The alarm did not spread like an uncontrolled roar nor like a scream that would break the structure of the facility, but as a precise signal that infiltrated every level with enough clarity not to be ignored. There was no chaos in its sound nor misdirected urgency, only a constant presence that redefined the state of everything that existed within that space.

The response was immediate, not as an impulsive reaction, but as execution.

In the research levels, surfaces began to project information without the need for manual activation. Interfaces integrated into walls and workstations displayed sequences of clear instructions, while mechanical voices, uniform in tone and cadence, took control of the operational flow without raising the volume or unnecessarily repeating each instruction.

—Scientific personnel— was heard in multiple sectors at the same time—. Proceed to abandon your current positions. Head to the designated lower shelter points. Remain calm.

There were no shouts or questions. The hands that seconds before manipulated instruments stopped with immediate precision, not out of panic, but out of discipline. The equipment was secured without being abruptly shut down, the data remained protected in automated processes and the bodies began to move along previously established routes, without disorder, without collisions, without the need for direct supervision.

In other levels, where activity did not respond to direct research but to maintenance and support, the response was equally structured.

—Cleaning and service personnel— indicated the same voice—. Head to the evacuation points near your operational areas. Do not interfere with main routes. Maintain position until further instruction.

There was no resistance or delay. The tools were left where they belonged, not abandoned, but placed with the same logic with which they had been used, and the bodies moved with a calm that did not deny the gravity of the situation, but did not amplify it unnecessarily either.

The most notable change occurred in the security personnel.

—Containment unit— indicated the voice, with a slight variation in priority—. Proceed to heavy-level equipment. Authorized access to high-caliber weaponry. Immediate activation.

The doors that normally remained sealed began to respond. Sections of the floor and walls opened with controlled displacements, revealing internal compartments where the equipment was not stored as objects, but prepared as extensions of those who would use them. The structures of the suits emerged in vertical positions, anchored in systems that facilitated their placement without loss of time. Their dark surfaces absorbed the light of the facility, and their forms did not seek to impose themselves visually, but to fulfill a specific function: resistance, protection, impact.

The plates were not light nor designed for conventional mobility, but to withstand conditions that exceeded everyday use. The internal systems activated the moment they were touched, adjusting to each user's body with mechanical precision, closing without unnecessary gaps and integrating as an additional layer that did not replace the individual, but did transform them.

The armament accompanied that change. Reinforced-structure shotguns, high-caliber rifles with integrated stabilization systems and precision units designed to eliminate targets at a distance without margin of error. They were not demonstration weapons nor display pieces, they were tools that did not admit incorrect use.

The movements did not intersect. Each unit knew where to go before moving.

And while all that was happening, on a different level of the facility, where urgency did not alter the structure of the environment, time did not stop, but neither did it accelerate.

Helena remained seated.

The space she occupied did not respond to the logic of the lower levels. It was not an area of transit nor of immediate execution, but a room defined by measured comfort: wide armchairs that did not seek to impose themselves, but to support, and clean surfaces where information was not projected invasively, but organized into specific planes.

In front of her, multiple holographic projections floated in an order that was not random: data, flows of information, internal structures of her business conglomerate displayed in layers that reorganized themselves without manual intervention, responding to changes in real time and adjusting without the need for confirmation.

Helena did not look at everything. She did not need to. Her attention moved with precision, selecting what was relevant without stopping on what was accessory.

Doctor Jorge did not share that stability. His body was not out of control, but it was more tense than it had been before; his hands did not move with the same certainty and, although he remained seated, his posture did not find a completely stable position.

—This… —he murmured, without raising his voice— does not seem like a minor alert.

Helena did not take her eyes off the projections. —It is not— she replied. There was no variation in her tone nor need to reassure explicitly. —But it is not unexpected either.

Her fingers did not touch the interfaces nor modify the data manually, but her mind was already operating on them, reorganizing scenarios without the need to express them.

—This facility— she continued— was designed to withstand situations of greater scale. It was not an optimistic statement, it was a fact. —The defense systems do not operate on a single line. She made a brief pause. —If plan A fails, plan B activates without intervention. She did not explain it in detail; it was not necessary. —And so on.

Doctor Jorge did not respond immediately. —And if… none is sufficient? The question was not dramatic, but neither was it light.

Helena did not smile nor change her posture. —Then— she said— the measures are escalated. Her eyes moved across one of the projections. —There are resources that are not activated under normal conditions. She did not add names nor define limits. —But they are available.

The silence that followed was not of calm, but of containment. The doctor breathed more deeply. —This could be related… —he said finally— to those who created those structures. He did not use the term directly.

It was not necessary. —The ones who… did that.

Helena did not deny the possibility. —It is the most probable. Her voice did not change. —But it does not modify the response. There was no emotion in her statement nor doubt. —The threat is eliminated. Not as intention, but as result.

And at that point, while the lower levels prepared to receive the impact of something that had not yet fully revealed itself and the systems of the facility reorganized without visible failures, the difference between those who reacted and those who executed became evident. Not everyone was in danger in the same way, but all were within the same event.

