UNSTOPPABLE MARCH

The storm hadn’t arrived yet, but it could already be felt in their bones.
With Theralux’s advance imminent, there was no room left for rest.
The day before had been a symphony of rushed footsteps, dirty hands, checked weapons, and held breaths. No one slept more than a few hours. Everyone did their part. Everyone contributed.
Now, only one thing remained: wait… and resist.

The bulk of their forces was concentrated in the main hangar, right behind the massive metal doors guarding the vehicles. It was the most vulnerable point… and also the most heavily defended.
Several automated turrets stood in a line—cold, ready—aiming directly at the entrance.
At the center of the room, surrounded by maps, cables, ammo crates, and the metallic echo of marching boots, the command core gathered: Mikhail, Vik, Anton… and the rest of the group.

—Alright, everyone —Mikhail’s deep voice cut through the air like a knife—. You know what needs to be done. We can’t let them breach this door. If they do... everyone inside is at risk.

Anton stepped forward. His stance was firm, his gaze resolute.
—My team will hold this area —he said with conviction.
Behind him, Yuri cracked his knuckles with a defiant smirk, Igor adjusted his glasses nervously… and Nikolai remained silent.

Something was wrong with him.
Since that day, he hadn’t been the same. His eyes didn’t look—they wandered. As if he were fighting something inside… something he wasn’t ready to speak about.

—You hear me, Nikolai? —Anton asked, stepping closer.
—Huh?... Yeah, yeah —replied the group’s burliest member, avoiding eye contact.
A brief silence surrounded them.
No further words were needed. A glance between Anton and Mikhail was enough to seal both the understanding… and the doubt.

—The hangar is yours —Mikhail finally said, his gesture radiating trust… and warning.

Then, he turned toward another trio.
Vik, Dasha, and Artiom stood with him, listening closely. The moment was now.
—You’ll back up Anton’s team from the rear. No one gets past this line —Mikhail ordered firmly.
He turned to face Dasha.
—You’re our best sharpshooter. I want you up there —he pointed to an old metal scaffold in the corner of the hangar, elevated with a clear line of sight—. Cover your team. If you see anything move… don’t hesitate.
—It’ll be my pleasure, sir —Dasha replied, resting the long, menacing body of her sniper, Viper Bite, on her shoulder. Her tone was confident. Her smile… nearly dangerous.

—Artiom —Mikhail continued—. Take two men and cover the south entrance. If they manage to flank us from there… it’s over. —He pointed at a double metal door sealed with a thick rusty chain.
—Yes, sir —Artiom answered firmly, eyes fixed on the objective.

—And you, Vik —Mikhail added, his tone shifting—. I need you to protect Igor. The electric trap has to stay operational, and for that he needs to be close. He’s not built for combat. You’ll be his shield.
—Understood —Vik replied seriously, locking eyes with Igor, who visibly swallowed hard.

Mikhail took a step back, observing them all.
—Are your positions clear?
A tense pause.
A half-smile appeared on his scarred face.
As if he believed the plan... was almost perfect.

—Yes, sir! —they all roared in unison, raising fists or nodding firmly.

CLANK. The turrets turned.
CHAK. Weapons were loaded.
THUD. THUD. The ground vibrated.
And the countdown began.

The tense calm was shattered in an instant.
Like a sharp shot to the heart.

—AAAAAAHHHH!!
A bloodcurdling scream erupted from deep within the tunnel.

PLAF. PLAF. PLAF.

Frenzied footsteps.
Uncontrolled strides.
The echo of a desperate sprint rushed closer at full speed.

—THEY’RE COMING!! THEY’RE HERE!!
A soldier burst from the tunnel’s shadows, his face twisted in sheer panic. He ran with everything he had toward the main door, eyes bloodshot in terror, his throat torn from so much screaming.

VRUMMM. VRUMMM. VRUUUMMMMM.

Mechanical roars began rumbling like thunder in the distance. Heavy engines. Multiple. Advancing.

The soldier, soaked in sweat and completely out of himself, waved an arm toward the tunnel, unable to speak any longer. He panted like a cornered animal.

And then...

BAMMMM!!

A single dry gunshot cracked like a hammer on stone.
A second later, the soldier’s body collapsed in the middle of the corridor.
Dead instantly. Not even close to reaching the doors.

