The kid lowered his shotgun.
At the top, the broadcast room was a mess of broken wires and a single terminal. The Marauders hadn't bothered to destroy it—they didn't know what it was. They only wanted the high ground.
On the fifth second, Leo sprinted.
The Marauder was young. Too young. Seventeen, maybe. His gas mask was a salvaged one, too big for his face. He raised a rusty shotgun.
The voice in his earpiece was static and distant. Commander Ellis. One of the last true officers of the Old World. Deadzone Classic Script
He didn't need to survive. He just needed to buy time.
"Noted."
The kid's eyes—visible through the scratched visor—wavered.
"Leo… the chip contains evacuation coordinates. If we can broadcast it on loop, survivors might still get out before the next purge." The kid lowered his shotgun
Leo didn't drop it. "You hear that?" he asked.