Escape or Oblivion

The command center buzzed in absolute chaos as Code Red protocols came alive in full force. Red emergency lights pulsed harshly across the walls, bathing everyone in bursts of crimson. Sirens blared through the building, intermingling with rapid orders shouting across the floor.

An army of analysts, technicians, and engineers worked furiously at their stations, their faces illuminated by glowing monitors. They were racing against time to secure everything crucial to the revolution, knowing their lives—and the integrity of their operation—depended on their success. The process was as meticulous as it was desperate. Security engineers uploaded encrypted data archives to a remote, impenetrable cloud server before systematically wiping all hard drives. Crucial files, blueprints, and correspondences vanished from every physical server, leaving nothing for the advancing forces to uncover.

Rows of blinking drives were quickly disabled as fingers flurried over keyboards, severing connections before software wiped them entirely clean. Keisha Jones cleared out the detainment area where Sergeant Strauss and his team were being held. All detainees were already cuffed. Jones yelled with authority and fearlessness in her voice.

“Listen up, you maggots! We are under Code Red Protocols! Form a single line and start moving through the tunnels towards the train. Pull any stunt, I will shoot you!”

One of Strauss’s men, Brian Johnson, desperate to escape, attempted to break away. Strauss seeing this tries to stop him.

“JOHNSON, STOP! THAT'S AN ORDER!”

Without flinching, Jones aimed her weapon at a fleeing Johnson and pulls the trigger, taking him down permanently in one shot. She then turns to the rest of the detainees, the next words out of her mouth were very chilling.

“If any of you want to test me and attempt to run, go right ahead! I can use the target practice!”

The rest of the detainees, including Strauss, all put their heads down and march in the direction they were ordered to by Jones. Next, Dr. Jenny was directing all scientists, technicians and engineers to start making their way through the tunnels to the trains.

“Leave everything behind!”

Dr. Yvette Thompkins, Jenny’s second-in-command, a 34-year-old scientist, is assisting in the evacuation of the entire science and engineering department. When the last body is out, she then turns to her boss.

“What about our research? Our inventions?”

“It’s been taken care of,” Dr. Jenny answered.

Both Jenny and Dr. Thompkins make their way to the train. Meanwhile, heavy-armed revolution soldiers, wearing dark tactical gear, rushed to secure every entrance. They posted up at all conceivable points of infiltration: the main doors, ventilation shafts, hidden passageways, and security tunnels. Guns were drawn and locked into position. Some soldiers waited in silence, their bodies tense, while others exchanged quick, urgent looks, as though already preparing themselves for the inevitable fight to come. The sound of boots pounding against metal grated through the air as reinforcements quickly moved into defensive positions. In the command center, Peter stood tall—his composure firmly intact despite the urgency around him. His commanding voice overrode the sirens, drawing the attention of his closest allies. Peter barked with an authority that left no room for argument.

“Charlie, listen to me! You’re to guide the team through the tunnel system straight to the bullet train. Get them out of here safely!”

Charlie asked, his voice breaking slightly under the growing tension. His brow furrowed deeply as worry etched itself into his face. He stepped closer to Peter, almost pleading.

“Wait—what about you? Dad, you’re not planning on—”

Peter placated him with a hand on his shoulder and a reassuring squeeze.

“I’ll be right behind you, son,” he replied firmly, though his eyes betrayed a hidden weight Charlie couldn’t yet decipher.

“But right now, your job is to make sure everyone gets on that train. Do NOT wait for me.”

Charlie clutched Peter’s arm, his anxiety spilling over.

“Dad, whatever you’re about to do, let someone else handle it. Please.”

But Peter didn’t give him the chance to argue further. With one last pat on his shoulder, Peter took off, moving swiftly through the command center toward an unseen destination. His strides were long and purposeful, leaving no doubt in Charlie’s mind that his father was planning something dangerous. Something that could cost him his life. Charlie clenched his jaw, his mind pulling in ten different directions as he turned back toward the others. He swallowed his emotions and forcing himself into leader mode.

“Alright, everyone! Let’s move—now!”