Silence.

In the distance, barely visible in the dim light, a female figure held her position from the window of an armored assault truck. The rifle still smoked. Her expression was pure ice.

Natasha.
Gray eyes with crimson reflections, as cold as her finger on the trigger. Her face showed no emotion. None.
Only duty.

—CLOSE THE DOORS!!! GET READY!! —Mikhail roared, his voice tearing through the silence like thunder.

BRRRRRMMMMMMMMMM…

The hydraulic system kicked in. The hangar’s massive doors creaked as they slowly descended, screeching like metallic beasts.

CLANK. CLONK. SHHHHHHHT.

Soldiers sprinted into position.
Turrets turned.
Fingers sought triggers.
Eyes… hardened.

Hell had just knocked on the door.
And this time, it brought no warnings.

Theralux’s trucks stopped in formation, one after the other, with surgical precision. The distance between them and the base entrance was measured… calculated.

Once the last vehicle was in place, Natasha slowly lowered her rifle and, without taking her eyes off the armored gate, issued the order in a cold, commanding tone:

—Prepare the thermite.

The soldiers didn’t waste a second. From one of the vehicles, they began unloading several metal crates. With quick clicks and precise motions, they retrieved the thermite canisters.

A squad of five men advanced, running toward the door like a trained swarm. As more soldiers stacked behind them, aligned like a wave ready to crash, the five specialists crouched before the steel.

—Open those doors —Natasha ordered, her voice calm but carrying undeniable authority.

The charges were set one by one, with mathematical precision.
The last of the men stepped back, clutching the detonator.

A moment of tension...
A click.

FSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH!!

The thermite roared to life.
An infernal flare lit the entrance like a blast of artificial sunlight. Sparks exploded in every direction, like blazing fireworks. The metal screeched, melting slowly, as if the door itself was screaming in death.

On the other side, inside the hangar...

All was silent.
The air was heavy. Breaths were held.
Fingers tightened on triggers.
Soldiers swallowed hard, sweat streaming down their temples like icy rivers.

...

...

PLOF.

The door gave way with a groan of twisted steel, collapsing like a wounded beast.

BOOOOM!

The impact raised a thick cloud of dust and ash.
A muffled rumble echoed through the hangar.
The lights flickered.

And then…

—AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!

The first Theralux soldiers burst from the dust like a stampede, roaring with rage, weapons raised, charging with unleashed fury.

The assault had begun.

BANG!

A sharp explosion shattered the chaos before it could even begin.

Dasha was the first to pull the trigger.
From her elevated position, her trained eye didn’t even blink.
The bullet sliced across the hangar like a silver arrow…

CRACK.

…and exploded into the skull of the first enemy soldier, who dropped backward like a shattered puppet.

And then, all hell broke loose.

RATATATATAK!

A storm of bullets flooded the hangar—chaotic, deafening.
The roar of gunfire swallowed everything: orders, screams, breathing.

Theralux soldiers fired in every direction.
Some bursts hit the defenders.
Mikhail’s men fell, wounded or dead, among strangled groans and blood staining the metallic floor.

—Keep shooting! —Anton ordered, unwavering as he gunned down two enemies without hesitation.

BANG. BANG.

—AHHH! —screamed one as he fell. The other collapsed in silence.

Yuri, crouched behind cover near the entrance, answered with fury.

RATATATATAK!

His face was tense, focused—nearly furious.
Enemy bodies piled in front of him, one after another, but more kept pouring in… an endless tide.

Natasha, watching the battlefield with the precision of a predator, understood instantly:
This wasn’t enough to break the defenses.

Without a second's pause, she spun on her heels and sprinted toward one of the convoy trucks.
She leapt into the cabin, started the engine.

VRUMMMMM.

Her hands clenched the wheel.
Her eyes—fixed on the breach.

VRUUUUMMMMMM.

The vehicle roared like a mechanical beast.
Natasha floored the gas, swerving past her own troops without slowing down, without a moment’s hesitation.

—What the hell…!? —Yuri exclaimed as the truck launched into the air, straight at his position.

He dove from cover just in time.

CRAAAAASH!

The truck slammed down violently, kicking up dust, metal, and debris.
It crushed one of the side turrets with a brutal blow.

