RONAN Heads turned the instant my shoulder slammed into the line of people blocking the door. Bodies jolted and shifted under the force. Some shouted in protest, others cursed as they were shoved aside. The air felt thick and sour, packed with sweat and fear. Nothing existed except the door ahead and the need to reach it. Momentum and panic carried me forward until my hands struck metal and my body wedged into the doorway. Screams burst from the hall behind us. The sound cut deep, sharp and desperate. It shattered the last trace of order. Panic spread like fire. People pushed without thought, without restraint, and the pressure forced us through the doorway and out onto the loading dock in a single surging wave. Security guards were already in position. Dozens of them, weapons raised. At least a hundred technicians and specialists crowded the open space, some frozen, others scrambling in blind fear. My legs did not slow. Concrete blurred beneath my shoes as guards sprinted past, grabbing people and hauling them away from the door. A man screamed in pain as he was dragged. Automatic weapons erupted, the sound violent and overwhelming. Halfway across the dock, a voice shouted, “All clear!” The words meant nothing. Stopping felt like death. “Ronan!” The shout cut through the chaos. A turn of my head showed Teresa Miller from cryptology, my rideshare buddy, standing near the edge of a loading platform. Her face was pale, eyes wide, one hand waving at me. Speed bled from my legs as I waved back, signaling her to come to me instead. She hesitated, looking around as if the world had suddenly become impossible to read. That was when I saw them. Two massive container carriers thundered down the access road, still hundreds of yards away but closing fast. The ground vibrated beneath their weight. A security position further down the road opened fire. Bullets tore through the thin metal sides of the containers. The screech of tires drowned out every other sound as the loading dock erupted into full chaos. A guard several feet from me dropped to one knee and screamed at Teresa to clear the line of fire. He opened up on the containers. She ran toward me as guards shifted positions, abandoning the dock doors and pouring everything into stopping the incoming threat. Rubber burned away from spinning tires. Dirty gray smoke filled the air, stinging the eyes and throat. The massive containers skidded, shuddered, and came to a violent stop just feet from the edge of the dock. Staff pressed themselves flat against the back wall, desperate for distance. Guards formed a solid defensive line in front of them. The concussive force of rifle fire slammed into my chest as round after round tore into the containers. Each shot felt like a warning that time was running out. Then the commander yelled for them to stop. Silence fell hard and sudden. The gunfire vanished, leaving only the sharp metallic clatter of spent shells rolling across concrete. Guards shifted their footing. No one spoke. Every eye stayed locked on the container doors. Adrenaline surged through my veins, loud enough to drown out thought. Shock held everyone frozen, as if the violence they had just unleashed should have been enough to end the threat. It was not enough. I knew it. A turn pushed me into the mass of bodies, forcing a path through stiff limbs and locked knees. Fingers grabbed my hand. Teresa stared up at me, her eyes wide and glassy. “Where are you going?” she asked. A deep groan echoed across the dock. The sound of metal bending under impossible force. The crowd gasped and instinctively stepped backward. Grip tightened around her hand. She came with me. “We have to leave now!” The words tore out of my throat. “Is it safe?” “Safer than staying here!” The answer came fast and hard. As we broke free of the crowd, a glance over my shoulder stole my breath. The container doors burst open. Drones poured out in a black flood. Several launched into the air, catching the guards by surprise. Nothing else needed to be seen. Instinct screamed that being ahead of the crowd mattered. Staying in the middle would mean getting crushed or caught. Gunfire and screams erupted behind us. Fingers locked tighter around Teresa’s hand as we raced down the short flight of stairs off the raised dock. Beyond it lay a sloped grass berm separating the building from the access road and the wide outer vehicle court beyond. Cars meant cover. Cars meant hiding places. Hope, thin and fragile, clung to that thought. Shoes slid on wet grass. The ground had been watered recently, and my dress shoes found no grip. Teresa struggled worse. Her heels sank into the soft soil and sent her tumbling forward. A turn back. A hand out. She grabbed it, shoes lost now, stockings streaked with dirt as she found her feet again.“Can you run?” The question came out strained and desperate. A nod answered it. Fear burned bright in her eyes, but resolve was there too. The road rushed toward us. One foot barely touched the sidewalk before my body nearly vaulted over it. Blacktop slammed underfoot. Behind us, the sound of fleeing analysts reached the berm we had just cleared. A bitter thought surfaced without warning. The elderly couple from the spumoni shop across from my apartment took the blame for every skipped workout and lazy night. It felt easier than admitting how unprepared my body truly was. Teresa kept pace, even in socks. She ran between parked cars to my right, breathing hard but steady. Others began to pass as we reached the orderly rows of vehicles. Falling into the pack felt dangerous. Survival demanded selfish thoughts. No wish for harm toward anyone else existed, but fear did not care about fairness.A hand smacked the back of a car as I ran. Pain shot up my arm and cleared my head. That clarity brought a chilling realization. Gunfire could no longer be heard. Not even over the screams. Teresa pulled ahead. Even without shoes, she was stronger, faster. A desperate burst of speed carried me deeper between the cars. The screams behind us grew louder, sharper. Warnings turned into raw terror. Something heavy slammed onto a vehicle behind me. The impact shook the ground. A glance back sealed the nightmare. Machines tore through people with ease. Men twice my size were lifted and hurled through the air, bodies crashing onto concrete and twisted metal. Some bounced. None rose. Teresa screamed. The head turned just in time to see her dive into a car. The drone behind her ripped the door clean off. Metal twisted like paper. She was dragged out, screaming, and her neck snapped with a single brutal motion. The world tilted. Eyes tore away from the sight, wishing it had never been seen. Heart hammered against ribs, ready to burst. Legs burned and screamed from effort they were never meant to give. Years of comfort and sitting betrayed me now. Stopping meant dying. Slowing meant the same. Tears blurred vision as breath tore in and out of my chest. Somewhere behind me, another machine was already closing in. Surviving the first encounter had felt like a miracle. Dying alone in an outer vehicle court felt cruel beyond reason. Running continued, not because of hope, but because stopping was not an option.