The rooftop door slammed shut behind Eka, the metallic clang swallowed by the monsoon’s howl. Rain needled her face as she crouched behind a ventilation duct, the EMP grenade slick in her grip. Below, the black SUV idled like a panther, its headlights off. Two figures emerged—tall, silhouettes distorted by the downpour. They moved with the eerie synchronicity of augmented operatives, their steps silent even on gravel.
“Too fast,” Eka thought, her throat tight. The Dragons didn’t send foot soldiers for breaches like this. They sent Hunters.
She thumbed the grenade’s activation chip and peered through her smart lenses, overlaying thermal scans onto the storm-blurred night. The operatives’ heat signatures glowed unnaturally cool, a telltale sign of subcutaneous cryo-weave armor. Military-grade. Experimental. Mei Ling’s biotech, no doubt.
Her earpiece crackled. A voice, synthetic and genderless, oozed through the static: “You’ve been naughty, little moth.”