Chapter 39: The Rescue — Part 1
Three vehicles. Staggered approach. Thirty-second intervals.
I sat in the lead car, watching the facility's lights in the distance. Different than before—more guards visible, tighter patrols, the kind of security increase that happened when someone broke in and stole evidence.
They were expecting trouble. They just didn't know when it would arrive.
"Comms check," Chloe's voice crackled through the earpiece. She was set up in a safe house ten miles away, monitoring police frequencies and facility communications. "Team one?"
"Team one, ready." That was Clark, in the second vehicle.
"Team two?"
"Team two, standing by." Kara, in the third.
"Overwatch?"
"In position," I said. "Approaching phase one."
The plan was simple in theory, complex in execution. I entered first—I knew the layout, had already navigated the corridors once. Clark followed thirty seconds behind, handling any guards I left behind. Kara stayed in reserve, ready to intervene if things went sideways.
The goal: free the prisoners, destroy the equipment, get out before LuthorCorp could respond in force.
[MISSION PARAMETERS: LOADED. SUCCESS PROBABILITY: 47%. VARIABLE FACTORS: NUMEROUS.]
Thanks for the encouragement, System.
I pulled the car into a drainage ditch half a mile from the perimeter, killed the engine, and started moving.
The night was cold, the kind of deep Kansas cold that seeped through clothing and settled into bones. My breath came in small clouds that I tried to keep minimal—white puffs against darkness were visible for miles. Every step felt loud, every rustle of grass seemed to echo.
But the guards didn't notice. They were watching the roads, the main entrance, the obvious approaches. They weren't expecting someone to come through the drainage system.
Chloe had found the blueprints in county records—a storm drain that ran directly beneath the facility, connecting to the basement level. It had been sealed years ago for "safety reasons," but sealed to LuthorCorp standards just meant locked with a standard padlock.
I broke it with one hand.
The tunnel was dark, wet, and smelled like decades of accumulated filth. I moved through it in a crouch, trying not to think about what I was stepping in. The System provided navigation, guiding me through branching passages until I found the access point—a grate that opened into the facility's lower level.
"Phase one complete," I whispered into the comm. "I'm inside."
"Copy that," Chloe responded. "No alerts on facility comms. You're clear."
So far.
I pulled myself up through the grate and into a maintenance corridor. Same antiseptic smell as before, same humming fluorescents. But something was different.
It was too quiet.
The last time I'd been here, even in the dead of night, there had been sounds—equipment running, subjects moving in their cells, the distant murmur of guards making their rounds. Now there was nothing. Just silence and the smell of industrial cleaner.
[ATMOSPHERIC ANALYSIS: REDUCED HUMAN PRESENCE. ANOMALY DETECTED.]
I moved toward the cell block, a growing sense of wrongness tightening my chest. The corridor was empty. The first checkpoint was unmanned. The equipment room that had been full of monitoring devices was dark and silent.
Where is everyone?
The cell block doors stood open.
I stepped through and felt my heart drop.
Empty. The cells were empty.
Not all of them—a few still held subjects, forms slumped on cots or pressed against glass. But most of the twelve cells I'd photographed were vacant. Cleaned out. No bedding, no personal effects, no sign that anyone had ever been there.
They'd moved them.
"Chloe," I said, keeping my voice steady. "The prisoners are gone. Most of them. They've been relocated."
A pause. Then: "That doesn't make sense. Their communications didn't mention any transfers."
"Unless they knew we were coming."
The implications hit like a physical blow. Someone had warned them. Someone had told LuthorCorp that a rescue was imminent, and they'd responded by moving the subjects to a secondary location. We'd been compromised before we'd even started.
Who? How?
"Cole, you need to get out." Clark's voice, urgent. "If they knew you were coming—"
"I know." But I couldn't move. Couldn't leave. Because even though most of the cells were empty, one of them wasn't.
Cell 17.
The girl was still there.
She sat on her cot, knees drawn to her chest, humming the same melody I'd heard before. The same hollow eyes. The same resignation that made her look ancient despite her fourteen years.