A breach.
An open flank.

Theralux’s soldiers didn’t hesitate.

—AAAAAAAHHHH!!
Screaming like beasts, they surged through the opening Natasha had created.

She jumped from the moving truck, rifle already in hand.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

She fired without pause at the stunned defenders.
Each bullet… a sentence.

—Now! —Mikhail shouted.
Igor, trembling but determined, pulled the lever beside him.

CHZZZZZAAAAAAAK!!

An electric current raced through the hidden grid on the floor like a serpent of light.

ZTTTZZTTTTZZZT!!

The first soldiers crossing the breach never stood a chance.

—AHHH!
—AAAAAAAAHHH!

Screams overlapped.
Their bodies began convulsing. Smoke rose from their uniforms.
One after another, they fell, writhing…
…dead within seconds.

But the electric trap didn’t last.
The system—rushed and makeshift—began to fail.

BZZZT… BZZZ… CLANK.

The generator shut down with a metallic groan.
Silence.
Then… crossfire once more.

BAMM. BAMM.

Vik, beside Igor, fired with surgical precision.
Each shot was a straight line between threat and end.

—Igor, we need to move! —he ordered, never missing a beat.

Igor didn’t say a word.
He simply took off toward the back, cables from his backpack bouncing with every step.

Vik held the rear, covering his retreat.

BANG. BANG. RATATATA.

Soldier after soldier fell at his hand, while hell kept roaring behind them.

Natasha raised her rifle with surgical precision.

BAMM.

The bullet zipped through the air in a straight line… and detonated against the chest of the soldier operating the last mounted turret.

—AHGGG! —the man cried out, collapsing backward like a severed puppet.
One turret down.

Dasha didn’t stop.
Her shots were cold, sharp, flawless.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Every time she pulled the trigger, an enemy dropped.

But for every body that hit the ground… two more poured through the breach.
Theralux soldiers didn’t relent.
Like a plague.

One by one, Mikhail’s men fell.
The defensive line shrank with alarming speed.
The floor began to stain red, and the screams were replaced by silence.

Among the few still standing… Nikolai held on.
Pressed against the side of the Black Beast, his chest rose and fell with effort.
He clutched his machine gun with the only hand that still obeyed him.

—Tsss… —he muttered, jaw clenched, firing short bursts.

Mikhail, a few meters behind, watched the battlefield with the eyes of an old wolf.
He analyzed. Measured. Calculated.

And when he deemed it necessary...

BANG.

His revolver roared with brutal power.

PRAK!

A head exploded.

Then silence again.
Back to his tactical reading.
Like a chess master among ruins.

Anton approached him, panting, covered in sweat and someone else’s blood.

—We’re not going to hold much longer, sir… —he said with a rasping voice, more a confession than a report.

There was no answer.
Only silence.
A silence heavier than all the bullets in the world.

From a lateral position, Vik watched the chaos with burning eyes. He couldn’t stay still.
Not while everything was falling apart.

His gaze leapt between positions.
He searched.
He read the battle.

And then… he saw her.

Amid smoke, dust, and fire, Natasha moved with unbreakable determination.
She commanded. She killed. She shattered morale with her mere presence.

—That must be the leader… —he murmured through clenched teeth.

Without thinking, he moved.
Fast.
Silent.
Like a predator among ruins.

Each step drew him closer.
Every meter counted.
Until he was close enough that he couldn’t miss.

He aimed. Inhaled.
And in that instant…

PUM.

A hit from the side.
A Theralux soldier intercepted him.

Vik reacted instantly.
The enemy’s fist grazed his face.
With an explosive spin, he countered with a violent upward kick.

THWACK!

Direct hit to the neck.
The soldier was sent flying, slamming into a column before collapsing unconscious, with a dry, final thud.

Vik turned again, searching for his target.

But Natasha...

...was gone.

—What...? —Vik muttered, turning his head rapidly from side to side—. Where did she go?

His eyes scanned the smoke, the dust, the shifting silhouettes. He searched.

And then…

PLAAAF!!

A brutal descending blow.
A direct kick.
From above.
Like lightning from the sky.

Vik barely had time to raise his arms, hardening his guard.

THUMP!

