Boone nodded, his expression hard.
"Then let's not waste time."
Rebecca stood, flicking her knife back into its sheath.
"I hope these bastards have a backup plan because they're about to have a real bad night."
Six turned back to Trent, who was still clutching his bleeding shoulder.
"Stay put. If you try to run—"
Six let the threat hang in the air.
Trent swallowed hard and nodded.
Raul smirked.
"Let's go crack open a sewer."
As they stepped outside, the cold Mojave night wrapped around them. The Aerotech camp was quieter now, refugees retreating into their makeshift shelters. But fear still lingered in the air.
Six led the way toward the sewer entrance, a rusted-out maintenance hatch half-buried in sand and debris. Boone and Raul moved to either side while Rebecca covered the rear.
Six pulled the hatch open with a metallic groan. A damp, rancid stench wafted out, thick with decay and stagnant water.
Rebecca wrinkled her nose.
"Ugh. Why is it always sewers?"
Roger peered down, adjusting his grip on his sword.
"Because bad people like to hide in shit."
Six climbed down first, boots splashing into ankle-deep filth. His Pip-Boy's light cut through the darkness, revealing old pipes and crumbling brick walls. Somewhere in the distance, faint voices echoed.
He turned to the team.
"Stay sharp. We don't know how many we're dealing with."
They moved forward, weapons ready, shadows shifting in the dim light. The deeper they went, the clearer the voices became—low murmurs, the occasional barked order.
Then they saw it.
A rusted security door, slightly ajar, light spilling out from the other side. Beyond it, the unmistakable sounds of movement.
Boone glanced at Six.
"Ready?"
Six nodded.
Rebecca grinned.
"Let's send these bastards to hell."
And with that, they pushed through the door, weapons raised.
The room erupted into chaos the moment they breached the door.
Six's revolver cracked twice, dropping the first slaver before he could even react. Boone's rifle barked in perfect precision, sending another crumpling to the ground before he could draw his weapon.
Rebecca didn't bother shooting—she was already moving. She drove her knee into a stunned guard's gut before slamming his face into the wall. Blood sprayed across the rusted metal as he slid down, unconscious or dead.
Roger, ever the pragmatist, cut through one of them and then kicked him over a table breaking another slaver's cover.
The remaining slavers scrambled, overturning chairs and reaching for weapons.
"Shit! Intruders!"
One of them shouted, raising his rifle—only for Boone's second shot to punch through his throat, silencing him instantly.
One of the slavers managed to get his gun up and fired wildly. The shot went wide, ricocheting off the ceiling. Six didn't give him a second chance. He put a round clean through the man's chest, sending him sprawling over a crate.
The room fell still.
Six lowered his revolver, scanning for movement. The only sounds left were the faint drips of sewer water and the labored breathing of the last conscious slaver, bleeding out against a rusted locker.
Rebecca kicked his weapon away and crouched next to him, tilting her head.
"You're gonna tell us where the prisoners are."
The man coughed, spitting blood.
"Go to hell."
Raul crouched beside her, shaking his head.
"Now, now, amigo. No need to be rude."
He pulled out his revolver and pressed the barrel against the man's already wounded leg.
The slaver winced but didn't break.
Six sighed and turned to Boone.
"Watch the door. More might be coming."
Boone nodded, rifle at the ready.
Six turned back to the slaver.
"Last chance."
The man hesitated, then exhaled shakily.
"Further in… deeper tunnels… they've got a bunker."
Rebecca smiled.
"See? That wasn't so hard."
She stood, wiping her hands on her pants.
Six looked toward the darkened passage leading further underground.
"Then let's go finish this."
They moved quickly, navigating the damp, crumbling tunnels with weapons drawn. The deeper they went, the more the air thickened with the scent of mildew, rust, and something worse—something rotting.
Boone took point, his sharp eyes sweeping every corner. Six stayed close, revolver steady in his grip. Roger moved with practiced ease, his sword ready for any close encounters. Raul, trailed behind, muttering under his breath about how much he hated sewers.
Faint voices echoed ahead. Orders. Laughter. The distinct clink of weapons being handled.
Six signaled for silence. They pressed against the tunnel walls, creeping forward until they reached a rusted metal grate overlooking a large chamber.
Below, a makeshift bunker sprawled before them—an old maintenance hub converted into a slaver hideout. A dozen men loitered around crates of weapons and supplies. Beyond them, a reinforced gate led further in.
And behind that gate, they could hear the muffled cries of prisoners.
Roger clenched her jaw.
"We need to move fast."
Six studied the layout.
"We hit them hard before they can react. Boone, take the high ground. Pick off anyone reaching for a gun. Raul, cover the left flank. Rebecca, Roger, and I will handle the rest."
Boone gave a sharp nod.
"Easy enough."
Raul smirked.
"I do love a good ambush."
Six raised his revolver.
"Let's end this."
With that, they struck.
Boone's rifle cracked, dropping the first slaver before the man even knew he was under attack. Six vaulted over the railing, firing midair and catching another in the chest.
Roger hit the ground running, ducking under wild gunfire before driving his sword into a slaver's ribs. All while Rebecca was firing with her Punisher in LMG mode at any slaver in mad laughter like a lunatic.
Raul fired from cover, his shots sending the remaining men scrambling.
Panic set in. The slavers tried to rally, but Boone's precision cut them down before they could mount a defense.
One man bolted for the reinforced gate, fumbling with a set of keys.
Six fired. The bullet punched through the back of the slaver's knee, dropping him with a scream.
Rebecca reached him first. She grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the gate.
"Open it."
The slaver whimpered, hands shaking as he unlocked the door.
Beyond it, terrified captives huddled together, their eyes wide with fear and hope.
Six holstered his revolver and stepped forward.
"You're safe now."
Rebecca glanced at the last slaver, then at Six.
"What do we do with him?"
Six didn't hesitate. He raised his gun—
And fired.
The slaver crumpled.
Boone exhaled.
"That's that."
Raul chuckled.
"Guess I won't have to waste a bullet."
Six turned back to the freed captives.
"Let's get you home."