An industrial complex sprawled across a rocky plateau like metal cancer, all sharp angles and functional brutality. Lucas Grey stood at the edge of their temporary camp, watching the sunset paint the facility's towers in shades of rust and amber. The place looked like every other mining operation he'd seen—utilitarian structures designed by people who cared more about efficiency than aesthetics.
But it was quiet. Too quiet for a facility that should have been running skeleton crews even during an emergency evacuation.
"Sir, perimeter's secure," reported Elena Vasquez, a twenty-two-year-old assault specialist whose admiration for Lucas was written all over her face every time she looked at him. "No movement detected in the facility, no energy signatures from active machinery."