The impact dragged him several steps back.

—Well, well... —a confident female voice came from the shadows.

Natasha.

She had reappeared like a specter, wearing a crooked smile—one that only someone who’s found a worthy challenge would wear.

—Didn’t expect those reflexes, —she added, her tone playful but deadly.

Vik straightened up, shaking his arm. His muscles remained tense. His eyes didn’t blink.

—You must be the one in command, —he said, still surprised by the strength behind that kick.

—That’s right, —Natasha replied, her half-smile loaded with intent—. My name’s Natasha.
She gave a mocking bow.
—And you are...?

—Vik, —he answered bluntly, already in a fighting stance.

For a second, Natasha’s brow furrowed. Something clicked in her mind.

—That name…

But there was no time for more.

Vik launched at her like lightning, knife in hand, slicing the air with deadly intent.

Natasha dodged the first strike with almost unreal fluidity, twisting her torso and pivoting on a single foot.

—Is that how you treat a lady, Vik? —she teased with mocking delight.

—Only the ones who want to hurt my friends, —he spat, launching a second attack—faster, sharper.

A deadly dance began.

SWISH. SWISH. THRUST.

Vik attacked nonstop, his blade whistling with each cut.

But Natasha moved as if the world were in slow motion.
Each dodge was elegant, calculated… perfect.
As if she were dancing.

STEP. STEP. SPIN. BACKSTEP. BLOCK.

Vik tried to break the rhythm—switched the knife from hand to hand for a surprise strike.

But it was useless.

PUM!

A precise kick slammed into his arm.
The knife flew and embedded in the ground a few meters back.

Vik stepped back, gritting his teeth.

—You move well, Vik, —Natasha admitted, still smiling—.
She stepped forward.
—But I’m stronger than you.

Natasha changed.

She no longer dodged.
She no longer smiled.
Now… she attacked.

She launched into the offensive with devastating precision.

PAM.

A strike to the side.

PAM.

A punch to the jaw.

PAM.

An elbow to the abdomen.

Vik could barely keep up.
His arms moved by reflex.
His breath came in short, ragged bursts.
Each blow shook his defenses like soaked paper.

Natasha’s movements were a flawless choreography.
Fast.
Technical.
Lethal.

And then...

PUUUUM!!

A brutal spinning kick landed squarely in his chest.

Vik flew backward, the air tearing from his lungs in a strangled gasp.

THUD!

His body slammed into the ground with a dull crash.

—AHGGG! —he groaned, the world spinning around him.

Before he could get up, Natasha was already on top of him.

CLACK!

Her boot slammed down onto Vik’s chest, pinning him to the ground. The pressure was merciless.

Vik clenched his teeth, struggling to move. But he couldn’t.

—It’s over, Vik, —Natasha said firmly, no trace of doubt—. I’ve won.

She stared down at him, without hatred. Only certainty.
As if merely stating a fact.

Vik let out a frustrated, exhausted growl.

—Damn it...! —escaped his lips as his fists struck the ground weakly.

He’d been outmatched.
Easily.
And he knew it.

While Vik and Natasha clashed in that lethal corner of the battlefield, the rest of the combat had run its course.

And now...
the gunfire had ceased.

The echo of shots faded slowly through the stone and metal corridors.

All that remained were footsteps.
Breathing.
Dust suspended in the air.

A Theralux soldier ran up to Natasha, his rifle still hot in his hands. He stopped beside her and pointed directly at Vik’s fallen body.

—Lieutenant, we’ve secured the area, —he reported sharply.

Natasha nodded without shifting her posture.
Her boot remained on Vik’s chest.
Her gaze… fixed on something.

Something that shimmered faintly beneath the grime.

A photograph.
It was mere inches from Vik, half-buried in dust and blood.

Natasha leaned down.
She didn’t lift her foot.

Her face came very close to Vik’s.
Close enough to feel his breath.

—Mmm… —she murmured as she picked up the photo between two fingers.

She examined it for a moment.

And then, something in her expression changed.

The arrogance faded.
The confidence tensed.
Her eyes… opened slightly wider than usual.

—Do you know this girl? —she asked, pointing to Anya’s figure in the photo.

Vik didn’t answer right away.
His eyes locked on hers with suspicion.

