless drills. Lena moved, a lifetime of training compressed into a heartbeat.

She was a scientist, yes, but forged in the crucible of a broken world, she was also a weapon. She ducked the first blade, felt the wind of its passage on her cheek, and slammed her fist into the soldier's jaw.

The satisfying crunch was drowned out by the hiss of the second blade. It grazed her arm, a line of fire blossoming on her skin. Pain, sharp and insistent, but ignored.

She pivoted, a whirlwind of motion, and her leg connected with the second soldier's ribs. He folded with a grunt, his breath escaping in a ragged gasp.

But the Syndicate was a hydra. Two more soldiers filled the breach, their advance relentless. Lena fought with the desperation of a cornered animal, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.

She connected with one's helmet, the metallic clang echoing through the desolate square, but the other's blade found its mark, slicing across her thigh. A wave of dizziness, the world tilting. She stumbled, her vision blurring.

They pressed their advantage, their movements brutal, efficient. A blow to the head snapped her back to a terrifying clarity. She fell to her knees, the taste of blood and dust filling her mouth.

"Where is it?" The question was a guttural snarl, punctuated by the pressure of a boot on her chest.

Lena spat, a crimson stain on the ochre dust.

"Go to hell." she said in low voice.

They hauled her to her feet, dragging her towards their sleek, black hovercycles. Every jolt was a fresh agony, her body a canvas of pain.

They threw her into a makeshift interrogation room – a hollowed-out building, its walls scarred and crumbling. The questioning began, a relentless tide of pain and shouted demands.

But Lena's mind was a fortress, its gates sealed. Her only thought was of Leo, of the fragile vial hidden beneath his shirt. She wouldn't break. She would shield him, even at the cost of her own life.

Time lost all meaning. Pain became a constant companion, a white-hot fire that consumed her. But through the haze, she heard it. A disturbance outside. Shouts. The unmistakable clang of metal on metal.

Leo.

He burst into the room, a whirlwind of youthful fury, a salvaged metal pipe clutched in his hand like a warrior's staff.

He swung with a desperate strength, catching one of the soldiers on the leg. The soldier stumbled, cursing.

But Leo was just a boy, facing hardened killers. They disarmed him swiftly, throwing him to the ground. He scrambled back, his eyes wide, the fight draining out of him, replaced by a chilling fear.

One of the soldiers drew a heavy axe, its edge gleaming dully in the dim light. Lena's blood turned to ice.

"No!" The scream tore from her throat, raw and primal. "Please! Take me instead! Do whatever you want, just… leave him alone!"

A chorus of laughter, cruel and mocking, filled the room. "He's a test subject," one of them sneered.

"Too valuable to let go." Another leaned in, his breath hot and foul against her ear.

"But you… we can have some fun with you."

The soldier with the axe approached Leo, a sinister grin twisting his lips. The axe rose, a glint of steel in the darkness.

Lena squeezed her eyes shut, a desperate prayer forming on her lips, a plea to a god she wasn't sure she believed in anymore.

Then, silence. A strange, unsettling stillness.

A voice, quiet yet commanding, cut through the silence.

"Leave them."

The soldiers turned, their attention shifting from their prey. Standing in the doorway, silhouetted against the twilight, was the lone traveller.

He was tall and lean, his features obscured by the shadows, but his presence filled the room.

The soldiers, momentarily stunned, recovered quickly. They were Syndicate, trained killers, and this was just an interloper. Two of them rushed him, blades drawn.

What followed was a blur of motion too fast for the eye to track. The traveller moved like smoke, like a phantom, his movements fluid and impossibly swift.

He flowed around their attacks, his hands and feet striking with the precision of a master.

The clang of metal on metal was replaced by the sickening thud of flesh on bone, the grunts and gasps of the falling soldiers.

It was over in seconds. The soldiers lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious or writhing in pain. The traveller stood amidst the chaos, untouched, his breathing even.

He turned, his gaze meeting Lena's across the room. His eyes, dark and unfathomable, held a depth of understanding that sent a shiver down her spine.