Chapter 7 - The Breaching Point
At exactly 11:58 PM, a low, rhythmic thumping sound began to echo from the southern sky. It was the sound of three Sikorsky UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters flying low over the tree line, their lights completely blacked out, carrying forty heavily armed federal agents.
The sentries outside the warehouse froze, their heads snapping up toward the sky as the sound grew into a deafening roar.
"What the hell is that?" one of the guards shouted, dropping his cigarette. "Is that the National Guard?"
"It’s too loud! Get inside! Get the boss!"
Before they could move, I stepped out from the shadows of the tree line.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
The suppressed cracks of my HK416 were barely audible over the roaring wind of the approaching helicopters. The first three guards dropped instantly into the dirt, their bodies collapsing before they ever understood where the shots had come from. The remaining three sentries panicked, scrambling toward the loading dock doors, but my rifle tracked them with mechanical precision. Three more shots, three more targets neutralized. They weren't dead—I had deliberately aimed for their thighs and shoulders to keep them alive for federal interrogation—but they were completely out of the fight, groaning in the gravel.
I sprinted toward the main entrance of the warehouse, pulling a heavy, tactical breaching charge from my vest. I slapped the adhesive strip against the heavy steel lock mechanism of the double doors, pulled the pin on the electronic detonator, and stepped back around the concrete corner.
"Three, two, one... initiate."
BOOM.
The steel doors blew inward with a brilliant flash of orange fire and a concussive shockwave that shattered every window along the front of the building.
I rolled through the smoke before the debris had even finished falling, my rifle raised and pressed firmly against my shoulder.
Inside, the warehouse was a scene of total chaos. Dozens of workers were screaming, scattering like cockroaches as the overhead lights flickered and died, leaving only the emergency red strobes illuminating the dust-choked air.
From the high office balcony, Dominic Vance appeared, his face twisted in a mixture of rage and terror. He had his service weapon drawn, firing blindly down into the smoke.
"Who is down there?!" Vance screamed, his voice cracking over the din. "I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!"
May you like
I stepped out of the smoke, the red emergency lights painting my black tactical gear in shades of blood. I raised my rifle, pointing the laser sight directly at the center of his chest.
"Hey, Sheriff," I called out, my voice cutting through the noise like a bell. "You dropped your milkshake."
