The rain had stopped.
A thin mist coiled through the ruined docks, clinging to the rusted metal like a living thing.
Bernard pulled the hood of his jacket lower, trying to hide the blood still caked at the edge of his temple.
Every breath burned his chest.
His muscles screamed in protest.
But he couldn't stop moving.
Not yet.
Beside him, Mara limped, one hand pressed to her ribs, her other clutching the pistol still slick with rain and blood.
Neither spoke.
Words felt too fragile, too small to bridge the ocean of violence they had just crossed.
They had survived.
For now.
But the feeling wasn't victory.
It was something colder.
Sharper.
Like standing on the edge of a crumbling cliff and realizing the ground was already giving way beneath you.
---
They found refuge in a half-collapsed maintenance shed by the old canal.
The roof sagged alarmingly, but it was dry inside, and more importantly—out of sight.
Bernard sank onto a pile of broken pallets, clutching his side where a deep bruise bloomed under his ribs.
Mara crouched by the doorway, gun ready, watching the fog.
Minutes stretched endlessly.
Only the creak of metal and the distant howl of the wind broke the silence.
Bernard's thoughts churned.
They had broadcast everything—every document, every secret, every monstrous deed.
The Foundation's crimes were now etched into the world's consciousness.
News outlets would pick it up.
Whistleblowers would come forward.
Protests would ignite.
Governments would scramble to distance themselves.
It would be chaos.
Transformation.
But Bernard knew it would also be war.
The Foundation wasn't going to simply vanish.
They would fight.
With everything they had.
And Bernard, Mara, Sable—they had just painted giant targets on their backs.
There would be no forgiveness.
No escape.
Only the endless, grinding weight of survival.
---
"I don't hear anything," Mara said finally, her voice low and rough.
Bernard looked up.
Her face was a map of exhaustion and fury.
But there was a glint in her eyes—something dangerous.
Something unbreakable.
"Think we lost them?" Bernard rasped.
Mara shook her head.
"They're regrouping.
Hunting."
Bernard wiped his face with a shaking hand.
"What now?"
Mara hesitated.
Then, from the depths of her jacket, she pulled out a small, battered key.
Bernard frowned.
Mara tossed it to him.
He caught it awkwardly.
The key was old, heavy, the brass worn smooth by decades of use.
"What's this?"
Mara's voice dropped to almost a whisper.
"My father's legacy."
Bernard stiffened.
He remembered now—the whispers about Mara's family.
How her father had once been high inside the Foundation before... disappearing.
Mara had never spoken of him before.
Until now.
"There's a vault," she said.
"Deep under the old city. Buried so deep even the Foundation can't reach it easily."
She leaned closer.
"And inside that vault... is the real weapon."
Bernard swallowed hard.
"What weapon?"
Mara's smile was thin.
Bitter.
"Proof."
Not just documents.
Not just accusations.
Proof.
Physical, undeniable evidence of the Foundation's worst sins.
Things that couldn't be erased or discredited.
If they could get it, they could break the Foundation's spine.
But getting there?
That was another question entirely.
---
Night deepened outside the shed.
The city beyond the mist crackled with tension—sirens, distant gunfire, the angry roar of unseen crowds.
The world was changing faster than Bernard had ever dreamed.
And somewhere in the darkness, something was coming for them.
Mara tucked the pistol back into her jacket and stood.
"We move at dawn."
Bernard forced himself upright.
Every muscle screamed in protest, but he ignored it.
Pain meant he was alive.
Alive meant he could still fight.
He nodded.
"Let's finish this."
---
They left before first light.
The mist was thicker now, swallowing them whole as they crept through the dead city.
Mara led, weaving through back alleys and service tunnels Bernard didn't even know existed.
They crossed broken train yards, ducked under decaying bridges, waded through ankle-deep filth in abandoned sewer lines.
The city's underbelly wrapped around them like a shroud.
Hours blurred together.
Bernard lost track of time, of distance, of anything but the relentless rhythm of their footsteps and the cold steel weight of the key burning in his pocket.
---
Finally, they reached it.
A forgotten entrance, half-buried behind a collapsed subway station.
The heavy steel door was disguised to look like part of the crumbling wall.
Without Mara's map, without the key, they never would have found it.
Bernard inserted the key into a hidden slot.
For a terrifying moment, nothing happened.
Then—with a hiss and a groan—the door creaked inward.
Stale, cold air rushed out, smelling of dust and old secrets.
Mara drew her pistol.
Bernard tightened his grip on the backpack holding what little gear they had left.
They stepped inside.
---
The tunnel beyond was narrow, carved from ancient stone.
Lights flickered to life along the ceiling, casting the passage in sickly yellow illumination.
Their footsteps echoed endlessly.
Bernard's skin prickled.
Every instinct screamed that they were being watched.
Mara moved like a shadow, silent, alert.
The tunnel seemed endless.
But eventually, it widened into a vast underground chamber.
And there, at the center, was the vault.
A monstrous structure of steel and concrete, ringed by heavy security doors and biometric scanners.
Bernard whistled low.
"Your dad didn't mess around."
Mara didn't smile.
"This was his insurance policy.
In case the Foundation ever turned on him."
Bernard stepped forward cautiously.
The air buzzed with latent energy.
Mara approached the first scanner.
A small panel slid open, revealing a dusty fingerprint pad.
Without hesitation, Mara pressed her hand against it.
The system scanned her.
Beeped once.
Then the first lock disengaged with a heavy clunk.
Bernard exhaled slowly.
Mara moved to the next scanner—an old retina reader.
Bernard held his breath as the machine whirred to life.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—another beep.
The second lock disengaged.
One final door remained.
Mara turned to Bernard.
"This part... we have to do together."
Bernard frowned.
"What?"
Mara pointed to two handprint scanners side by side.
"It was built for two people.
Father and daughter.
Family trust."
Bernard hesitated.
"I'm not—"
Mara's eyes softened, just a fraction.
"You are now."
Bernard swallowed the lump in his throat.
Nodded.
Together, they placed their hands on the scanners.
The system hummed.
Analyzed.
Verified.
The door shuddered.
And then—
It opened.
---
Inside was not gold.
Not weapons.
But something far more dangerous.
Files.
Hard drives.
Old film reels.
Photos.
Ledgers.
Physical proof of every crime, every experiment, every deal the Foundation had ever made.
Evidence that would turn the world upside down.
Evidence that no amount of spin or suppression could bury.
Bernard stared in awe.
Mara moved forward slowly, reverently.
"This," she whispered, "is how we kill them."
Bernard nodded numbly.
But even as hope kindled in his chest, a terrible thought gnawed at the edges of his mind.
They're coming.
The Foundation wouldn't let them walk away with this.
The clock was already ticking.
And in the darkness beyond the vault, the whispers grew louder.
The war was far from over.
It had only just begun.
---