30. Gunnar
Chapter thirty
Gunnar
I strap on the last piece of my gear, the weight familiar and oddly comforting. Last night’s debates and plans—the shooting that almost took Nero—are ghosts now, clinging to the shadows of our determined faces. We’re a pack on the brink, teetering between chaos and precision.
There’s no room for doubt—not when we’re about to storm hell itself.
Across the Bellanova’s basement armory, the Bluestockings load up, their movements sharp and efficient. I’ve only seen them in action once, but they weren’t just fierce; they were relentless. Seeing them with us tonight—sisters in arms—it’s like we’ve got a battalion of Valkyries on our side.
“Everyone knows their role?” I bark out, scanning the sea of grim nods. Inari’s guys pound their chests in response, a raw edge to their loyalty that cuts through the tension. They’ve got scores to settle, the same as us.
And then there’s Nero’s Eclipse unit, a pack of wildcards led by a man who sees strategy like some intricate dance only he can hear the music to. He should be here with us, but they’re not…and against the odds, they defer to me. There’s a familiar face among them, a man we helped escape from the city ages ago.
“We’re with you, Gunnar,” Roman Winters says, and there’s a thread of kinship in his voice that I didn’t expect but sure as hell appreciate.
But it’s Vance’s Angels that are the real surprise. I catch snippets of their murmurs, the way their eyes flicker between Vance’s rigid back and where I stand, rallying the troops.
“Remember, we’re not just fighting for ourselves,” I say, locking eyes with each group in turn. “We’re fighting for every alpha and omega they’ve got locked up in that godforsaken place.”
The Angels shift, unease rippling through their ranks, but there’s something else too—a spark of rebellion. Good. Vance’s hold is slipping; I can use that. If his own men are doubting him, maybe they’ll see the sense in a new leader.
Maybe they’ll see that in me.
“Stick to the plan, watch each other’s backs. We go in hard, we go in fast, and we don’t leave until every single person in that lab walks out with us.”
There’s a chorus of assents, a ragged battle cry that stitches us together into one lethal entity. The Mojave Lab won’t know what hit it. We move out, every step a promise, every breath a vow.
Tonight, we change everything.
I slide behind the wheel of the lead car, the hum of the engine a low growl beneath my hands. The desert stretches out before us, an endless expanse of nothingness lit by the cold light of a half-moon. Dust kicks up from the tires of our convoy, ghostly plumes that are quickly swallowed by the night.
There’s a tension in the air, thick and sharp as the knives we carry. We’re a storm rolling across the barren landscape, silent and deadly, ready to unleash chaos on the Mojave lab. This is it—the moment when all our plans either come together or fall apart.
Luka sits beside me, his silence a weighty presence. His weapons gleam as he runs a whetstone along their edges, the sound a whisper of what’s to come. I watch him from the corner of my eye, see the way his jaw tightens with each stroke, how the shadows play over his features, deepening the hollows and lines etched by a life too full of pain.
“Ready to face Malik?” I ask, breaking the silence between us.
He pauses mid-sharpen, eyes lifting to meet mine. There’s a fire there that wasn’t there before, a burning need for retribution that mirrors my own. “More than ready,” he says, voice steady as the blade in his hand. “I’ve been waiting for this.”
“Good. We take him down, we take down the lab. No more experiments, no more pain.” My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. “No more playing gods with people’s lives.”
“Damn straight,” Luka mutters, returning to his task. The steel sings softly, an anthem of vengeance.
The Mojave Lab looms ahead, a monolith of concrete and steel squatting in the desert. It’s no wonder it was so hard to find; it blends in with the shifting sand, covered in tarps and camo paint. I kill the headlights as we close in, the convoy behind us following suit. We’re ghosts now, moving through the night toward our reckoning.
“Teams,” I bark out over the comms. “Split off. Remember your roles.”
The vehicles veer apart, each faction disappearing into the darkness. Rook gives me a nod from his position behind us, a silent promise that his expertise with explosives will crack this fortress open when the time comes. I trust him to do just that.
We park a safe distance away, and I step out, boots crunching on gravel. The air is sharp with the scent of sagebrush and the electric charge of imminent violence. Luka joins me, weapons strapped and eyes scanning the perimeter. He’s a coiled spring, lethal intent wrapped in flesh and bone.
“Oberon,” I say into my earpiece, now on a secure line. “Coordinate with Inari. Make sure Vance is extracted without a hitch.”
“Copy that,” Oberon’s voice crackles back, calm and controlled. “Inari’s prepped and ready. The Bluestockings are with her.”
“Good.” I glance at Luka again. “Main assault, that’s us. We punch through, we pave the way. No hesitation, no mercy.
“Never any,” he replies, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a grim smile.
The Bluestockings move ahead, Isla among them. They’re shadows slipping through the night, barely a rustle of fabric to betray their presence. Within moments, they’re at the security panel, and I watch Isla’s hands dance over the wires with a deftness that speaks of countless hours spent mastering her craft. The security systems go dark one by one, their lights winking out like stars extinguished by an unseen hand.
