This Broken Earth

Chapter 6: Breach

Chapter 6: Breach


A voice crackled through the intercom:

“All guards to upper level. Unidentified intrusion. Secure perimeter.”

Nate cursed and moved to the door. “Stay here.”

Lex grabbed his arm. “You’re not going without me.”

“Lex—”

“You said I’m on the team now. Then let me be on the team.”

He hesitated. Then nodded, jaw tight. If he couldn’t stop her from going, he could at least make sure she came back.

“Gray, stay here,” Lex said. “See if you can find something else.”

Gray nodded quickly, eyes wide, fingers already flying across the keyboard. As Lex turned to go, he reached out, catching her arm for just a second.

“I’ll see what else I can pull up,” he said, voice tight. “Just—be careful, okay?”

His hand lingered, barely, before he let go.

Lex gave him a quick nod, then took off after Nate, boots echoing as they sprinted toward the chaos.

They reached the deployment hall—tall and cold, two floors deep, accessible only from the upper level

A short stairwell led down to the main floor, where guards were already fanned out, weapons raised. Metal crates lined the walls, and floodlights cast sharp, angular shadows across the concrete.

Dane stood at the front, shotgun in hand, barking orders.

“Seal off south corridor. Sweep the vent line. If it’s in the walls, we trap it.”

Nate stepped forward. “It? What is it?”

Dane tossed him a rifle from the nearby rack. “Something made it past our motion sensors. We have no visual, but someone reported movement in the vent shaft.”

Lex’s stomach twisted.

She glanced at the narrow wall vents—once too small to worry about. Now, they didn’t feel small enough

A screech echoed faintly—somewhere deeper in the walls. Not loud. Not sharp. Just a whisper.

But Lex recognized it.

The same sound from the surface.

Above them, a metal groan rolled through the vents—slow and hollow, like something was breathing just behind the steel.

The guards moved in practiced lines—rifles raised, backs to each other, sweeping the upper ledges and air ducts. The room felt too quiet between their movements. Even with half a dozen people barking into radios and shutting off access doors, the bunker felt like it was listening.

Lex gripped the side of a supply crate, her heart hammering. Nate stood beside her, tense and focused, eyes flicking to every shadow.

“Stay close to me,” he muttered.

“I’m not leaving your side,” she said, low and certain.

Nate glanced at her—just a flick—but something in his jaw eased.

From above, a clang—then a thump.

Lex spun. “Something’s up there.”

They both looked up—too late.

A shape dropped.

Fast.

It slammed onto one of the upper walkways, high above the deployment hall. A blur of limbs—tall and thin but too flexible, bending wrong. Armor-like plates shifted across its body like wet metal, gleaming faintly under the emergency lights. Its head angled back, sniffing the air.

Someone screamed.

Lex couldn’t move.

The fear hit harder than it had on the surface. Back then, it felt distant—almost unreal. But now it was in front of her. Real. Closing in.

Nate raised his weapon, aiming for the center mass. “Stand down!” he shouted at the creature, like that would do anything.

It turned.

Its eyes—or what should’ve been eyes—were just indentations. Flat, shadowed. But then, faint and pulsing, a sliver of red lit beneath the surface.

Lex felt it lock onto her like it knew her heartbeat.

Then it leapt—clearing fifteen feet in a blur—and slammed onto the ground below. The guards opened fire.

Bullets hit. She saw them strike the creature, piercing skin. But it barely reacted. Its limbs twisted to protect its core, movements calculated, unnatural.

It lunged at a guard—Ty, someone Lex had known since day one.

He didn’t scream. Just disappeared under the thing’s weight.

Someone shouted his name.

Another blast—this time from Dane, who stepped forward with his shotgun and fired point-blank. The blast knocked the creature back, splattering something black and oily across the wall.

It hissed.

The sound was wrong—too wet, too high, like something tearing from the inside.

And then it ran.

