The bunker shook violently, rocked by the impact of objects from space, a possibility its creators had scarcely considered when it was built. Dust clouded the air in the secure facility as blood-red emergency lighting came on and alarms shrieked. The complex was deep underneath a starscraper, secured against even a starship-killing solar fusion bomb by the advanced technology of the Prometheus Group. Somehow a chink in its defenses had been uncovered and exploited, and the inhabitants of the impossibly tall building began fleeing what was surely a sinking ship. That was ten minutes ago.
The sound of a hundred kilometers of building slowly crashing to the dull earth filled Simon Anderson’s helmet before the audio feed to the command center cut out. His amp suit kept him safe from the choking clouds and lack of light as he barreled through the corridors to the data core, diving his way through panicking scientists and technicians to the secure room. The Promethean chairman’s dying command was to make sure Earth received all the data they had gathered on the enemy, to make them believe. Jumping off the top of the starscraper had not been the best of ideas, as Simon’s aching leg reminded him, but it was the quickest way down in a building that was not long for this world. Fortunately the kinetic shield he had projected from his amp suit had absorbed the vast majority of the impact, leaving him to walk away with a broken leg. Lucky he had experience, because most of Simon’s juniors would have had a lot more than a broken leg- a psion in training would have died. It was healing though, one of his more automatic psionic powers kicking in to mend the leg’s worst injuries.
Simon forced the door open, a mixture of old-fashioned muscle and psionic amplification allowing him to do so. He saw only one technician alive, and only barely hanging on. One of the storage racks’ support beams had come loose, impaling the poor woman through the abdomen to her chair. Her colleagues had been luckier, having only been crushed outright by falling equipment and rubble. Simon approached the woman, sensing she had something urgent to say before she moved on to whatever lay beyond, the name tag on her coat reading ‘J. Ballard’.
“Psion...” She murmured, barely managing even that. She took a labored breath, shakily raising her arm to the workstation in front of her, which had a well-protected cylinder that Simon recognized as a hardened data core. “All the... data on... enemy.” The words were not spoken, but Simon felt them form on the surface of the technician's dying mind.
Simon nodded and took the technician’s faltering hand and gave it a squeeze, pausing a moment despite the world falling down on top of this place, to let the woman at least die knowing she was not alone. He sensed the last fleeting thoughts of her family escape her mind and closed her eyes. Then he reached out and took her ID tags from her neck, placing them around his own, stowed the data core to the back of his armor, and hurried out of the grim scene.