“Perimeter is down,” Isla whispers into her mic, her voice all business.
“Proceed,” I command, my heart thumping in my chest—not from fear, but anticipation. This is the moment we’ve trained for, bled for.
We advance, our group a tight formation behind Luka and me. We breach the outer wall without a sound, boots silent on the cold concrete. Ahead, the Mojave lab waits, oblivious to the storm about to break upon it.
Behind us, the Angels and the Oasis grunts fall into place with military precision, forming a ring of steel and sinew. Their presence is both a comfort and a reminder—betrayal is a bullet you never see coming.
“Keep it tight,” I hear Vance’s voice rumble over the comms, his authority unquestioned even here. “No one in or out. We own this night.”
The sterile halls of the Mojave lab stretch before us, a chilling echo of the facility on New Eden. I remember the screams that soaked into those walls, the scent of fear and bitter chemicals. My jaw clenches at the memory, my resolve steeling with every step we take.
As expected, the initial resistance is light—guards who barely have time to reach for their weapons before they’re taken down. Their bodies hit the floor with dull thuds, quickly dragged out of sight by our rearguard.
“Keep moving,” I order, my voice low. “We’ll hit heavier resistance the deeper we go.”
Luka nods, his blades glinting in the dim light. There’s no joy in his movements, only grim determination. He’s a man haunted by his past, seeking redemption through each enemy he takes down.
The further we venture into the lab, the more security we encounter. But nothing slows us down. Each confrontation ends as swiftly as it begins, a testament to our training and sheer willpower.
Then we find them—the cells. They line the corridor, a macabre display of glass and metal. Inside, alphas and omegas stare back at us, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope.
“Bluestockings, you’re up,” I say into the mic, stepping aside as Isla and her team move forward.
They work with practiced ease, unlocking cells and shepherding the shaky prisoners out. Each rescue is a victory, however small, and it lights a fire in our bellies.
“Thank you,” a frail omega murmurs as Isla helps her to her feet. The gratitude in the omega’s eyes is enough to remind me why we fight.
“Stay strong,” Isla replies, her tone gentle but firm. “You’re safe now.”
Some of the rescued omegas grab discarded weapons, their hands trembling but determined. Even in their weakened state, the desire to fight, to reclaim a piece of themselves, burns bright.
“Looks like we’ve got reinforcements,” I quip, a half-smile tugging at my lips.
“Let’s just hope they know which end of the gun to point at the bad guys,” Luka responds, but there’s a note of respect in his voice.
We continue our advance, leaving Inari and her Bluestockings to organize the escape of the newly liberated. Our goal is close now; I can feel it thrumming in the air, a siren call that beckons us onward.
“Almost there,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
“Ready when you are, boss,” Luka replies, his gaze never leaving the path ahead.
We finally stand before the nondescript door that leads to Dr. Malik’s office. I can feel the bile rising in my throat. This is it—the epicenter of nightmares. My hand clenches into a fist at the thought of Aisling at this mad doctor’s mercy, her strength being the only thing between her and complete destruction.
“Ready?” I ask Luka, though it’s more of a statement than a question.
“Let’s end this,” he replies, his voice as sharp as the blade gripped in his hand.
With a nod to the Bluestockings agents flanking us, we burst through the door. Dr. Malik’s eyes widen, just for a moment, but there’s no time for fear on his face—only shock as we surround him.
“Hello, Doctor,” Luka sneers, voice dripping with venom. “Remember me?”
“Guards!” he shouts, but it’s too late.
There’s no one coming to save him.
The heavy thud of the door swinging shut behind us is like the final note of a death knell. Luka steps forward, and I see something dark and raw flicker across his features. This is deeply personal for him, a chance to reclaim a piece of his soul that was torn away in a lab similar to this one.
“Any last words?” Luka asks, almost conversationally.
Malik stammers, a pathetic string of excuses and pleas. But we’re beyond words now. We didn’t come here for dialogue; we came for retribution.
“Goodbye, Dr. Malik,” Luka says quietly, and then he strikes.
It’s over in an instant—the kind of swift justice that only comes from years of pain and the burning need to make things right. Malik crumples to the floor, and with him falls the weight of so many tortured souls.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, my voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring through my veins. As we turn to leave, I glance back at Malik’s lifeless body.
This was for Aisling, for Luka, for all the omegas who never got the chance to fight back.
We leave the office, the door swinging shut with a finality that echoes through the empty corridors. The Bluestockings agents fall in behind us, their movements efficient and silent. There’s no celebration, no victorious cheers; this is merely one dark chapter coming to an end, and we all know it.
As we navigate our way back through the maze of sterile walls, my mind races ahead to what comes next. There’s still so much to do, but for now, I let myself feel the weight of our victory. It’s a heavy thing, marked by years of suffering and loss, yet there’s lightness too—the promise of a future where omegas like Aisling can wield their power without fear.
“Will she be happy now? About…about this.” Luka asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t have to say her name; we both know he’s talking about Aisling.
I nod, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, she will. And she’ll be proud of you.”
