Chapter 159: Caught in Action
"Shit," Xavier muttered under his breath.
They were cutting off his eyes.
Some of his bots were still up, but without the jammers, the enemy’s radar would start coming back online soon.
The mercs on foot were rallying now too. They had grouped up with the mechs, started forming defensive lines. Coordinated fire. Snipers. Turrets getting mounted. They weren’t in panic anymore—they were fighting smart now.
One of the drones gave him one last view before cutting out. The ship, which was his main target, was guarded from all sides now.
The camp wasn’t just reacting anymore.
They were counter-attacking.
And Xavier was still deep inside.
Still dressed like one of them.
Still moving through smoke and blood.
But now... he had to improvise.
He adjusted his glasses, checking which drones were still active. Only three feeds left. Most were down.
His smart gun pinged, reloading. His body tensed.
"Alright," he whispered to himself. "Guess we’re doing this the hard way."
Xavier kept moving through the smoke. The chaos was helping. Explosions in the back. Shouts all around. Nobody was keeping count anymore.
He stayed low, close to cover, wearing the gear of the guy he killed earlier.
He looked like any of them.
And that was the plan.
He walked with purpose, never too fast, never too slow. When others moved, he moved. When they fired, he fired. When they shouted, he nodded.
But while they were aiming at the bots, Xavier was aiming at them.
One shot in the side of the head. Gone. Another shot to the neck. Gone. Then a third, slipped a blade into the back when no one was looking.
He kept doing it.
Kill. Move. Blend.
But he knew it wouldn’t last.
His drones were dropping one after another. One was fried mid-air. Another was caught by EMP. And the bots—his best ones—were now just smoking piles of scrap on the ground. Limbs twitching, heads half-blown, systems fried.
The last drone feed blinked out.
’There are only 60 of them left now.’
And then it happened.
He was just about to put a bullet through one of the higher-ranked mercs—a guy with medals on his chest, maybe a squad leader or some shit—but another merc turned the corner and saw him mid-action.
Xavier froze for half a second.
"INTRUDER! INTRUDER!"
The whole place lit up.
Red lights started spinning.
Orders came in quick.
"Everyone regroup! Scan the area!"
"All bots are down—he’s on foot!"
"Bring everyone in! Ground circle! Verify helmets! Strip-check if needed!"
Xavier gritted his teeth and backed off quickly, blending in with the rushing crowd.
He still had the uniform and the mask.
But this time, it wasn’t enough.
They were scanning now. Devices were active. The jammers were gone. Full radar, thermal, signal locks.
No place to hide. Not in here.
He couldn’t run. Not without blowing his cover.
So he did the only thing left.
He walked into the circle with the rest of them.
All the mercs gathered in the open area.
The mechs were posted up like sentries. Guns aimed. The moment someone acted funny, they’d get blasted in half.
Officers were moving through the lines. Checking IDs. Making people take off their helmets. One by one.
Xavier was in the middle of it all. Surrounded by the mercs.
His heart was calm, but deep inside, he knew—
He had maybe ten seconds before they reached him.
And he had no exit.
Xavier’s turn was next.
His fingers twitched slightly near his rifle.
If they made him take the helmet off now, it was over. No backup. No bots. No tricks.
He was about to make a move. If anything, he would at least take the commander down and then maybe make a break for it—
But then the crowd shifted.
A few mercs came rushing in, dragging two figures through the dirt. One of them shouted, "We got the intruders!"
Xavier turned his head, slowly.
His stomach twisted. It was Reva and Lyra.
Their faces were bruised. Dirt on their skin. Hands cuffed behind their backs. Armor stripped off. They looked half-conscious, dragged like animals.
"But wasn’t the intruder wearing our uniform?" someone asked.
"Obviously he took the suit off once he got caught," another merc said, kicking the dirt. "Probably tried to run."
Some grunted in agreement.
The guards held them in front of the commander—a tall bastard with burn marks on his jaw and a permanent sneer stuck to his face.
He looked at them for a long second.
"The Lykaios bitch and the vampire..." he muttered.
He raised his hand, as if thinking about killing them right there.
But then his tone changed.
"Lock them up. I’ve got questions."
He stepped closer, stared straight at Reva’s chest, then down her legs.
A disgusting grin spread across his face.
"I’ll make them scream," he said. "But not from pain. Not at first."
The other mercs laughed.
He turned to Lyra, slower this time.
"Especially her. A pure Lykaios? The black market will pay like hell for one of those. After I’m done with her."
Reva hissed through her teeth, blood dripping from her lip. "You’ll die screaming, you piece of—"
The commander backhanded her across the face.
"Shut it."
The guards pulled them away and shoved them toward the nearby ship. Reva struggled, but she was weak. Lyra didn’t even resist. She just looked down, shaking, eyes lost.
Xavier’s jaw clenched under the helmet.
He couldn’t move. Not now. Not yet.
One wrong twitch and the whole army would be on him.
The mercs around him began to relax.
One of them said, "So... we’re done here? Got the intruder, right?"
The commander turned.
"Who said we’re done?"
The man paused. "We caught him, didn’t we? The suit thing—"
"There could be more," the commander cut in. "You think one guy brought down half our systems, killed twenty of us, and took out half our bots?"
No one answered.
The commander stepped up on a platform and shouted, "We continue the check. Everyone! Back in line!"
Some groaned. A few cursed under their breath.
But orders were orders.
Xavier took the chance.
Before anyone could notice, he slipped out of his line and merged with the group already verified. Helmet still on. Rifle still in hand.
Heart still pounding.
It almost worked.
Almost.
Until the commander narrowed his eyes and said, "Wait..."
He pointed toward the back.
"I don’t remember you. You—step forward."