The Trap
1600 Words
A week passed.
The settlement settled into something almost resembling normal—watch rotations resumed, supply runs logged, arguments over ration counts and perimeter sensors filling the quiet left behind when Mara departed. She’d promised to return in a couple of weeks. Iris hadn’t known what to say to that, only nodded while something in her chest tightened at the word return.
The dreams didn’t stop.
They didn’t come every night, but when they did, they left her shaken in ways sleep never had before. The hum beneath her skin no longer faded with morning. It lingered, low and restless, like it was waiting for something to answer it.
The mission briefing was routine.
Too routine.
Ashton stood over the table, finger tracing a path across a faded map. “Old relay station,” he said. “Black Talon design. Signal pings popped up three days ago. Could be scav tech. Could be nothing. We go in, verify, clear it, and pull anything useful.”
Elias glanced at Iris. “Simple.”
She didn’t respond.
Her gaze was fixed on the map. On the narrow rectangular structure marked at the center—long corridors, minimal rooms, built for efficiency, not comfort.
Something in her chest pulled.
“Any known hostiles?” Elias asked.
Ashton shook his head. “None reported.”
Iris’s fingers flexed at her side.
They geared up anyway.
The relay station sat half-buried in stone and scrub, its outer walls scarred but intact. Black Talon architecture always looked like this—clean lines, reinforced angles, designed to survive long after the people inside were gone.
The air changed the moment they crossed the threshold.
Not temperature.
Not sound.
Pressure.
Iris slowed.
The corridor ahead was narrow. Clean in places where dust should’ve settled. Pale panels lined the walls, emergency lighting humming faintly overhead.
Too familiar.
Her pulse spiked.
They advanced in formation. Boots echoed softly. The hum beneath her skin sharpened, threading through her awareness with an urgency that made it hard to breathe.
Then she saw him.
He stood at the far end of the corridor, partially shadowed, posture relaxed—too relaxed for a scavenger. Dark armor hugged his frame, reinforced plating at the shoulders and torso. High-grade. Black Talon issue.
The man didn’t raise his weapon.
That alone was wrong.
His eyes stayed on Iris.
Elias shifted beside her. “Do you know him?”
She didn’t answer right away.
Her gaze tracked the man automatically—distance, angles, exits. The way he stood told her more than his face ever could.
“Yes,” she said finally. “He was at the Power Core mission. Sector Nine.”
The man smiled.
“You’re late,” he said.
The words landed with practiced familiarity, like a phrase used before. Often.
Elias frowned. “Late for what?”
The man ignored him, eyes never leaving Iris. “You always were precise. I expected you five minutes ago, Iris.”
Iris didn’t move.
“How do you know me?” she asked.
Her voice was steady. Neutral. The way she’d learned to speak under pressure—without knowing when or how she’d learned it.
The man’s smile deepened, just slightly. A smirk now, like he’d been waiting for the question.
“Black Talon doesn’t like surprises,” he said. “Especially not the kind that walk away from their assignments.”
Elias stiffened. “We’re not Black Talon.”
The words came out sharp. Instinctive.
Iris felt it too—the wrongness of the accusation, the way it slid across her skin without fitting anywhere it should.
The man’s eyes flicked to Elias for the first time.
Dismissive.
“Not you,” he said.
His attention returned to Iris immediately, like Elias had never spoken at all.
Elias stared at her.
Not the man.
Her.
“What is he talking about?” he asked, the edge creeping into his voice. “Iris?”
She didn’t answer.
For the first time since entering the corridor, she couldn’t.
The hum beneath her skin surged—not sharp, but disoriented, like something scrambling to align with a pattern that should already exist. Her thoughts slipped, overlapping with instincts she didn’t remember learning.
Elias turned fully toward her. “Iris.”
Silence stretched. Thick. Uncomfortable.
Her fingers curled slowly at her side.
“They’ve been looking for you.” The man’s smirk returned, thin and knowing.
The corridor lights flickered.
Just once.
The hum beneath Iris’s skin surged in response—violent now, like something recognizing its echo.
The man straightened, hand drifting toward his weapon.
“Welcome to your mission,” he said softly.
The lights went out.
The trap snapped closed.
