The Escape

Lara hung suspended from the ceiling by her wrists, her arms burning from hours of strain. The cold bite of the bunker’s air made her skin prickle, but her mind remained razor sharp. Blood trickled from her lip where one of Kratt’s henchmen had struck her—not hard enough to break her, just enough to bruise her pride.

"You really thought you could outsmart Kratt?" one of them sneered, circling her like a vulture.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she studied the room—walls lined with crates and relics, a small security terminal in the corner, a rusted pipe jutting out from behind a broken shelf. All of it logged in her mind.

Another blow struck her ribs—sharp, deliberate they practised there puches on her body like she was there personal punching bag . She gasped but kept her feet braced against the tension on her arms. She had to time this right.

“I think she’s had enough,” the other guard grunted, stepping back.

They were about to leave. Perfect.

As the door clicked shut behind them, Lara shifted. She began to swing—subtly at first, testing the chain’s give, the ceiling bolt’s strength. Her bruised body ached, but she pushed through it. After several painful minutes of rocking and twisting, she managed to loop the chain once over the pipe behind her. With a grunt, she used her full body weight to snap it downward.

CRACK. The pipe gave way—and so did the ceiling bolt. She hit the floor hard, shoulder-first, gritting her teeth through the pain. But she was free.

Quickly, she scrambled to the desk and used a jagged piece of the broken pipe to saw through the remaining rope. Her wrists bled, but her adrenaline roared.

Outside the door, she could hear the guards arguing. Time was short.

She grabbed a flare from a nearby crate—likely part of an expedition kit—and wedged it under the door handle. Then, from the corner, she snatched an artifact: a small obsidian shard etched with glowing runes. She didn't know what it did—but Kratt had wanted it, which made it valuable.

As the guards burst back in, the flare ignited, blinding them momentarily in red smoke. Lara dashed out past them, knocking one to the floor with a vicious elbow. The hallway echoed with shouts and alarms, but she was already ahead, sprinting barefoot across the cold concrete.

She knew the bunker’s layout by now. Three right turns, then the loading bay.

The last door slammed shut just as she dove through it, rolling across the gravel outside into the freezing night. A truck was parked nearby, engine humming. She didn’t ask questions—she climbed in, hotwired it with shaking fingers, and tore off into the darkness.

Behind her, the bunker faded into the trees.

Bruised, bloodied, but alive.

And with one of Kraft's precious artefacts clutched in her hand.