Arknights Chronicles One

TG - 14 Guardian Sankta

Year 1096, December 23, 19 : 50 PM
Location : Korneychuka Street



"Have you found anything over there?" a gruff voice called out amidst the ruins, its sharp edge cutting through the unsettling silence.

"No, not a damn thing!" came the frustrated reply, the irritation clear.

The voices echoed through the rubble-strewn expanse of Korneychuka Street, carried on the cool night air. Reunion soldiers prowled the area like restless predators, overturning debris and sifting through the wreckage with impatient hands. The sharp clatter of broken furniture and shifting stone punctuated their fruitless search.

From his cover behind a jagged piece of debris, Michael kept low, his ears tuned to every sound. Each shout, and each heavy footfall, painted a clearer picture of the soldiers' positions. He risked another glance at the street, his gaze lingering on the black-haired woman who remained motionless, her presence commanding and eerie amidst the chaos.

They were looking for them. Michael could feel the weight of that realization pressing down on him, the urgency knotting his stomach. Their time was running out.

A low grunt beside him pulled his focus. He turned to see Scout, their team leader, clutching his left side, his face twisted in pain. Without hesitation, Michael crawled over, his revolver momentarily forgotten as he examined Scout's injury. The bandages wrapped around his abdomen had loosened, blood seeping through the fabric.

"Hang on, team leader," Michael murmured, his hands working quickly to tighten the bandages. The motion drew a pained groan from Scout, who clenched his jaw against the discomfort.

"I know it hurts," Michael said, his tone steady but laced with quiet urgency. "Please bear with it until help arrives."

Scout let out a bitter laugh, quickly stifled by another grunt of pain. "If they arrive," he retorted, his voice tinged with frustration. "Our connection to them cut out the moment they got here. For all we know, they might not even have a clue where the hell we are."

His words hung in the air, heavy with doubt, but Michael didn't let them take root. Instead, he secured the bandages with a final tug and locked eyes with Scout. "They'll find us," he said, his voice firm despite the flicker of uncertainty that lingered in his mind. "We just need to hold out a little lon-."

Michael froze mid-sentence, his words dying in his throat as the sound of footsteps and muffled voices grew closer. His heart pounded in his chest as he instinctively shifted away from Scout, crawling carefully to the edge of their cover. Peering out, his breath hitched— Reunion soldiers, heavily armed, were making their way directly toward them.

He retreated instantly, pressing his back against the rubble. His eyes darted to Scout, and he raised a finger to his lips, signalling him to stay silent. Scout gave a faint nod, his breathing shallow but steady despite the pain.

Michael gripped his revolver tightly, his eyes darting left and right, scanning for any movement. The tension was palpable, every passing second heightening his alertness. Multiple footsteps echoed closer, the sound bouncing off the debris around them. Each step tightened the knot in his chest, making his breathing shallow and his nerves frayed.

His gaze shifted rapidly between potential entry points, his mind racing through possible scenarios. The frantic rhythm only broke when he felt a gentle tug on his back. Scout's hand gripped the fabric of his hoodie weakly, pulling his attention away from the encroaching threat.

Michael turned to his team leader, who was staring at the ground, his expression unreadable. "You should go while you can, kid," Scout murmured, his voice laced with exhaustion but firm in intent.

Michael's eyes widened in disbelief. "What?!" he hissed. "I can't just leave you here!"

Scout coughed, the sound ragged and wet, before meeting Michael's gaze. "You've got six in the chamber and twelve rounds in reserve," he said hoarsely. "There are at least fifty of them out there, maybe more. You know how this ends if you stay."

"But I can't just—" Michael began to protest, his voice tinged with desperation, but Scout interrupted him firmly.

"I'm not asking, Michael. This is an order from your team leader."

Michael froze his expression a mix of shock and confusion. His gaze flicked to the ground as the weight of Scout's words sank in. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, pressing the urgency of the situation.

Taking a deep breath, Michael tightened his grip on the revolver and finally whispered, "I'm sorry, team leader."

Scout turned away, unable to meet the kid's eyes. He knew this was the only choice, the right choice. "It's okay, kid," he said softly, his voice steady despite the pain. "This isn't something you should feel guilty about."

Michael stole another glance from their cover. Two Reunion soldiers were within striking distance, with five more a little farther away, and at least a dozen more scattered near the Sarkaz mercenary in the distance. The odds were overwhelming.

Scout gritted his teeth as a sharp wave of pain shot through his side. He turned to Michael, his expression resolute despite his pallor. "Kid," he called. Michael met his gaze, his expression unyielding but troubled.

"If you make it back to Ace and the others," Scout said, his voice quieter now, "tell that big oaf to pull himself together. The dead should stay dead. Imagining they're still alive—" Scout paused, his voice breaking slightly. "—it's not good for him or anyone else."

Michael furrowed his brow, confused by the cryptic message, but he nodded in acknowledgement. Scout let out a laboured breath, gripping his rifle tightly.

"Whatever happens, don't look back. Run as fast as you can and save your bullets."