The darkness wasn’t complete. Emergency strips along the floor pulsed faint red, casting the corridor in broken lines and shadow. The man’s silhouette sharpened instead of disappearing—too still, too ready.
Elias didn’t hesitate.
His hand rose to his comm. “Alex,” he said under his breath. Controlled. Professional. “We’ve got a problem.”
Static hissed back, then—“Go.”
“It’s a trap,” Elias said, eyes locked down the corridor. “Relay station was bait. One hostile confirmed—Black Talon, high security. He was waiting for us.”
A pause. Short. Tense.
“Copy,” Alex said. “Any others?”
“I don’t know yet,” Elias replied. “But he knew Iris.”
The silence on the line stretched just a second longer than it should have.
“Understood,” Alex said finally. “Fall back if you can.”
Elias’s jaw tightened. “Not an option.”
The man chuckled softly, the sound carrying too easily through the dark.
Iris shifted without realizing it—weight redistributing, muscles coiling. Her body moved ahead of her thoughts, every instinct screaming now.
Elias glanced at her, something unreadable flashing across his face.
“Iris,” he said quietly. “Stay close.”
The man’s hand closed around his weapon.
The corridor filled with the whine of charging capacitors.
And then everything exploded into motion.
The first shot tore down the corridor in a wash of blue-white light.
Elias dove sideways, rolling behind a support pillar as the blast scorched the wall where he’d been standing a heartbeat earlier. Stone and metal screamed under the impact.
“Iris—!”
She was already moving.
Not running.
Flowing.
She crossed the distance in a blur, boots barely touching the floor as she angled off the line of fire. The red emergency lights strobed, slicing her into fragments—there, gone, there again.
The man laughed. “Still leading with your left.”
Another shot screamed past her.
Iris twisted mid-step, the blast missing her by inches. She didn’t remember deciding to duck or pivot—but her body did. Every movement precise. Economical. Lethal.
She came up inside his guard.
Metal rang as her blade met his weapon, sparks bursting between them. He grunted—not at her strength, but her timing.
“You’re rusty,” he said, breathless now. “Or distracted.”
She struck again.
Once. Twice.
A rapid sequence that drove him back toward the wall.
Elias risked a glance from cover—and froze.
She wasn’t fighting like anyone he’d trained with.
No wasted motion. No hesitation. No visible reaction time. She anticipated every move before it finished, adjusting angles mid-strike like she already knew the outcome.
Like she’d done this exact dance before.
“Iris!” he shouted, firing down the corridor to force space.
The man deflected the shot with a sharp twist, armor flaring as it absorbed the impact. He stumbled—but smiled through it.
“There you are,” he said. “That’s the one they wanted.”
Something snapped inside her.
The hum surged, screaming now, drowning out thought.
She disarmed him in three movements she didn’t remember learning—weapon twisted free, skidding down the corridor. Before he could react, she drove him back again, pinning him to the wall with an arm across his throat.
He coughed, armor whining under the strain.
Up close, his eyes were bright. Alive with recognition.
“You don’t even know what you are,” he rasped. “That’s the best part.”
Her grip tightened.
Elias stepped forward. “Iris—don’t.”
She hesitated.
Just long enough.
The man slammed his head forward. The impact rattled her vision. He slipped sideways, blood running from his mouth, still grinning.
“Still hesitating,” he said. “You never used to.”
Her chest tightened.
“I’ve seen you before,” she said. The words tore out of her. “How do you know me?”
He laughed—and it broke into something wet and ragged.
“You can keep running,” he said. “Keep pretending you’re something else.”
She struck him again, hard enough to drop him to his knees.
He looked up at her, eyes glassy, defiant.
“But we’ll get you back. No matter what they call you.”
Her blade hovered at his throat.
“…075.”
The hum detonated.
She didn’t remember moving.
Only the sound of his body hitting the floor.
Silence rushed in, broken only by Elias’s breathing and the fading whine of emergency lights.
Elias stared at her.
At the blood on her hands.
At the way she stood—perfectly still, perfectly balanced, like she was waiting for the next command.
“Iris,” he said quietly.
She looked at him.
And for the first time—
She looked afraid.
- Writer
