Like people everywhere have done throughout the ages when faced with critical failures of important equipment, I employ a tried and true method. I shake it. Gabriela looks back at me, and even in the dimness I can see the question on her face.

I answer with what I hope are expressive shrugs and gestures at the mirror. I shake it some more, mime smacking the side of it. She finally gets it when I show the mirror to her and all she sees is her own reflection in the gloom. We both come to the conclusion at the same time that this is a very bad situation and now would be a good time to be somewhere else.

Which, of course, is when Sastre opens up on us.

It’s easy to say that we should have expected it, but that ignores that fact that we did expect it, hence the guns. I just didn’t think we wouldn’t see it coming.

Gunfire splits the air, muzzle flashes leaving blind spots in my eyes. Bullets erupt out of the darkness and ricochet off the conveyor belts.

We duck and split into two different directions to flank Sastre. Then I have a thought. We haven’t actually seen her. If I were setting a trap, what would I do? I’d rig up something that would fire into the darkness so whoever was after me thought I was where the gunfire was.

Another fusillade from the same location. It’s got to be rigged. She wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay in one spot.

Gabriela’s figured it out, too. A blast from her shotgun draws fire from another location, and from the flashes I know where they both are. Instead of shooting and giving away my position I concentrate and find a handful of Echoes of people that have died over the years in accidents. No Wanderers, no Haunts. Good. I’ll have more time before they come for me.

I slip over to the other side, my ears filling with that jet engine sound as I pass over, the air going cold and dead around me. From here I can see where both of the women have taken positions to fire, but they’re both moving closer to each other. On the living side it’s a nightmare show of ducking under cover, taking potshots, jumping out of the line of fire, inching ever closer.

But over here it’s like watching ballet. The factory is new enough that it’s not on this side. There are no blocking walls, annoying machinery, or conveyor belts to run into. It’s just one giant stage. They duck, slide, pirouette. Shimmering lights of life and death.