The ascent of the units was not perceived as a disordered march nor as a precipitated reaction, but as the movement of a structure defined before the threat took visible form. The heavy suits did not slow the movement, they contained it, made it denser; each step transmitted an intention that did not need to be reinforced by loud orders, because everyone knew exactly where to go before beginning to move.

They were not few nor an improvised grouping. They were an organized mass, a presence that did not occupy space, but claimed it as it advanced: close to three hundred fully equipped figures, their dark surfaces absorbing the light while the internal systems adjusted to each bearer with a precision that eliminated any margin of error. The weight of their weapons did not alter their posture nor generate imbalance, because they were not added elements, but extensions of their function within that moment.

When they reached the upper level, the environment ceased to seem part of an intact facility. The reinforced structures that normally defined that perimeter were no longer unbreakable lines, but surfaces subjected to constant pressure from the outside. The metal plates did not yield uniformly, but at specific points where the tension had exceeded the expected limit, deforming inward at impossible angles, as if something on the other side was not striking, but pushing with sustained force.

The sound was not clean nor a single impact. It was a succession of detonations without a constant rhythm, mixed with vibrations that traveled through the walls and with voices filtered through the metal that could not be understood, but whose presence indicated coordination on the other side.

There was no time to interpret, only to execute.

The units did not disperse nor run. They positioned themselves. The ground responded before their bodies finished settling: metallic segments emerged from the surfaces with mechanical precision, without interrupting the flow of movement, forming lines of cover that did not exist seconds before. Integrated barricades rose to the exact height to allow visibility without full exposure.

The front rows took position behind them.

The rifles were raised at the same time, not as a dramatic gesture, but as a direct consequence of being at the correct point. There were no shots yet nor need to rush the response, because the enemy had not yet crossed the threshold.

At the sides, the units equipped with shotguns did not align with the front, they moved. Their trajectories were not parallel, but convergent toward specific points where metal columns emerged in the same way as the barricades, creating narrow and controlled spaces in which any attempt at lateral advance would turn into confinement. No one gave the order nor needed to; the system had already been understood by all.

The next impact was not like the previous ones. It was not pressure, it was rupture. The structure gave way at multiple points at the same time, not by progressive weakness, but by direct detonation. The deformed plates opened, fragmenting inward into sections that did not fall immediately, but were pushed by the shockwave that accompanied them.

The smoke entered first, not as a uniform cloud, but as an irregular expansion that occupied the space without asking permission, blocking direct visibility in a matter of seconds. The interior light did not dissipate it, it only passed through it partially, creating zones where perception became incomplete.

Then, the figures. Not in disorder nor as isolated individuals. They entered with the same logic as the defense, but from the opposite side: approximately twenty units, coordinated movements, bodies protected by equipment that did not differ in intention from the one they faced, but did in design. They did not advance immediately. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝕨𝕖𝗯𝚗𝚘𝕧𝕖𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝕞

First they threw. Grenades. Not one, several. The detonations did not seek direct destruction, but interruption: shockwaves that, under normal conditions, would break the balance of any formation, followed by releases of denser smoke and discharges that, in other contexts, would disorient anyone within the area.

But they did not. Not in that environment. Not against that equipment. The systems of the suits absorbed the interference without destabilizing those who wore them; vision was not lost nor fragmented, because it did not depend solely on the visible. The smoke did not blind nor disorganize, it only covered.

And within that cover the response was executed. There was no countdown nor warning. The rifles activated as a single structure, not in an uncontrolled discharge, but in a measured release that crossed the covered space without the need to identify each silhouette with visual clarity. The sound was not chaotic, it was constant: a pressure advancing in the opposite direction of the smoke.

The figures that had crossed the threshold had no margin to react to that first impact. Some fell before completing a step; others attempted to advance, but their trajectories broke at the very moment they entered the field of fire. There were no shouts nor time for them. The enemy did not stop, and those who remained standing did not retreat, they responded.

From the partial cover offered by the same structural rupture, the launches emerged, not one, several. The projectiles did not trace visible lines in the air, but their presence was felt before impact: a pressure that forced the front line to modify its posture without breaking formation. The bodies descended, not by instinct, but by calculation, using the barricades that had emerged seconds before as a direct shield.

The explosions did not destroy the line, but they struck it, pushed it back enough to break the initial rhythm. The metal absorbed part of the impact, the suits the rest, but the pressure was felt, not as definitive damage, but as a clear warning that the confrontation would not be resolved in a single exchange.

The smoke was still present, visibility fragmented, and in that space where neither of the two forces had absolute control of the environment, the combat ceased to be an execution and became a real confrontation.

The sound of the detonations did not pass through the walls of the room directly, but it existed, filtered through the very structure of the facility as a constant vibration that did not need to be heard to be perceived. It was not an isolated noise nor a punctual event, it was a presence that remained, a reminder that what had begun below had already escalated to a point where containment depended on something more than brute force.

Reichel did not get up from the bed upon perceiving it, she adjusted just enough to change position, placing her weight on her legs while her attention shifted toward the desk, where the screens began to activate one after another without the need for direct interaction. There was no delay nor search for external controls; the system responded to her as if it had already been anticipated.

