Chapter 7 · Knock Knock, Reaper

"Get down!" Lyra slammed both hands into Kane's chest and shoved him sideways as the whole damn door blew inward.

Kane hit the concrete hard, shoulder first. Metal screamed. Dust and smoke choked the air. Something big had just kicked their hideout door off its hinges like it was cardboard.

"Contact!" Lyra shouted, scrambling for her pack. "I told you we had ten minutes, you said we had ten minutes!"

"We did have ten minutes!" Kane coughed, rolling to his knees. His ears were ringing. "That was thirty seconds ago!"

A shadow filled the doorway. Two meters tall, armor plated, steam hissing off its shoulders. Not Vargas himself. Worse. One of his Reapers.

"Target confirmed," the thing said, voice flat and modulated. "Void-weapon Kane. Designation: defective. Recovery order: live if possible. Dead is acceptable."

Lyra's face went white. "Oh, that's not good. Kane, that's not good, right? Tell me that's not the good option!"

"It's the bad option!" Kane grabbed her wrist and yanked her behind a toppled workbench. "Stay behind me. Don't run. It tracks movement."

"Don't run? It's got a gun the size of my entire body!"

"Lyra, stay!"

The Reaper raised its arm.