He nods, the ghost of a smile flickering on his lips before vanishing as quickly as it appeared. We don’t speak again as we make our way out of the lab, each lost in our own thoughts.
I check my watch, counting the seconds. Each tick is a heartbeat closer to erasing this hellhole from the map. All over the facility, our makeshift army moves with practiced efficiency—Oberon wiring explosives, Luka double-checking every charge. Even Vance pitches in, his hands steady, though I catch the flicker of something dark in those bright blue eyes.
“Three minutes,” Rook announces, voice a calm command over the comms. It’s been drilled into us—the countdown is sacred. We have one shot at this, and there’s no room for error.
“Let’s move out,” I say, my gaze sweeping over the desolate lab one last time. The air reeks of chemicals and fear, but soon it’ll be nothing more than ash and memories.
And Vance…this will be his tomb, as far as the rest of the world is concerned.
We weave through the labyrinth of corridors, our footsteps silent on the cold tile floors. Every cell we pass is empty now, the omegas and alphas we’ve freed already heading towards a new life. But their ghosts linger, haunting the shadows with whispers of pain and desperation.
“Extraction point in sight,” Luka murmurs, and I nod. Up ahead, the night sky waits, an open canvas ready to be painted with the fire of our retribution.
“Commence phase two,” I whisper into the comm, knowing Inari and her Bluestockings are listening.
As we slip out the back entrance, the ground beneath us trembles, a prelude to the destruction we’re about to unleash. The air grows thick with anticipation, electric with the promise of freedom.
“Vance, you’re with me,” I call out, not missing the steel edge in my own voice. I need him close, need to see the realization dawn in those eyes when he understands what’s coming. Through the corner of my eye, I spot Isla and her crew closing in, silent as the desert night.
“Gotcha,” she whispers, almost tenderly, as she and her Bluestockings swoop in. Vance doesn’t even see it coming—doesn’t see the betrayal that’s been hiding in plain sight.
The rough fabric of the black bag slips over Vance’s head with a rustle, and I can’t help the smirk that tugs at my lips. He struggles against Isla’s grip, but it’s half-hearted—he knows he’s done for. In one smooth motion, we haul him up and shove him into the waiting vehicle.
“What the…what the fuck is going on?” Vance shouts. He’s pinned by at least a dozen women, a tranquilizer already working its way through his system courtesy of the needle in his neck. “Let me out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Vance—but you were too dangerous,” I say quietly.
“Gunnar?” he snarls. “What the fuck. What the…you’re making a huge mistake.”
“You forced me to do this.”
“Fuck you, Gunnar,” Vance hisses through the small opening before Oberon slides the panel closed. “I’ll fucking kill you for this.”
“Get in line,” I retort, my voice steady despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins.
We turn our backs on Vance and dash back inside. Rook and the Bluestockings have all the prisoners gathered; they’re shaky, disoriented, but alive. That’s what matters. We didn’t come here just to settle scores—we came to save lives.
“Move! Move!” I bark out orders like a drill sergeant, pushing everyone forward. The dull echo of the countdown from the charges reverberates through the facility’s walls, syncing with my heartbeat.
“Four minutes,” Luka says, his voice calm but carrying the weight of urgency. We’re cutting it close – too close for comfort.
“Keep it tight,” I shout over my shoulder as we herd the freed prisoners towards the exit. They stumble and clutch at each other, their whispers sharp with fear. Some are still wearing the tattered remains of lab gowns, their skin marked by bruises and worse.
“Three minutes,” Luka updates. His hand finds the small of my back, a silent reassurance that we’re almost out. I don’t need to look to know his face is set in grim determination, the same look he had when he plunged his knife into Malik’s chest.
“Two minutes.” The words hang heavy in the air as we reach the final stretch, the cold night beckoning us to safety.
“Nearly there,” I encourage the group, my voice strained but hopeful. The outside world greets us with a blast of chilly desert air, the stars overhead indifferent to the chaos below.
“Go, go, go!” Oberon urges from the open doors of the remaining vehicles. Everyone piles in, no order, just bodies desperate for escape.
“Sixty seconds,” Luka warns, his eyes scanning the horizon. We’re all accounted for, every soul precious cargo as we speed away from the Mojave Lab.
“Drive!” I command, and the engines roar to life, propelling us into the abyss of the desert night. With every passing second, the knot in my stomach tightens, the taste of victory bittersweet on my tongue. We’re not just fighting against time; we’re battling ghosts, memories that will haunt us long after this night is over.
“Thirty seconds,” I whisper to myself, glancing at the rearview mirror. The looming silhouette of the facility is barely visible now, a dark blot against the landscape.
“Ten,” Luka counts down, his hand gripping mine with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. We’re in this together, forged by fire and fury, bonded by a mission that’s bigger than any of us.
“Five,” I hear someone say, and then—
“Clear,” Oberon confirms, and a collective breath is released, one we’ve been holding for too damn long.
Ahead of us lies Pacific City, its skyline a jagged promise of challenges yet to come.
But tonight, we won, and that’s enough. For now.