The bar hit 30%. The submarine plunged into the black. I was trapped in an iron coffin with a traitor, cut off from the world and outgunned.

Ricochets whined like hornets, striking the pipes and raining sparks onto the grating. I pressed my back flat to the cold bulkhead, breathing through the adrenaline.

Three shooters. One narrow choke point. No backup. No comms.

“Suppressing fire!” one of the sailors shouted over the alarms.

I couldn’t stay pinned. The monitor flashed in my peripheral vision: DATA EXTRACTION: 55%.

I holstered the pistol. In a space this tight, against body armor, a 9mm was a liability. I needed a distraction, and I needed it now.