"The Key of Oblivion"

VI

A quiet October night blanketed the earth like a velvet blanket. The damp, earthy scent of the recent rain hung thickly in the air. The sparse undergrowth, rustling beneath their feet, reflected dim light - as if nature itself were holding its breath, observing the scene.

The three moved through the silent thicket, slowly but purposefully. Their steps were cautious, almost silent. The light of the half-moon, like a cold silver crescent, pierced the ragged clouds, picking out silhouettes from the darkness. Somewhere ahead, beyond the trees, the lights of the gated guest complex flickered - warm, bright, alien.

Alan walked first, his movements restrained and aggressive. He kept brushing wet branches from his face in irritation, but said nothing. His gait betrayed a restrained aggression, ready to burst forth at the first opportunity. His hand slid habitually over the knife at his belt - not out of fear, but rather out of boredom. He was someone who acted quickly, harshly, and without question.

Olga followed behind, discreetly and almost silently. Her movements were smooth, her gaze calm. Unlike her companion, she didn't get irritated, even when wet leaves stuck to her clothes. Her eyes held a cold, focused look, but the rare glances she cast at her comrades hinted at genuine concern. Under her jacket, she carried a pistol, and in her bag, an ordinary-looking cosmetic bag, the contents of which would have surprised anyone.

Jake brought up the rear. He walked a little faster than he would have liked, glancing back every now and then. He held a compact PDA in his hands, a stun gun and pliers on his belt, and his head was filled with dozens of thoughts, doubts, and worries. He wasn't a fighter, but his ideas often proved more useful than any weapon. Despite his timidity, he kept up the pace - not because he wasn't afraid, but because he knew the two of them were nearby, and that meant he could move on.

There were no words between them. They didn't need them. Neither commanded, yet each knew what to do. Their decisions seemed spontaneous, yet they carried a sense of confidence - like people who had long been accustomed to relying on each other, even if they didn't always understand why.

The lights of the complex grew closer. Their warmth was palpable through the humid air, like a mirage - alluring but suspiciously bright.

The silence by the fence was deceptive. The air, just a moment ago filled with the scent of wet earth, now seemed thick with unspoken tension.

"I don't understand why we're crawling around here like cockroaches," Alan muttered through clenched teeth, quickly adjusting the brass knuckles in his pocket. "We should have gone through the main entrance by now. Quickly and without prying eyes."

"The eyes are the problem," Jake countered, still staring at his PDA screen. His fingers nervously scrolled through the diagrams. "They've got a full perimeter here, even if it's an old one. And if they spot you, they'll send not just two, like the ones you took out, but all of them. And, mind you, they promised to take your boots while you're hanging upside down from the gate."

Olga squinted at the dark windows of the main building.

"I'm more concerned with 'where' than 'how.' We don't have a precise location. 'Somewhere in the complex' isn't a plan, it's a joke. And it's empty inside. Not a single light, not a single rustle. As if everyone had died."

Her voice held not her usual melancholy, but the irritation of working blindly.

Their journey here hadn't been a peaceful stroll. Olga ran her palm over the body of her silenced pistol - the same one that had quietly coughed several times in the darkness, dropping overly vigilant sentries into the wet foliage. Alan rubbed his knuckles, remembering the resistance of his jaws and the viscous yielding muscles of those he'd stunned in close combat. And Jake... he simply remembered how his hands had trembled as he intercepted the radio and led the group away from two heavily armed patrols. Their opponents were like an enraged hive - numerous, strong, yet clumsy. One on one, they weren't a threat, but there were too many of them.

"Okay," Alan nodded toward the fence. "I suggest we jump over. Quickly and quietly."

"Cameras," Jake responded immediately. "Even if I jammed them, the only blind spots are here and there, by the service entrance near the boiler room. We'll go there."

"There are no people," Olga repeated, as if tasting the thought. "So either they've been escorted out, or... they're all already inside and waiting."

At that moment, the radio the boy had tuned to the enemy's frequency emitted another burst of hissing chatter. "...Eastern sector clear. Nothing. I repeat, no target found. Proceeding to Plan B..."

The three of them exchanged glances. A similar spark lit in their eyes - not relief, but excitement.

"So there's still time," Olga said quietly. "And they didn't find it either."

"The boiler room," Jake said decisively, already putting his PDA aside and pulling a stun gun from his pocket. "It's easiest there. And there are fewer cameras."

Alan chuckled but nodded. His irritation gave way to cold concentration. They could argue until they were hoarse, but once a decision was made, there was no doubt.

Shadow after shadow, they moved along the fence, leaving behind the silence of the night and the invisible yet tangible presence of those who yearned to find that same nameless object. An object for which they had already shed blood and for which they were ready to shed more.