It can always get worse ( Sebastian solace x reader)

Chapter IV - Change of plan

After leaving Sebastian's makeshift shop, you navigate the dimly lit corridors of the facility, the weight of the deal you struck with him gnawing at your mind. The sterile, metallic smell of recycled air fills your nostrils, mixing with the distant hum of machinery, and the cold, flickering lights overhead barely illuminate the path ahead. Every shadow, every echo in the distance feels like it hides a threat, making your steps careful and deliberate. You know you're not alone down here, but you can't afford to let fear slow you down.

After what feels like an eternity of walking through endless, steel-plated hallways, something catches your eye—an armory. The door stands before you, imposing and sealed tight, its access panel flickering weakly as if mocking any attempt to enter. But you're prepared for this. You reach into your pack and pull out the code breacher you bought from Sebastian, the crude device vibrating slightly in your hand as it powers up. It's a gamble, but you don't have any other options.

Pressing the breacher against the panel, you wait. The device lets out a few soft beeps, and for a moment, you're worried it won't work. Then, with a faint click, the lock disengages. A small smile creeps onto your face.

The door slides open with a hiss, revealing the treasure trove within—an armory, well-stocked and seemingly untouched. Your heart skips a beat as you step inside.

Rows of rifles, handguns, shotguns, and more line the walls, all neatly arranged as if waiting for someone like you to come along. Crates of ammunition are stacked in the corners, and the faint metallic scent of gun oil fills the air. You run your hand along the nearest rifle, a sleek, military-grade model that feels heavy and solid in your grip. This is more firepower than you've seen in ages.

"Jackpot," you mutter under your breath, a grin creeping onto your face. You grab the rifle, feeling the weight of it settle into your arms. It's heavier than the ones you used back in the Marines, but it's just as familiar. You sling it over your shoulder, then move on to pick up a reliable handgun and enough ammunition to fill your pack.

Your eyes scan the room, taking in the rest of the equipment. Batons, knives, tasers, riot shields—it's all here. You consider grabbing a grenade but quickly discard the idea. The last thing you need is for something volatile to go off while you're wandering these claustrophobic hallways. Instead, you stock up on what you can carry, carefully choosing each item. The rifle, the handgun, and a few rounds of ammunition—these will be your lifeline.

As you exit the armory, you can't shake the thought that this place should've been emptied long ago. Why would it still be fully stocked in a facility crawling with danger? The question nags at you, but you don't have time to dwell on it. You're armed now, and that's all that matters. Whatever comes next, at least you have a fighting chance.

Hours pass as you continue your search, gathering research documents, encrypted drives, and any supplies you come across. Your body aches from the strain, but you press on. The facility feels like a maze, with every corridor looking the same—cold, sterile, and unforgiving. Every so often, you catch a glimpse of movement in the corner of your eye, but when you turn, there's nothing there. The tension is suffocating, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched.

Then, up ahead, you spot them—a group of expendables, three of them, armed with handguns. You immediately duck into a shadowed corner, hoping they won't notice you. If they report seeing you, it could mean the end of your already fragile existence.

"Hey, guys, something just moved over there," one of them says, his voice carrying down the hallway.

You freeze, holding your breath.

"You're being paranoid," another replies, waving him off. "I don't see anything."

"I swear I'm not being paranoid," the first insists, sounding more agitated. "I'm 100% positive something just moved."