—What’s it to you? —he snapped, voice tight.

Natasha smiled, but this time… it wasn’t mocking.
It was something else. Something more… personal.

—I knew your name rang a bell. I’d heard it before…

She paused briefly. Then dropped it:

—You’re Anya’s younger brother, aren’t you?

The words hit Vik like an emotional grenade.

—How do you know my sister!? —he shouted, rattled, trying to rise.

Natasha didn’t reply. She just smiled. That was enough.

—ANSWER ME! —Vik demanded, now straining against the foot holding him down.

—Let’s just say… Anya talks about you a lot.

That phrase struck Vik like lightning.
A bolt of hope...
and also of doubt.

Anya was alive.
Confirmed.

But… was she working with them?

The photograph trembled in Natasha’s hand.

Inside Vik, something twisted. Something he couldn’t tell if it was fear, anger… or despair.

The silence was broken by the soldier next to Natasha.

—Shall we proceed as planned, Lieutenant?

Natasha lowered her gaze to Vik again.

—No.

—Excuse me? —the soldier replied, confused.

—Change of plans. We take what we came for. No one dies.

—Understood, Lieutenant, —he answered firmly.

Natasha finally stepped aside, lowering her foot slowly.
She turned, with a slight smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

—Today’s your lucky day, Vik… even if it doesn’t feel like it.

The soldier quickly knelt down, tied Vik’s hands, and dragged him toward where the rest of the survivors were being gathered.

As he was pulled away, the image of Anya still floated in Vik’s mind.
And one question…
one damned question drilled through his skull:

Who are you with, Anya…?

All the survivors were on their knees, lined up on the hangar’s rough floor, hands clasped behind their heads.
A human row. Silent. Defeated.
Dozens of Theralux soldiers surrounded them, unblinking, rifles aimed and loaded.

CLANK.

Vik was shoved roughly by the soldier escorting him. He fell beside the others.

—Hands where I can see them, —the soldier ordered with a threatening tone.

Vik shot him a glare but complied.

Natasha walked slowly among them.
Her boots echoed loudly.
Each step… a metronome of power.

She stopped in front of the group.

—Well, well, well… —she murmured with a cold smile—. Which one of you is the leader?

Silence.
Eyes to the ground.
Closed eyelids.
Fear.

—Oh, come on… —she continued, leaning a little closer to the group—. Don’t make this hard.
After all… I’m going to spare your lives.

More silence.
The air was heavy as lead.

And then, Mikhail’s voice broke the tension like thunder.

—I am!

His tone was dry, gravelly, loaded with restrained fury.

Natasha looked him over carefully.
She examined him from head to toe.
As if assessing an old weapon still worth using.

—Where is it?

Not a word more.
Just that question.
Cold. Out of context.

Mikhail clenched his jaw.
Didn’t answer.

—I won’t ask again, —Natasha said, her gaze sharp enough to pierce concrete.

—In my office, —he finally muttered through clenched teeth.

—You and you, —she pointed to two nearby soldiers—. Find that office. Bring it to me.

—Copy that, —they answered in unison before disappearing down the inner corridors.

Natasha turned back to the prisoners.
Her gaze scanned each face.
And stopped on Mikhail.

—What were you planning to do with it?

Her voice was now lower… but far more dangerous.
A whispering knife.

No one answered.

—Fine, —Natasha said at last, straightening up—. You don’t have to tell me.

She turned slowly, as if it no longer mattered.

—Whatever it was… you won’t be doing it now.

It didn’t take long.

From the far end of the hangar, footsteps echoed on the metal floor like a drum of judgment.
Two soldiers returned, carrying a dark metallic briefcase marked with the Theralux symbol.

—Here you go, Lieutenant, —one of them reported, handing it over firmly.

Natasha took it with one hand.
Cold. Steady.

She examined it briefly, turning it slightly under the dim light.

—What a shame, —she murmured with a touch of irony—, that all our equipment has built-in security systems that send automatic signals if tampered with without authorization...

Mikhail’s face tightened instantly.
A flash. A memory. A mistake.

—That’s how they found us… —he thought, clenching his teeth in silent rage.

Natasha said no more.
She handed the briefcase to the soldier and straightened her posture.

—Alright. We have what we came for.
We’re leaving.

