The storm raged outside.
Rain lashed the cracked windows, drumming a steady rhythm that filled the warehouse with restless noise.
Inside, under the trembling light, Bernard and Mara pored over the files again and again, trying to make sense of the vast corruption sprawled before them.
There was no clear pattern—only devastation stitched across years and continents.
Each project more grotesque than the last.
Each revelation more damning.
Bernard's fingers trembled as he flipped through pages of encrypted documents, his brain struggling to process the sheer scope of it all.
Human experiments.
Economic manipulations.
Entire wars engineered behind closed doors.
The Foundation wasn't just powerful.
It was foundational—woven into the very bones of society.
Trying to bring it down felt like trying to cut out the heart of the world itself.
He leaned back, scrubbing his hands through his hair.
"This is insane," he muttered.
"We're just two people."
Mara didn't look up.
"Three," she corrected.
"Sable's still with us."
Bernard barked a short, humorless laugh.
"Three people against a global conspiracy. Great odds."
Mara finally raised her gaze, her expression hard.
"We don't need to beat them in the open. We just need to expose them. Shine a light."
Bernard shook his head.
"They'll just bury it. Spin it. Call it fake news. Blame foreign actors. Discredit us."
"Maybe," Mara said quietly.
"But maybe not."
She leaned forward, eyes blazing.
"Sometimes it only takes one match to burn down a forest."
---
Morning crept slowly into the warehouse, gray and cold.
Bernard hadn't slept.
Neither had Mara.
Their faces were gaunt, shadows carving deep lines under their eyes.
But neither seemed ready to quit.
Sometime around dawn, Mara pulled out a crumpled map of the city and spread it on the floor.
"We can't just leak this online," she said.
"They'll scrub it faster than we can blink."
Bernard nodded.
"So?"
Mara tapped a spot near the industrial docks.
"There's an old broadcast station there. Abandoned for years, but some of the towers still work. If we can patch into one..."
She let the idea hang there.
Bernard frowned.
"Broadcast everything?"
"All of it," Mara confirmed.
"Unfiltered. Raw. Make it impossible to ignore."
Bernard hesitated.
It was a crazy plan.
Dangerous.
Desperate.
But... maybe the only shot they had.
"Alright," he said.
"How do we get there?"
Mara smiled grimly.
"Carefully."
---
An hour later, they were moving.
Bernard carried the tablet, now encrypted a dozen times over, hidden in the false bottom of an old backpack.
Mara walked ahead, her steps quick but deliberate.
They stuck to the shadows, weaving through back alleys and forgotten service tunnels.
The rain had slackened to a drizzle, but the streets still glistened, slick and treacherous.
Every face they passed looked like a potential enemy.
Every alley seemed ready to spit out a gunman.
Paranoia gnawed at Bernard's nerves, making him jump at every sudden noise.
But Mara never faltered.
She moved like she belonged to the underbelly of the city—fluid, invisible.
Bernard struggled to keep up.
They changed routes twice after spotting suspicious figures lingering too long at intersections.
Once, they doubled back entirely after Mara spotted a black sedan idling with its lights off near the old meatpacking district.
No mistakes.
No risks.
Still, the sense of being hunted never left.
It clung to Bernard's skin like the wet cold of the rain.
---
The broadcast station loomed ahead by mid-afternoon.
A crumbling relic from another age, its skeletal towers reaching for the bruised sky like the bones of some dead giant.
The main building was a gray hulk of cracked stone and rusted metal.
Windows gaped like empty eye sockets.
The place felt... wrong.
Silent.
Forgotten.
Haunted.
Bernard shivered despite himself.
Mara scanned the area through a battered pair of binoculars.
"Looks clear," she muttered.
Bernard didn't believe it.
Not for a second.
But they moved anyway.
They slipped through a breach in the perimeter fence, boots crunching softly over broken glass and weeds.
Inside, the station was a maze of ruined studios and sagging hallways.
Old equipment lay scattered like the bones of extinct beasts.
The air smelled of mold, oil, and something older—something sour and metallic.
Death, maybe.
Or memory.
Bernard kept one hand on the hidden backpack, heart hammering.
Mara led the way to the central broadcast room—a cavernous chamber dominated by a rusted console and a massive satellite uplink.
"This is it," she whispered.
Bernard set the backpack down carefully.
His fingers worked quickly, setting up the hardware Mara had scavenged: signal boosters, encrypted routers, power converters.
