Operation Blackout

Smoke curled from broken windows as dawn bled across the horizon.

The facility was crippled—but not dead. Not yet.

The fires had done their job. So had the chaos. But the children weren’t safe. Not while communications were still active. Not while the final fallback team—the real killers—were inbound.

Alex stood in the control room, swaying slightly. Blood stained the floor beneath him. His shirt was soaked. His side burned like ice. But his eyes were locked on the console in front of him.

“This is it,” Leo said, pulling cables from the old terminal. “If we cut the main antenna, no one outside gets a signal out. The last thing we need is reinforcements showing up.”

“Too late,” Mira said from the door. “We saw a boat an hour ago. Fast. Black. Armed.”

“How many?” Alex asked.

“Hard to tell. Ten, maybe more.”

Leo cursed. “Mercs.”

“They’re coming to clean house,” Alex muttered. “Make sure no one talks.”

“They don’t know we’ve taken the facility,” Sofia said. “Not yet.”

Alex turned to the group—the last of their core fighters. Sofia, Leo, Dorian, Mira, Jonah. The rest of the kids were hidden in the sub-basements and tunnels.

“This is the last play,” he said. “We take the tower, cut their signal, then hold until help comes. Or until we can hijack their boat.”

“You can barely stand,” Sofia snapped. “You lost too much blood.”

Alex didn’t blink. “Then someone carry me.”

An hour later, they approached the tower.

It rose like a rusted needle on the north end of the island. Concrete steps coiled inside, slick with moss. No one had been up there in years—the guards had relied on drones and handhelds for comms. But when things broke, the old systems kicked in.

That meant it had to be destroyed.

Dorian and Leo led the way, sweeping each corner. Jonah followed silently, makeshift knife in hand. Alex moved in the middle, supported by Sofia. Mira brought up the rear.

At the second level, they encountered resistance.

Three armed guards—alert, well-trained. These weren’t the lazy ones. These were professionals.

Leo didn’t wait.

He dropped to his stomach and fired a stolen rifle.

POP-POP-POP.

One guard fell.

The others returned fire—bullets screaming past them. Mira ducked, pulling Jonah to safety. Dorian charged left, distracting the second guard. Sofia rolled across the ground, grabbed Alex’s pistol from his belt, and fired.

The last guard screamed, clutching his thigh.

Alex limped forward, took the final shot.

Bang.

Silence returned.

They reached the top of the tower.

Wind howled through broken glass. The dish loomed above them, humming faintly.

Leo moved fast, setting up the charges. “Crude, but enough to blow the circuits and bend the dish inward.”

“Set a fuse,” Alex said.

“Ten minutes.”

“That’s too long,” Sofia warned. “They’ll be on us in five.”

“Then we fight,” Alex said.

He turned to the railing.

Down below—black uniforms. Masks. AR rifles. Moving in formation.

“They’re here.”

The final battle began in the courtyard.

Smoke grenades rained down. The children—barely armed, exhausted, wounded—fought from balconies, stairwells, rooftops. Some were dragged away screaming. Others fought to the last breath.

Alex was everywhere.

Bleeding. Limping. Shouting.

He shot two mercs near the generator.

Tackled one who tried to climb the tower stairs.

Stabbed another who grabbed Leo.

But he was slowing.

Minutes later…

The charge exploded on the tower.

A flash. A rumble.

The satellite dish collapsed into itself.

Comms—gone.

“No one’s calling for help now,” Leo said, coughing through the smoke.

But the mercs were already breaching the control room. They’d lost nearly fifty kids. More wounded. Fires burned uncontrollably. The enemy was regrouping.

Alex turned to Leo.

“There’s one thing left.”

Leo frowned. “What?”

“Their boat.”