Her tone was dry. No room for negotiation.

The soldiers began moving with discipline.
They gathered their equipment.
Some removed mobile turrets.
Others sealed doors.
The last few still aimed at the prisoners… just in case.

Natasha remained at the front, like a statue of war.

Her gaze locked one last time on Vik.

—I’m sure we’ll meet again, Vik… —she said with a tilted, defiant smile, as if she already knew that next encounter wouldn’t be a friendly one.

She turned with military elegance.
And walked away.

One by one, the soldiers climbed back into the trucks.

VRUMMM. VRUMMMMMM.

The engines roared in unison, kicking up dust and heat.
The ground trembled for a few seconds.

And then…
Little by little…
The noise faded into the distance.
Until only silence remained.

The same silence left behind after a storm ravages a valley.

—Great… —Yuri muttered with disgust, spitting to the side.
His voice’s echo got lost among the wreckage.

Vik remained motionless.
His eyes fixed on an undefined point.
The image of Natasha.
Her words.
The photograph…

"Anya talks about you a lot."

They still rang in his head like a distant bell that wouldn’t stop.

From the far end of the hangar, a silhouette appeared running through the haze of dust and ash.

—Oh my God! —Katya exclaimed, her eyes glassy as she rushed toward the group.

One by one, she began untying the ropes still binding her friends.

—Are you all okay? —she asked in a trembling voice, kneeling beside Dasha and Artiom.

—Unfortunately… not all of us, —Mikhail replied, his face hardened as he looked down at the floor.

The lifeless bodies of several fighters lay across the hangar.
Some still clutching their weapons.
Some… with their eyes open.

Mikhail took a few steps forward.

—I’m sorry, everyone… —he said, without raising his voice—. I failed you as a leader. Many died… because of me.

A brief silence followed.

—That’s not true, —Artiom interrupted, direct and unwavering—. They had more numbers, better weapons… Everyone here came willingly.

The words, simple but firm, seemed to soothe something deep inside Mikhail.
Like a quick bandage on a deep wound.

He nodded. Barely.

—What now, sir? —Anton asked, his voice echoing through the devastation.

Mikhail took a moment.

—First… we give a proper burial to those we’ve lost, —he said at last—. Then… we’ll think about the rest.

No one objected.
Only slow nods.
Dim eyes.
Pain.

One by one, they began gathering the bodies.
They lined them up carefully.
And covered them with black tarps, each fold with respect.
Each gesture… a farewell.

Dasha and Artiom approached Vik.
Katya too.
He was still sitting, his hands marked from the restraints.
But his eyes… were marked even deeper.

—Hey, Vik… —Dasha whispered, kneeling beside him—. You okay?

Vik slowly looked up.
The faces of his friends were there.
Close.
Alive.
Worried.

—Yeah… I’m okay, —he finally replied, voice faint—. It’s just that…

He hesitated.

—It’s just that this Natasha… said she knew my sister.

A heavy silence fell over them.

—What do you mean she knows your sister? —Artiom asked, frowning.

—I don’t know. That’s what she said. That… Anya works for them.

—No way… —Katya murmured, shaking her head—. She must be a prisoner. She has to be.

Vik nodded, clinging to that idea like it was air.

—It has to be that, —he repeated, teeth clenched—. Anya would never work with people like them.
She’s not like that.

He clenched his fists tightly.
The pain was still there.
But now…
there was also a spark.

A spark of something new.
Will.

Meanwhile… somewhere else.

The room was lit by dozens of screens.
Charts, coordinates, data streams.
Surveillance monitors. Bursts of information in constant motion.

Everything felt… cold.
Too clean.

CLAC. CLAC. CLAC.

The sound of high heels broke the silence like an elegant metronome.

A female figure approached the main table.
Two soft hands, pale-skinned, rested gently on the tempered glass.

Fuuuuhhh…
A long sigh escaped her lips.

Anya.

Her eyes were fixed on one of the screens, though her mind seemed elsewhere.

—Where are you, little brother…? —she whispered, voice low, almost fading, heavy with melancholy.

Her reflection on the glass showed a mix of exhaustion and longing.
The cold of technology clashed with the warmth still lingering in her voice.

“And the world…
kept turning.”