They left her behind.
Maybe she was too unstable to move safely. Maybe she'd been forgotten in the rush. Maybe someone had decided she wasn't worth the effort of relocating.
It didn't matter why. What mattered was that she was here, and I had seconds to decide what to do.
"It's a trap," Chloe's voice crackled with static. "Cole, I'm picking up increased comm traffic. They know you're there. Get out now."
Alarms began to wail.
Red lights strobed through the corridor. Boots thundered on concrete somewhere above—guards mobilizing, converging on my position. The trap was springing, and I was standing in the middle of it.
Clark appeared at my shoulder, having moved through the building at super-speed the moment things went wrong.
"We have to go," he said. "Now."
"The girl—"
"If we stay, we get captured. Then we can't help anyone."
He was right. I knew he was right. The tactical move was to retreat, regroup, try again with better intelligence. Every lesson I'd learned about combat and survival screamed at me to run.
But the girl was looking at me.
Not with hope—she'd lost that long ago. Not with fear—she'd accepted whatever came. Just looking, with those hollow eyes that had seen too much and expected too little.
"I came back," I said. "I promised."
I didn't promise out loud. But I promised.
"Cole—" Clark started.
I moved.
The glass was reinforced, designed to contain meteor freaks with enhanced strength. But it wasn't designed to contain someone at Level 9, someone who'd spent months pushing their abilities to the absolute limit. My Power Strike hit the glass at full force, and it shattered into a thousand pieces.
[ENERGY: 120/180. FACILITY ALERT LEVEL: MAXIMUM.]
The girl didn't move. Didn't flinch at the glass exploding around her. Just watched as I stepped into her cell.
"I came back," I said again. "I'm getting you out."
"Why?"
The question was genuine. She couldn't comprehend why anyone would risk themselves for her. Months in this place had stripped away any belief that she mattered.
"Because nobody should be left behind."
I lifted her—she weighed almost nothing, too light for a girl her age—and turned to face whatever was coming.
Clark stood at the cell block entrance, expression torn between horror at my decision and determination to see it through.
"Kara," he said into his comm. "We need immediate extraction. Cole has a package."
"Copy that," Kara's voice responded. "On my way."
I ran with the girl in my arms, following Clark through corridors that were rapidly filling with guards. He cleared the way ahead—moving too fast for them to react, disabling them with controlled force that incapacitated without killing. I focused on keeping up, on protecting the fragile person I carried, on getting her to safety no matter what it cost.
[COMBAT STATUS: EVASION MODE. ALLIES: ACTIVE. SUCCESS PROBABILITY: UPDATING.]
The facility was chaos. Guards shouting. Alarms wailing. Gunshots somewhere in the distance—security responding to threats they couldn't see. But we were moving faster than they could coordinate, cutting through their response like a knife through paper.
The drainage tunnel was ahead. Kara's vehicle waiting beyond. Safety, if we could just—
A guard stepped out of a side corridor, weapon raised.
I couldn't dodge. Couldn't fight. Not with the girl in my arms.
Clark moved—a blur of motion that intercepted the guard before he could fire. But the momentary pause cost us momentum, and more guards were converging from behind.
"Go!" Clark shouted. "I'll hold them!"
"Clark—"
"I'm invulnerable! You're not! GO!"
He was right. He was right, and I hated it, but he was right.
I ran for the drainage tunnel, cradling the girl against my chest. Behind me, I heard impacts and shouts and the sounds of Clark doing what he did best—being the hero, protecting the people who needed protection.
The grate was ahead. Kara's face appeared in the tunnel mouth, hand extended.
"Give her to me!"
I passed the girl to Kara's arms and turned back toward the facility.
"Cole, what are you—"
"Clark's still in there."
I couldn't leave him. Couldn't abandon the person who'd become my brother in everything but blood. Even if he was invulnerable, even if the worst they could do was slow him down, I couldn't run while he fought alone.
"Get her out," I said to Kara. "I'll get Clark."
Then I ran back into the chaos.
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