The inner locking mechanism groaned as it disengaged, thick bolts sliding free inside the blast door. Metal ground against metal in a deep, resonant churn. Ampelius stepped forward, gripping the large circular handle. He spun it until it clanged to a stop, then leaned his weight into it, forcing the massive slab of reinforced steel to swing open.

  Casper’s feed remained active in the corner of his vision, the live image overlaying his view as the door shifted.

  On the other side, the two guards at the control panel had chosen the worst possible moment to look away. One leaned toward the other, muttering something in Latin, his posture loose and unconcerned. Neither had their weapon ready.

  “They really let their guard down,” Casper said, his voice carrying a quiet satisfaction.

  “They’re about to pay for that.”

  The gap widened. Cold, recycled air from the bunker spilled over Ampelius’ face, while carrying the faint scent of oil and metal. The Puppets stepped forward in perfect formation, their eyes locked on the oblivious Romans, who were now only now realizing the door was moving.

  Ampelius didn’t give a command. He didn’t need to as the Puppets surged in like a flood, slamming into the first line of guards before they had time to react. Chaos erupted instantly with shouts in Latin, weapons half-raised, boots scrambling on the polished floor. Someone hit the alarm, and deafening sirens wailed overhead, their echo rattling through the steel corridors.

  Ampelius followed at a steady pace, stepping through the blast door just as the last Puppet disappeared into the fray. The first two guards lay twitching on the ground, their weapons knocked aside, nanotech already worming its way through their wounds. Within moments, the metallic sheen crept across their bodies, swallowing their armor and skin alike until they stood again in a silent and faceless part of his growing formation.

  Gunfire erupted from deeper inside the corridor as the Romans scrambled to mount a defense. The sharp reports of rifles echoed, mixing with the desperate cries in Latin as soldiers barked orders and fell back.

  Casper’s voice cut in, calm but focused. “Multiple cameras have direct angles on this section. Disabling them now.”

  In Ampelius’ vision, small red icons winked out one by one as Casper hijacked the security network, blinding the facility’s surveillance systems. The Puppets pressed forward under the cover of this newfound invisibility. Ampelius has them split into two detachments, with most sweeping ahead in a tight formation, while leaving behind a smaller contingent to guard the blast door.

  For those who remain behind had lowered themselves to the ground, with their bodies going still and slack, attempting to mimick the lifeless corpses already littering the floor. They would wait in silence, ready to spring up the moment any unsuspecting patrol or reinforcements wandered too close.

  Ampelius followed the forward group deeper into the facility. The corridors narrowed, funnelling them toward natural choke points where the Romans made their stand. Small, hastily formed fire teams had emerged from side passages while using overturned tables, supply crates, reinforced door frames, or anything they could find for cover. Muzzles flared in the dim light with the sharp crack of gunfire ringing throughout the hall.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  This desperate attempt only bought the defenders a few seconds. The Puppets absorbed the impacts, as their bodies jerked under each hit, but never really faltering. They advanced steadily, closing the distance with unnerving inevitability.

  Ampelius knew these were just small arms, light rifles, pistols, submachine guns. He hadn’t yet seen how his minions would fare against heavier weapons. The thought lingered at the edge of his mind like a shadow he didn’t want to face.

  Casper slipped past the Roman defenders like a shadow unnoticed. One by one the cameras along the corridor went dark. Ampelius remained in cover as he continued to watch the live feed flicker across his vision. His Puppets began to tore through the next defensive line with ease.

  A sudden flicker of movement on the feed caught his attention, Casper marked a new position further ahead. The corridor widened there, opening into a junction where the Romans had set up a heavier and more deliberate defense. Stationed with a belt-fed machine gun, there it was mounted on a low tripod, with its operator crouched behind a makeshift barricade made up of furniture. Beside him, an armored figure cradled a bulky grenade launcher, who was casually loading a drum of explosives.

  Casper’s voice cut in, very calm but also direct.

  “Proceed with caution. If you can, scavenge smoke or fragmentation grenades before we hit that next line. The open space ahead gives them a clear firing lane. Additionally, I'm not sure if our subjects can make it across unharmed. ”

  “Are any of them carrying thermals?” Ampelius asked, eyes narrowing.

  Casper edged closer to the barricade on the feed, his vision focusing on the weapons and armor.

  “The machine gun has a thermal scope attached to its top rail, but the masks the Romans are wearing are just standard gas filtration. Nothing that will let them see what they can’t already hear.”

  He paused briefly, scanning the defenders one more time.

  Ampelius moved from body to body, searching quickly with haste before giving a hand gesture signal for his followers to convert them. Each corpse offered something different, some carried spare magazines, a half-full canteen, one had an ornate dagger, but one carried exactly what he was looking for: several canisters of smoke grenades. He slid them into a pouch at his side while the metallic clink was oddly satisfying against the distant wail of alarms and the sharp echoes of shouted Latin from deeper inside the bunker.

  The Puppets stood in place, like statues of twisted flesh and metal. Their featureless faces turned toward the sound of the enemy, just like hounds scenting their prey.

  Ampelius stepped forward to the edge of the corridor, his gaze fixed on the choke point ahead. The defenders were out of sight, but he could feel the weight of their presence. On the opposite side, his enemies were waiting, ready, and entirely unaware of what was about to happen.

  He pulled the pins from the grenades one by one, with the metallic clicks crisp against the distant wail of alarms. The levers snapped under his grip, as each motion fed the anticipation building in his chest. With a smooth throw, he sent the canisters spinning into the corridor ahead.

  They bounced and rolled, the metallic clink-clack echoing off the steel walls. The moment they landed, startled shouts erupted, followed by a chaotic burst of gunfire. Muzzle flashes flared through the gloom as the Romans poured lead blindly into the choking haze. Amongst the chaos, a panicked voice barked orders in Latin, quickly swallowed by the thunder of overlapping fire.

  Ampelius stayed exactly where he was, his posture relaxed, as if savoring the scene. A slow, satisfied smile curved across his face while bullets screamed past, punching sparks from the walls. The air continued to thickened with smoke with an acrid tang mixing with the recycled chill of the bunker’s atmosphere.

  He watched the shifting haze curl and billow like a living thing, masking his soldiers from view, and let the moment stretch just long enough to feel inevitable.

  “It’s go time,” he said, as the gunfire ceased.