Back inside the Quadra, the engine roared to life, the vibrations resonating through the chassis as I turned the key and began the drive toward the GIM. The wind howled outside a reminder of the storm that had battered the city over the last few days.

  "What kind of trouble are we expecting? Some scavs, or worse?" Henry asked, his fingers nervously adjusting the grip on his firearm.

  "All I know is that we're not supposed to go there," I replied, keeping my eyes focused on the rain-slicked road ahead, the headlights slicing through the downpour.

  We arrived at the GIM, the sprawling complex looming in the distance like a ghost of its former self. The parking lot was transformed into a shallow pond, the stormwater pooling ominously. I parked near the edge, the tires splashing as I got out of the car, surveying the desolate scene.

  "Great," I muttered, irritation showing in my voice as I realized we would have to wade through the cold, murky water to get inside.

  The water level wasn’t too high, but it was just enough to see it seep into our shoes. As we trudged through the sludge, I could feel the chill of the water creeping up my legs, each step a reminder of the conditions we were facing.

  Finally, we pushed our way through the water and made it inside the mall. The sight that greeted us was a haunting echo of what once was: the bottom level lay in a state of disarray, water pooling throughout due to a massive gaping hole in the roof, debris littered around us, and loose electric cables floating in the water, which thankfully weren't active.

  “The hell caused all of this?” Henry asked out loud.

  “Well, Pacifica has always been a warzone,” I replied.

  The air was thick with a mixture of stale water and rotting decay, each breath reminding us that this place had seen better days. Getting out of the water and onto dry land, we walked around trying to find the people that Michelle sent.

  As we walked, the place was deathly quiet; the only noises that we could hear were our footsteps.

  “This place is a ghost town,” I said, looking around.

  Further ahead, the sounds of voices could be heard; Henry cocked his submachine gun while I drew up my two handguns. Getting closer, the voices we could hear were people speaking in the same language as those kids that jumped us earlier.

  Looking at them, there were four of them rummaging through two crates that had the label “Medical” on it.

  “Are we taking them?” Henry asked as we watched.

  I couldn’t respond, as the next thing I could feel was a gun being pointed at my back.

  The man gestured for his friends to come over and help him. Our attempts at being quiet and stealthy were out of the window. The man signaled us to drop our gun on the floor. With no other choice, we complied; another one looked at me and started yelling at me.

  “Haven’t you people figured out that I don’t speak your fucking language?” I yelled,

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  Their faces changed; whatever they were planning to do had changed to one thing: killing us. I glanced over at Henry and nodded my head, hoping that he knew what I was about to do and that he was going to follow through with my plan.

  Henry elbowed the one to his right in the stomach; this caused him to lower his body, letting Henry grab his rifle and begin firing the gun. Henry’s distraction, allowed me to activate my Sandevistan and roll forward and grab my two guns that were on the floor.

  “Oi!” I started firing my pistols, unloading all the bullets in the magazine at the men.

  With them all dead, I deactivated my sandevistan.

  Peering inside the two crates, we were disheartened to see them utterly stripped bare. The only items that remained were a few bottles of allergy medications and a handful of sleeping pills.

  “If the medication we’re looking for is some bottles of allergy medication and pills to make you fall asleep, then we’ve found it.” I mocked sarcastically.

  We continued through the dilapidated mall, passing by shop after shop, each one appearing like a ghost of its former self, ransacked and abandoned. Eventually, we stumbled upon an old furniture store that still flickered with dim lights, suggesting that power was somehow being sustained. As we stepped inside, it was evident that someone had made this place their temporary refuge.

  The interior was cluttered—a disheveled bed lay in the corner, the sheets crumpled and strewn about as if during a hurried escape. A nearby trash bin overflowed with wrappers from pre-packaged microwave meals.

  And the smell of leftover food slowly rotting away pierced our noses. As we moved deeper into the shop, a soft, female voice wafted through the air, layered with an unmistakable tone of fear.

  I raised a finger to my lips, signaling to Henry to stay silent while we edged closer, my grip tightening around the cold steel of my gun.

  When we opened the door at the back, a scene unfolded that pulled at my heartstrings—a woman crouched protectively over her young child, cradling the little one with fierce tenderness.

  “Are you Jade?” I asked, striving to keep my voice calm and steady amidst the tension.

  The woman instinctively shielded her child from view, a look of apprehension etched on her face. “Please, just leave us alone!” she pleaded, her voice trembling.

  I took a moment to assess the child’s frightened eyes before redirecting my gaze to the woman.

  “I’m not here to hurt you... Look.” I carefully holstered one of my guns, displaying my empty hands in a gesture of peace. “See? I mean you no harm. If you are who I believe you to be, I want to help you.”

  “And how can I trust that you won’t sell us out?” The woman shot back, suspicion etched in her features.

  Her question was valid, and I felt a sinking realization—I had no tangible proof of my intentions. The letter I had discovered last month, which might have confirmed my goodwill, was now in the possession of The Patriots, leaving me with only the frail hope that my words would convey sincerity.

  “Listen”, I urged, lowering my voice, “your husband is in grave danger. Some very dangerous people are searching for him, and it’s my responsibility to find him before they do. Please, just tell me where he is.”

  Her eyes suggested that she wanted the constantly sleepless night and running to be over.

  “I don’t know where Kyle is, but he did leave us this message when he came home for the last time.”

  Jade handed over a worn-out yet still-working datashard. Slotting the shard into my phone, it was an audio-recorded message.

  “This message is intended for my family. If you are not my family, please stop listening. I am speaking to my family now...

  Jade...Honey... I’m so sorry... I’m so fucking sorry for getting you and Molly involved in this mess. I swore to you both that I would leave the Patriots and get an honest job that wouldn’t get me killed, but it turns out the only way I can leave is in a body bag.

  I don't have a lot of time, so I must tell you this. Run! Wolfheart is coming after me, and that sick fuck is going to come after you too. Whatever you do, don't trust anyone, no matter what they tell you... I love you both so much; goodbye.”

  The rest of the audio was the sounds of a door being kicked open followed by gunfire.