She sat in front of the monitors with a fluid movement, her body adapting to the workspace with a naturalness that did not require adjustment, and her hands descended onto the keyboard that emerged from the very wall, unfolding with silent precision, as if it had always been there, waiting to be used.

The screens did not display a single view, they fragmented, they reorganized. Each one captured a different angle of the surface, not randomly, but strategically: frontal, lateral, elevated points where the facility opened to the exterior. They were not completely clean images; the smoke was still present, the emergency lights interfered in some sectors, but the information was sufficient.

And what they showed was not an isolated confrontation, it was sustained pressure.

—They are maintaining the fire— said Reichel, her tone not alarmed, but more focused, her essence did not disappear, it only sharpened—. They are not trying to enter all at once… they want to force wear.

Selena did not approach immediately.

She observed from where she was, her gaze moving across the screens without wasting time on the irrelevant, selecting what mattered in a single pass. The projectiles were not random nor shots without direction, they were launched from specific points, at intervals that prevented the defensive line from fully stabilizing its position. Each impact did not destroy, but accumulated pressure, forcing the units of the facility to remain covered and limiting their ability to advance.

—Why don't we intervene directly? —Reichel asked, without taking her eyes off the monitors—. We can clear this in minutes.

Selena responded without changing her posture.

—Because it is not the immediate objective.

Her voice did not rise, it did not need to.

—First, the source of that rhythm must be eliminated.

She did not point at the screen, it was not necessary.

Reichel smiled slightly, without exaggeration, a reaction that was not surprise, but recognition.

—Of course— she murmured—. It had to be that.

Her fingers began to move, not with chaotic speed, but with continuous precision; each keystroke generated changes on the screens that were not limited to switching cameras, but to reorganizing the information.

The images began to shift. They moved away from the point of impact, they opened toward the extremes.

And then it appeared.

At the rear of the perimeter, beyond the immediate line of combat, the cameras captured the origin: ten figures, not hidden nor improvised, equipped at the same level as the units that had crossed the perimeter. Their movements were coordinated, their positions alternated in a constant cycle where some fired while others reloaded, maintaining a cadence that did not allow interruption. It was not desperate fire, it was sustained, controlled.

And behind them, the vehicles. Black, without visible identification. There were not many, two, but their function did not depend on quantity, but on what they contained: the rear doors open, the munitions being transferred without pause, creating a flow that directly fed the pressure on the facility.

Selena did not need more.

—Those two vehicles— she said—. They are the breaking point.

She did not present it as a possibility, she established it. —If they fall… the rhythm breaks.

Reichel tilted her head slightly, her eyes reflecting the information moving in front of her. —And without rhythm… —she added—.

—They lose advantage— Selena completed.

The silence was not a pause, it was alignment.

—What do we have available?— Selena asked.

Reichel did not stop moving. —On the surface… we have six active mortars— she replied. There was no pride in her tone, only information. —Limited ammunition. Her fingers paused for an instant over the keyboard. —Eighteen projectiles in total. Three per unit.

Selena did not react immediately, not out of doubt, but because she was adjusting the decision. —We do not need all of them— she said, with the same stability—. Only enough to eliminate those vehicles.

Reichel exhaled through her nose, a slight sign of contained amusement. —I knew you would say that.

Her hands resumed, the screens changed and the internal systems of the facility responded.

On one of the monitors, the mortars' interface deployed as a clear structure: coordinates, trajectories calculated in real time, projected impact points with a precision that did not depend on direct visibility.

Reichel did not hesitate. She selected, adjusted, confirmed. —Six units… two shots each— she murmured. She did not seek to maximize, she sought to hit.

She pressed.

The system responded.

On the surface, the mortars did not rise with drama nor generate unnecessary spectacle; they adjusted just enough to align their trajectory and fired simultaneously.

Twelve projectiles.

Not visible in their trajectory from the room, but inevitable in their destination, the projectiles did not appear on the screen until the moment of impact. There was a second, perhaps less, and then the rupture.

The explosions were not clean nor contained in a single point. They struck the vehicles with a precision that left no margin of error, the structure of the trucks giving way under the combined pressure while the internal munitions detonated in a chain reaction. The fire did not expand outward, it concentrated, destroyed, interrupted. The rear line disappeared as a system, not as a presence, but as a function.

The effect was immediate. The launchers ceased to maintain cadence, the rhythm broke, and in that instant the defense advanced.

The units of the facility did not wait for a second confirmation. The shotguns activated from the flanks, the figures emerging from the lateral cover with a synchronization that did not seek exposure, but closure. The combat changed form: from distance to contact, from pressure to elimination.

The enemies did not collapse completely.

Some reacted, they withdrew. Others attempted to hold position, firing from points where visibility was limited and taking advantage of blind angles that had not been fully covered. And for an instant, it worked. Crossfire returned, not as organized, but present.

The street became the new scenario, not as an extension of the initial attack, but as an open space where neither of the two forces had absolute control.

Reichel did not stop watching the screens.

—They are still resisting— she said, without losing that contained nuance in her voice.

Selena observed. She did not respond immediately, because the situation had not yet ended.

_____________________________________________

END OF CHAPTER 92

The path continues…

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