Charlie hustled the team through a series of back tunnels, their movements echoing in the dark, narrow passageways beneath the command center. The group moved as a unified front, their weapons ready for any surprise. Chris lagged a step behind Charlie, his voice low but sharp. Chris pressed, his calculating eyes narrowing at Charlie’s back.

“Where’s Uncle Peter? Why isn’t he with us?”

Charlie replied tersely, trying to focus. But the edge in his voice gave him away.

“He... just needed to grab something.”

Ruby’s suspicious gaze snapped to her cousin. She narrowed her eyes, her tone prickly.

“What are you not telling us, Charlie? You know something!”

Charlie snapped, his veneer of composure slipping.

“Ruby, now’s not the time for this!” Ruby hissed back. Her voice was heated, but underneath it, fear for her uncle was tangibly present.

“It absolutely IS the time!”

Charlie barked as they reached the final stretch of the tunnel leading to the bullet train.

“ENOUGH!” His voice softened as he added, “Please. Just trust me—for once.”

Chris and Ruby exchanged uneasy looks, neither entirely satisfied, but there was no time to argue further. They followed Charlie as he ushered the group toward the gleaming silver train waiting for them deep underground. The bullet train hummed softly, its sleek design almost glowing. Everyone quickly boarded. The bullet train was divided into sections. In the lead car of the train were the leaders and principal team members of the revolution: Chris, Ruby, Charlie, Jenny, Candy, Major Amma, Colonel Zeke, Paul, Henry, Francine, and Linda.

The following three cars behind were filled with all the analysts, scientists, engineers, and technicians.

The final car behind that were Kevin Draiman, Keisha Jones, and Pedro Sanchez – Peter’s high-ranking field ops – along with all of the detainees.

As the train began to power up, Charlie lingered near the door, his eyes darting toward the tunnel they’d emerged from. His foot shifted forward, almost as if he intended to head back. He wanted to wait—needed to wait—for Peter. But Peter’s voice echoed in his mind. _“Do not wait for me.”_ The weight of that order settled over him. With a heavy sigh, Charlie turned to the conductor, his voice breaking slightly.

“Get us moving!”

The train shuddered, the sound of machinery growing louder as the wheels engaged. It began to lurch forward, slow at first, then gaining momentum. The others jolted with the movement, but all eyes turned to Charlie. Ruby was the first to snap.

“Wait—what the hell are you doing?!” she yelled, standing.

“Uncle P isn’t on the train! Stop it! We can’t leave yet!”

Chris reached for her, his tone calm but firm.

“Ruby, calm down. He’ll catch up with us, I promise.”

Ruby snapped back, her eyes watering.

“How do you know?! Why would he let us leave without him?!”

Candy stepped in, her voice soft but strong.

“Mr. Peter is a survivor, Ruby. He wouldn’t give up on the revolution—or us.”

Ruby angrily wiped her eyes but said nothing, slumping back into her seat as the train picked up speed.

In the interrogation room, Dunning sat in the dim light, drenched in sweat. His breath was ragged as he reached for Chris’s switchblade, still embedded in his bleeding hand. With a guttural scream of agony, he yanked the blade out, trembling as the blood flow intensified. He ripped a strip of his shirt and crudely wrapped his injured hand, his adrenaline numbing the pain. With a determined look, Dunning used the switchblade to slice through the zip ties restraining him. After freeing himself, he stumbled to the digital lock on the door. His years of experience as a police officer had prepared him for this. He skillfully dismantled the lock, hacking into the panel until the door hissed open. He stepped into the hallway, his eyes scanning his surroundings—and then he saw Peter, moving quickly into the heart of the command center. Quietly, Dunning followed, like a wolf stalking prey.

Peter, meanwhile, worked silently but efficiently, placing small devices in strategic locations throughout the facility. He tapped a keypad on each one, arming them with deadly precision. These weren’t just bombs—they were designed to wipe the command center from existence, ensuring no evidence of the revolution remained. As he activated the final device, Peter turned to leave—but froze at the sound of a click. The cold barrel of a gun pressed against his back. Dunning snarled, his voice venomous.

“DON'T MOVE!”

Peter slowly raised his hands, then turned to face him.