Faster than Lex thought possible, it shot across the floor and launched itself into the vent shaft—tearing open the grate like it was paper—and was gone.

The room fell into stunned silence.

A guard cursed under his breath.

Another whimpered.

Ty didn’t get back up.

The stench of burnt metal and blood clung to the air.

Lex blinked hard, like that might change what she was seeing. It didn’t.
She looked at the dark smear on the wall, then at the torn-open vent.

Dane lowered his gun. Everyone out. Lock this sector down.”

He turned to Nate. “Upstairs. Now.”

Nate hesitated a half-second—then moved.

Lex didn’t hesitate. She followed.

*

Dane’s office was cramped. Paper files, old maps, and a flickering monitor filled the space with more history than technology. Nate stood with his arms crossed. Lex leaned in the doorway, still breathing hard.

He grabbed the nearest intercom receiver, pressed the button, and spoke low but firm:

“All non-security personnel—remain on the lower level behind locked doors. This is not a drill.”

He released the button, jaw tight, then turned back toward them.

Nate’s tone was flat. “You know something about those things, don’t you?”

Dane didn’t look up right away. “I’ve seen something like it before. Years ago.”

Lex stepped inside, her voice thin. “I’m sorry—what did you just say?”

Dane poured himself water. His hand shook.

“Five years ago, I was assigned to a classified division under Project Meridian. It started with clone development—genetically enhanced humans meant to resist disease and adapt to hostile environments. From there, it spiraled into something else. Viral testing. Neural manipulation. Bio-integration.”

Lex stared. “You made those things.”

Dane shook his head. “They weren’t supposed to be like that. Version Four was the final phase. We were pushing human limits—trying to create soldiers who could survive anything. But it didn’t stop at surviving. Some of them changed. The virus didn’t kill them. It rewrote them.”

He looked at her now, steady. Grim.

“The ones that changed… those are what you saw tonight.”

Lex’s voice was low. “They were human.”

“They were test subjects. Volunteers. Some clones. Some prisoners. All of them disposable. And when Version Four broke containment, the project was scrubbed. We were told it was over.”

She stared at him. “You knew they were still out there.”

“I knew it was possible. But this—this is faster than we thought. They’ve adapted.”

He reached into a drawer and slid a folder across the desk.

“This is your file. Your name came up after the outbreak in Zone 17. You’d been exposed—experimented on—but you didn’t get sick. No fever, no scarring, nothing. You were marked as a genetic anomaly. A ‘Gen-Stable Subject.’

“And I think the thing in the vents knows you’re not like everyone else.”

Lex backed away, her voice trembling. “You think I’m like them?”

Dane shook his head. “I think you survived testing that should’ve killed you. And I think it’s drawn to you because you didn’t.”

Lex moved to the desk.
Her fingers hovered for half a second before she grabbed the file—like it might burn her.
Part of her wanted to throw it across the room.
The other part needed to know what was inside. Needed proof that this wasn’t a story built on half-truths and damage control.

She flipped it open anyway.

Before she could read a word, the intercom crackled to life—strained and urgent:

“Movement detected in the east corridor. Section D. Level Two. It’s… it’s not alone.”

Lex’s stomach dropped.

“Not alone?” she whispered.

Then the screams started.

Muffled. Distant.

Getting closer.

Dane grabbed his gun, eyes sharp. “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark about this. But Karr—I need you now. Help me keep them safe.”

Nate stepped forward, weapon raised. “You know I will.”

He gave a quick appreciative nod. Then, turned and left the room.

Lex moved closer to Nate, bumping his arm with hers, just enough to make a point. “Hey—don’t even think of ditching me.”

He peeked into the hall, then shot her a low smirk. “Not a chance.”

The bunker had always felt like a cage.
Now it felt more like a shield. A thin one.

They moved fast.