Every movement felt slow, clumsy.
He wasn't a tech expert.
But he knew enough.
Sweat trickled down his spine as he worked.
Minutes stretched into agonizing eternity.
Mara kept watch at the door, her pistol drawn, her posture tense.
At last, Bernard connected the final cable.
The console flickered weakly to life, screens crackling with static.
He inserted the tablet's drive and began the upload.
---
The progress bar crawled forward.
1%.
5%.
12%.
Bernard's mouth was dry.
His heart thudded painfully in his chest.
Mara turned to him.
"How long?"
"Ten minutes," he croaked.
Mara nodded once, grimly.
Then—
Footsteps.
Heavy, deliberate.
Boots on concrete.
Mara snapped to alertness, pistol raised.
Bernard froze.
The footsteps grew louder, closer.
Mara moved to the doorway, flattening herself against the wall.
Bernard wanted to scream—to yank out the drive and run—but he stayed.
The upload crawled onward.
19%.
27%.
A shadow moved past the doorway.
Mara held her breath.
Bernard's fingers hovered over the keyboard, trembling.
The shadow paused.
Listened.
Bernard could hear his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Then—
The shadow moved on.
The footsteps receded.
Mara exhaled slowly, lowering her weapon slightly.
Bernard sagged with relief.
The upload continued.
45%.
58%.
Almost there.
---
The gunshot shattered the silence.
Bernard flinched violently as the bullet punched through the wall just inches from his head.
Mara cursed, returning fire instantly.
The console sparked as another bullet struck it, sending up a shower of sparks.
Bernard dove to shield the drive, protecting the upload at all costs.
Mara fought like a demon, her shots precise and brutal.
But more attackers poured in.
Black-clad.
Heavily armed.
Bernard recognized the emblem on their shoulders—a stylized serpent coiled around a dagger.
Foundation Black Ops.
No mercy squads.
The kind that made people disappear forever.
Mara grabbed Bernard by the collar, dragging him behind a battered console.
"Protect the drive!" she screamed.
Bernard clutched the laptop to his chest, trying to make himself small.
Mara unleashed hell on their attackers, bullets flying in both directions.
But it was a losing fight.
Too many.
Too fast.
Bernard felt the console shudder under the impact of bullets.
The progress bar inched forward.
81%.
87%.
Almost—
A grenade rolled into the room.
Bernard barely had time to register it before Mara tackled him, throwing both of them behind a fallen metal cabinet.
BOOM.
The explosion rocked the room, shattering screens, spraying shards of metal and glass.
Bernard's ears rang.
Pain bloomed along his ribs.
But somehow, the laptop was still intact, clutched in his arms.
The upload resumed.
92%.
95%.
Mara pulled him to his feet.
"We have to hold!" she shouted.
Bernard nodded numbly.
The world was a blur of smoke and blood and screaming metal.
---
Another attacker burst through the door.
Mara shot him twice in the chest—but he kept coming, armored vest absorbing the impact.
Bernard acted without thinking.
He grabbed a length of broken pipe from the floor and swung it with all his strength.
It connected with the man's helmet with a sickening crack.
The attacker staggered.
Mara finished him with a shot to the throat.
Bernard stood there, panting, the pipe trembling in his hands.
The upload beeped.
100%.
Complete.
A massive signal burst from the uplink, shattering the air with invisible force.
Every file.
Every secret.
Broadcast to the world.
It was done.
---
Mara grabbed Bernard's arm, pulling him toward a side exit.
"We have to go!" she shouted over the chaos.
Gunfire tore through the room behind them.
Bernard stumbled after her, heart pounding.
They burst into the rain, slipping into the maze of shipping containers beyond the station.
Behind them, the building burned, flames licking at the stormy sky.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
The city was waking up.
And nothing would ever be the same.
---
They ran until their lungs gave out, collapsing behind a stack of rusted containers.
Bernard leaned against the metal, gasping.
Mara slid down beside him, blood trickling from a cut on her forehead.
They stared at each other.
Alive.
Broken.
Triumphant.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Bernard started laughing—a raw, shaky sound.
Mara joined him, her laughter sharp and wild.
They had done it.
Against all odds.
They had won.
For now.
---
But deep in the shadows, unseen by either of them, a figure watched.
A figure with cold eyes and a colder heart.
The Foundation would not fall quietly.
Retaliation would come.
And when it did, it would be merciless.
The war had only just begun.
---