“You’re too late, Kyle,” he said calmly.

“Explosives are armed. In less than five minutes, this place will be gone.”

Dunning spat with contempt.

“You’re bluffing.”

Peter pulled a timer from his pocket and held it up, showing the countdown: _4:19_… _4:18_… _4:17_… He said with a dry voice.

“You were saying?”

Dunning’s smirk faded, but his grip on the gun tightened.

“You’re not leaving here. You took everything from me, Parsons.”

Peter’s jaw set tightly, his eyes fixed.

“If you EVER cared about Charlie, don’t take me away from him.”

Dunning’s face darkened.

“Charlie already chose you.”

He stepped forward, his voice low and hateful.

“I hate you. I’ve always hated you.”

His finger hovered close to the trigger.

“And I can't wait to turn you in.”

Dunning stepped closer, his breathing shallow but menacing, his gun unwavering as he pointed it directly at Peter's chest. The cold malice in his eyes revealed the raw hatred boiling beneath the surface. He moved deliberately, savoring the moment, prolonging Peter’s helplessness with every step.

“You think you’re some hero, don’t you? All this ‘revolution’ nonsense. Leading Charlie like a lamb toward destruction. I could’ve taught him how to handle the REAL world. But no! You had to brainwash him, turn him against me.”

Dunning’s lip curled into a twisted grin.

“You’re going to die knowing you made him choose a liar over his father.”

Peter stood steadily, his hands still raised, his eyes narrowing as Dunning’s words pierced the air. Each second counted. Behind them, the faint sound of boots—Metro PD and military forces—echoed through the command center as they pressed deeper into the building. Time was running out. Peter remained calm, his mind working faster than his body would allow.

“You’ve had every chance to be his father—you’ve chosen to waste every one of them.”

His voice was low, even, though his pulse pounded in his chest. He glanced at the timer in his hand: _3:32_ and counting.

“You can still fix that. But killing me won’t bring you closer to him. It’ll just prove to him that he made the right choice turning his back on you.”

That hit harder than Peter expected. Dunning’s gun wavered for a split second, the man’s angry facade cracking ever so slightly. But just as quickly as his humanity showed, it disappeared behind a cruel smirk. Bitterness dripped with every word spoken.

“There’s nothing left for me... except this.”

In the blink of an eye, Dunning lunged forward, shoving Peter back a step as he pushed the gun barrel even closer. Peter, well-trained and always prepared for a fight, reacted instinctively. His arms shot forward, twisting Dunning’s wrist with a snap to force the gun downward. The weapon went off as it hit the floor with a deafening blast, the bullet ricocheting into the wall and narrowly missing Peter’s leg. The air crackled with sudden violence as Peter and Dunning met in a flurry of raw, unrestrained combat.

Peter deflected Dunning’s strikes with precision, his years of martial arts training showing through as each counterstrike landed with a calculated purpose. But Dunning was a brawler, experienced and fueled by rage, and his attacks were relentless. Peter ducked as Dunning’s fist narrowly missed his jaw. Spinning on his heel, Peter delivered a sharp elbow to Dunning’s ribcage, forcing the man to stumble. But instead of retreating, Dunning surged forward again, tackling Peter into the nearest wall.

A sharp metallic clang filled the room as Peter's back connected with a pipe. He groaned, the impact rattling through him, but he didn’t stop. Instead, he twisted his body, using the momentum to throw Dunning off him. Both men were now breathless, circling each other like wolves in a cage. The seconds on the timer ticked down: _2:46_... _2:45_...

Dunning’s rage turned desperate, his movements becoming sloppier as exhaustion caught up to him. Peter saw his opening. He ducked low, grabbed Dunning’s injured hand—the one Chris had stabbed earlier—and twisted it sharply. Dunning let out a guttural scream, his strength momentarily faltering as he clutched at the wound. But it wasn’t enough. Dunning recovered quickly, lunging for his gun on the floor. Peter dove after him, his hand closing around a hidden blade tucked inside his boot. As Dunning rose with the retrieved gun, Peter swept his legs out from under him in one fluid motion. Dunning fell forward onto Peter, but Peter twisted the knife upward at just the right angle.

