The exoskeleton engaged instantly, hydraulics managing the force as Kasper plummeted through darkness. The wind whistled past his mask, his enhanced senses calculating adjustments before conscious thought could process them. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten.
The shaft opening approached with alarming speed, its narrow dimensions seemingly impossible to navigate. But his silver adaptation responded instinctively, his body twisting mid-air, arms pulling tight against his torso. The world narrowed to a single point of focus—the dark rectangle growing larger by the millisecond.
He entered with centimeters to spare, plating scraping metal with a sound like knives on steel as he descended. Darkness enveloped him completely, his mask's display and the faint metallic glow beneath his skin providing the only light. His spine burned with unnatural movement, the exoskeleton compensating for forces it was never designed to handle. The taste of adrenaline flooded his mouth, metallic and sharp.
Eight seconds of controlled descent, mapping every contour, every obstacle. Then light appeared below—the processing chamber illuminated by copper-tech systems. Two ATA operatives monitored supply distribution, their movements lazy with the complacence of routine. The light from their copper ports cast sickly orange shadows across their faces, highlighting the mechanical emptiness in their eyes.
Kasper emerged in a controlled drop, landing directly behind the nearest man with a sound no louder than a whispered breath. Before the operative could react, Kasper struck with enhanced precision, targeting the copper integration at the base of his skull. The man's eyes widened in momentary surprise before he collapsed silently, neural systems temporarily overloaded rather than permanently damaged.
The second operative turned, ports flashing alarm like warning beacons, reaching for his weapon with enhanced reflexes. Kasper lunged forward with impossible speed, the floor beneath him creaking in protest at the sudden force. He struck again with cold efficiency, feeling the slight resistance of flesh before the man's systems overloaded.
"East side clear," Kasper whispered through secure comms. His enhanced senses mapped the chamber, identifying power distribution and security systems. The room smelled of ozone and machine oil, the distinctive tang of enhancement technology that permeated ATA facilities. "Proceeding."
Above, Diaz descended through the shaft, her smaller frame navigating the opening with greater ease. Her enhancement ports glowed like sapphires as she landed, immediately moving to the nearest security terminal. Blue light pulsed at her wrists as she interfaced with ATA systems, her face illuminated from below, giving her the appearance of a child telling ghost stories.
"Surveillance offline," she confirmed thirty seconds later, a grin splitting her face. Her fingers still moved across the interface, leaving ghostly blue trails in the air. "Security systems think they're in maintenance mode. Four minutes before auto-diagnostics catch on." Her enthusiasm bubbled through her professional veneer like a child who'd successfully pulled a prank.
Vega descended next, his massive frame requiring creative maneuvering through the narrow shaft. The metal groaned in protest as he emerged. His reinforced MAB was already deployed as he landed, ports cycling combat patterns like amber fireflies beneath his skin as he secured the western entrance.
Torres followed last, targeting systems immediately mapping positions beyond the chamber. His movements carried the precision of decades in the field as he covered the northern approach. The scarred veteran moved like a predator, each step precisely placed, each motion economical.
"Four hostiles advancing from north corridor," he reported, targeting flowing across his specialized MAB 38 like liquid copper. "Standard combat config. ETA: twenty seconds." His tone carried the weight of potential violence—not eager, but resigned to its necessity.
"Diaz, continue restoration," Kasper ordered, drawing the KS-23 from his back. The mechanism clicked satisfyingly as it readied, the weapon's weight felt reassuring, his exoskeleton ready to distribute its considerable recoil. "Torres, Vega—defensive positions. Non-lethal when possible."
Kasper moved to an elevated position overlooking the northern corridor, KS-23 trained on the approaching threat. Through his mask, he spotted copper signatures growing stronger—four operatives moving with synchronized precision, their shadows stretching before them like harbingers.
"They're enhancement-linked," Kasper noted, detecting connection patterns others couldn't see. The linked operatives reminded him of school children holding hands, except these connections carried deadly precision. "They'll share targeting data."
"Bad for us," Torres acknowledged, adjusting his systems with practiced ease. The veteran's face remained impassive, but his eyes narrowed in calculation. "Unless we break the chain."
Kasper nodded, selecting an electromagnetic pulse shell from the KS-23's integrated storage. The shell felt cool against his fingers, full of potential. His enhanced reflexes calculated the firing solution as the first operative appeared, copper ports glowing like embers in a dying fire.
As the enemy entered the chamber, Kasper made his decision. The KS-23 settled against his shoulder, its weight familiar and reassuring.
He exhaled slowly, finger tightening on the trigger.
The coming seconds would determine everything.