Buster's Journey

The pinging overhead sharpens into a hard, targeted signal. The corridor keeps shaking, but now it sounds like something is counting down right above them.

Her wrist device flares white-blue, too bright to look at directly. On its cracked display, Buster's signature blooms like a lock acquired, steady and undeniable.

Above the ceiling panels, hidden mechanisms wake in sequence. A nearby turret pivots, then another, all turning toward Buster's position as if he is the only threat in the building.

The Hunter Captain backs up a step, furious and shaken, while the red corridor fills with the slow, hungry click of defenses lining up their shot.

Buster lunges upward and tears into the ceiling panel. Metal shrieks, sparks spit into the red light, and a bundled run of wiring comes free in his hands.

The turrets stutter mid-aim. One jerks sideways, another drops its red line across the floor, then both go dead with a clatter of cooling parts.

Loose cables whip down as the corridor lights flicker harder, but the targeting tone breaks apart into useless static.

Buster drops back to the shaking floor with the torn wiring hanging from his fist. The automated defenses above him stop tracking.

For a beat, only the corridor tremor and the Captain's ragged breathing remain, both of them staring at the dead guns overhead.