The two men collided, and for a moment, everything froze. Dunning gasped, his hands gripping Peter’s shoulders as he tried to process the pain blossoming in his chest. Peter’s small blade had pierced deep, stopping him cold. They fell to the ground together, Dunning slumping on top of Peter before rolling off with a choked groan. Blood pooled beneath him as he clutched his chest, his glare losing the menace but not the hatred. He rasped, his lips twisting into a bitter snarl, even through the searing pain.

“You'll... never... win.”

Peter rose to his feet, steadying himself. He looked down at Dunning, his face unreadable.

“We already have.”

Dunning let out a weak but furious cry as Peter turned and sprinted to the wall on the far side of the room. He pressed his palm against a hidden panel, revealing a red button. He slammed it without hesitation. With a loud hiss, a hidden door in the wall slid open, revealing a narrow passageway. Behind him, Dunning—bleeding out but still alive—howled in rage.

“PARSONS!” he screamed, his trembling hand raising the gun once more.

He fired wildly, the shots echoing in the metal chamber, but none of them found their target. Peter slipped through the secret passageway, and the reinforced door slammed shut just as another wave of bullets erupted. Outside the door, Dunning’s screams grew hoarse, then silent. The timer on the bombs ticked down: _0:47_... _0:46_...

Peter stood in the narrow secret compartment, breathing heavily as he leaned against the wall of the enclosed shaft. He glanced at his watch: _0:10_... _0:09_... The faint sound of boots and shouting soldiers roared just outside the range of the explosives. He closed his eyes and counted quietly to himself.

“Three... two... one.”

The first explosion ripped through the command center with a deafening roar, followed by a succession of thunderous detonations. As the explosions went off one by one, a trap door open dropping Peter straight down. Images of the facility’s blueprints flashed in his mind—every room, every corridor—now reduced to nothing but burning ruins. The sound of collapsing metal and cracking concrete followed the chain reaction as fire and smoke consumed the facility.

Far below the earth, the explosion's distant vibrations rattled the walls of the tunnel. The train shuddered slightly, its lights flickering as everyone onboard froze in tense silence. Ruby was the first to react, leaning forward in her seat, her green eyes frantic and anxiety filled her voice.

“That was it! That was the command center! Uncle P—”

Chris cut her off, his tone steady but tense.

“Will catch up with us.”

He gripped the seat in front of him tightly, staring at Charlie, who was sitting silently near the conductor's console. Ruby shook her head.

“NO! Something’s WRONG, Chris! He’s—”

A loud crash interrupted her, and everyone jumped. A figure had burst through one of the glass emergency windows located on the top of the train. The sound of shattering glass gave way to stunned silence as the figure stumbled forward, brushing shards off his shoulders.

Peter timed with perfect precision his drop with the passing train. Peter stood before them, bruised but very much alive. He looked up at the broken window he crashed through.

“Nailed it.”

The train erupted into cheers. Charlie ran to Peter, practically tackling him in relief, his laughter and tears spilling in unison.

“DAD!”

Ruby jumped from her seat, yelling with joy.

“I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU HE’S FRIGGIN’ AWESOME!”

Candy grinned ear to ear, relieved and ecstatic. Chris allowed himself a small but proud smile, shaking his head in disbelief at his uncle’s resilience. Paul and Henry quickly helped Peter to his feet. Dr. Jenny, Colonel Zeke, Major Amma, and Mangino simply stared, once again astonished by this man’s ability to survive against all odds. Peter smiled, his usual calm returning. Confidence filled his voice.

“Everything went perfectly.” Paul clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“What now?”

Peter glanced at the train’s forward console, looking into the dark tunnel leading ahead.

“Richmond, Virginia,” he said, his tone resolute.

“A new command center is waiting for us there.”

Silence followed his words—but this time, it was a positive silence. The silence of hope, of resolve, of unity. Candy broke it.

“So… does that mean...?” Peter smiled warmly, his expression unwavering.

“Yes. The revolution lives on.”

As the train sped onward, the team left behind the ruins of their old base. But in their hearts, they carried something stronger: determination to finish what they’d started.

End of Book One.