The rain started sometime after midnight — a cold, bitter rain that polished the streets into black rivers. By morning, Veriton looked like it had been scrubbed raw, but the filth only ran deeper.
Evan stood outside a battered bus stop on 7th Street, hood pulled low, hands jammed into his jacket. The city moved around him: exhausted faces, angry voices, the constant hum of traffic that never seemed to go anywhere but down.
Maya jogged up, breath misting in the chill air. She wore a dark beanie and a jacket two sizes too big, blending in like a shadow among the forgotten. In her hand, she carried a battered backpack.
"You ready?" she asked, voice low.
Evan nodded. He wasn't sure if readiness mattered.
They caught a ride on the Number 17 — a bus that smelled like mildew and broken dreams. They rode it all the way to the edge of the Warehouse District, slipping off two stops early to avoid drawing attention.
The city here was different. Emptier. The streets were wide and cracked, lined with abandoned factories and fenced-off lots. Most of the windows had been punched out long ago, leaving dark, jagged mouths yawning into nothingness.
Pier 14 loomed in the distance like a sleeping giant, a crooked line of warehouses huddled against the water's edge. Rusty cargo cranes rose above them like the broken bones of some long-dead beast.
Maya checked her watch. "We've got two hours until they move it. If it's even here."
Evan glanced around. They weren't alone. A black SUV idled near a loading bay, windows tinted so dark they swallowed the morning light. Across the street, two men in heavy coats leaned against a lamppost, pretending not to watch everything too closely.
"This is bad," Evan muttered.
Maya cracked a small, humorless smile. "Bad would've been staying home."
They ducked into a side alley, moving fast between the skeletons of old warehouses. Each step sounded like a gunshot on the wet concrete. Every door looked the same: rotting wood, rusted locks, graffiti scrawled like battle cries.
Finally, they found it — Warehouse 14B.
The number had been spray-painted in red over the door, sloppy and hurried, like whoever had done it didn't want to linger.
Maya pulled out a crowbar from her backpack. She looked at Evan once, a flash of something sharp and reckless in her eyes, then jammed the crowbar into the doorframe. With a sharp jerk, the lock gave way with a wet snap.
Inside, the air was thick and sour, heavy with dust and the faint sting of something chemical. Stacks of crates lined the walls, most stamped with faded shipping logos.
Evan's pulse hammered against his ribs. Somewhere in here...
Maya gestured, and they split up, moving between the aisles of forgotten cargo. Every shadow looked like it might move. Every creak of wood sounded like footsteps.
And then —
"Maya!" Evan hissed.
She spun toward him. He pointed.
There, tucked behind a stack of crates wrapped in plastic, sat a heavy metal briefcase. Matte black, silver 'V' gleaming even in the dim light.
They hurried over. Maya dropped to one knee, running quick fingers along the locks.
"It's wired," she said, her voice tight. "Some kind of alarm trigger."
Evan glanced over his shoulder. The warehouse was still silent, but the silence had teeth now.
"Can you disarm it?" he asked.
"Maybe. Maybe not," she said, digging into her backpack for a set of wire cutters. "Won't know till I try."
She bent over the case, sweat already beading at her temple despite the cold. Evan stood guard, every sense straining.
Minutes dragged like hours.
Finally, Maya let out a sharp breath. "Done."
The locks clicked open. She eased the case lid up, just enough for them to see.
Inside —
Stacks of documents, neatly bound. USB drives. And something else — a small, sleek black box with a biohazard symbol etched into it.
"What the hell is this?" Evan whispered.
Maya shook her head, just as pale as he was. "Not drugs. Not money. Something worse."
Footsteps thundered outside the warehouse.
"Move!" Evan barked.
They snapped the briefcase shut and bolted. Through a side door, down an alley thick with puddles and garbage. Gunshots cracked behind them, ripping the silence apart.
Bullets stitched the brick wall beside Evan's head as he ducked low, heart roaring in his ears. He grabbed Maya's hand without thinking, pulling her faster, faster.
They rounded a corner — straight into two more men in black jackets, weapons drawn.
Evan didn't hesitate. He swung the crowbar in a wide arc, catching one across the wrist. The gun clattered to the ground. Maya lunged at the second man, jamming her knee into his gut hard enough to drop him.
"Run!" she shouted.
They tore through the maze of alleys, every breath a fight, every muscle screaming.
They didn't stop until they burst out onto a main road, almost colliding with a delivery truck. Horns blared. Tires screeched.
They dived behind a dumpster as the black SUV from earlier roared past, windows down, guns glinting.
"Jesus," Evan gasped, chest heaving. "What the hell did we just steal?"
Maya clutched the briefcase to her chest, eyes wide with a fear Evan had never seen before.
"Not what," she said hoarsely. "Who."
Evan stared at her. "What do you mean?"
She swallowed hard. "This... this isn't about money, Evan. It's about people. Experiments. Secrets they buried because the world wasn't ready for them."
The briefcase seemed heavier now, almost alive.
Sirens wailed in the distance. Somewhere close, someone screamed.
The city was waking up, and it was coming for them.
"Come on," Maya said, standing. Her face was set, fierce. "We have to disappear. Now."
They faded into the crowd, the rain washing away their footprints, but not the blood trail they'd left behind.
Not this time.
Not ever again.
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