Lex’s boots pounded against the hallway floor, her heart hammering as shouts and gunfire echoed behind them. Nate was just ahead, rifle in hand, barking orders to the other guards. Lex stayed close, fingers clenched around the knife in her pocket—useless maybe, but better than nothing.”

From the eastern corridor, something growled.

Not like a dog.

Not like a human.

Something in between.

They rounded a corner and nearly slammed into two guards dragging a third between them, blood streaking the floor behind them in long, smeared lines.

“Get him to medical!” Nate shouted.

One of the guards looked up, wild-eyed. “There’s more than one—it split off!”

Lex and Nate didn’t stop.

They kept moving, faster now.

Another hallway. A set of rooms. A flicker of movement near the far wall.

“Wait—” Lex grabbed Nate’s arm, pointing.

Lina sat curled near a storage unit, knees drawn up, blood streaked across one side of her face.

Nate crossed the room in three quick strides and dropped to one knee beside her.
“You okay?”

Her light brown hair tangled, freckles dusting her nose, and her limbs curled tight like she was trying to disappear.

She let out a shaky breath. “Someone got cut open. I didn’t see who. I just ran.”

Nate didn’t wait. He scooped her into his arms in one smooth motion. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Lex reached them, eyes scanning the corridor, then settling on Lina.

“Give her to me,” she said. “You need both hands free.”

Nate hesitated a beat, then handed her over.

Lex shifted Lina against her shoulder, holding her steady. “I’ve got her. Let’s go.”

By the time they reached the reinforced door leading to Section D, Dane was already there, shotgun ready.

Another screech echoed down the corridor—this one closer. Wetter.

Lex swallowed. “How many?”

Dane didn’t answer right away. “Three. Maybe four.”

Nate turned to him. “So it wasn’t just one like we thought.”

“They were nesting in the vent system,” Dane muttered. “I was hoping the first one was rogue. That it escaped containment and wandered. But apparently, they don’t travel alone.”

Lex’s hands trembled slightly. “How did they get in?”

“The outer motion sensors were disabled last night. Manual override.”

“You’re saying someone let them in?” Nate asked.

“I’m saying someone knew how.”

Lex took a step back, her mind racing. “Gray. The data—there were files missing. What if someone else accessed them before we did?”

Dane looked at her, something in his expression shifting—not surprise, but confirmation of a fear he hadn’t voiced.

“Get the hard drive. Every file, ” he said to Nate. “No more hiding.”

Then to Lex, he added, “And don’t go anywhere near the vents.”

*

Back in the storage room, Gray was pacing.

He looked up the moment Lex and Nate entered—Lex still carrying Lina, who clung to her quietly, her eyes round with fear.

Gray’s voice was tense. “It’s that thing from the surface, isn’t it?”

Nate shut the door behind them and locked it. “Can you remove the hard drive?”

Gray nodded. “Yeah, but—”
He spun the screen toward them.
“You need to see this first.”

A folder was open on the desktop—labeled:
CONFESSION V4 / C.DRAKE

Lex leaned in.

A single audio file blinked at the top.

Gray clicked play.

A man’s voice, calm but heavy with guilt, filled the room.

“ Candidate 019… she was the only one who came out clean. No symptoms. No side effects. They called her stable. Untouchable. But we never should’ve touched her. We didn’t cure anything—we created something we didn’t understand. And we let it walk out the door.”

Lex stared at the screen, her voice low. “What did they do to me?”

Gray hesitated, then spoke carefully. “I think something changed in you. You didn’t just survive it, Lex. You adapted.”

Nate’s voice was steady. “Which is probably why they haven’t tried to kill you yet.”

Lex met his eyes. “And if they do?”

He didn’t flinch. “Then we make sure they regret it.”

Then, from where she sat curled near the wall, Lina looked up at Lex, her gaze uncertain.

“Do we have to run again?”

Lex looked at her for a beat—this small, wide-eyed kid who had no idea what the world owed her.

She shook her head.
“Not if I can help it.”