Chapter 5 - The Architect of Vengeance
“Stay here under the console,” I told Maya, pushing her gently beneath the heavy steel desk. I checked the remaining rounds in my vest magazine pouches. Full load. Two backup pistols ready.
“Victor,” she whispered, grabbing the hem of my coat. “Don’t let them take me.”
I looked down into her eyes—eyes that mirrored the only woman I had ever truly loved.
“Listen to me, Maya,” I said, my voice carrying an absolute, unbreakable vow. “Nobody touches you. Nobody even gets into this room unless they walk over my corpse. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her small hand releasing my coat.
I turned toward the reinforced fire door. The welding torch was already hissing outside. Sparks began to shower through the cracks along the doorframe as Marcus’s men started cutting through the heavy steel hinges. They thought they were executing a raid. They didn't realize they were stepping into a slaughterhouse of my own design.
I reached up and pulled a heavy master electrical switch mounted on the control panel beside the door.
With a loud, metallic CLANG, the entire section of the warehouse plunged into absolute darkness. The emergency backup generators sputtered, flickered, and then died completely, plunging the lower bays and the control room into pitch-black shadow.
Outside, the hissing of the welding torch abruptly cut out.
“What the hell happened to the power?” Marcus’s voice barked over a tactical radio somewhere in the hallway. “Get those lights back on!”
“Boss, the breaker box is downstairs—”
I didn't wait for him to finish the sentence. I fired three blind rounds through the center of the steel door, timing the shots based on the heat signatures and voices echoing through the metal. A muffled yell of pain echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floor.
The door swung inward, its hinges compromised by the gunfire and the torch.
A flashlight beam cut through the smoke and darkness. I didn't hesitate. I stepped out of the shadow of the doorframe, bringing my weapon up with cold, mechanical precision.
The first operative stepped through the threshold, his night-vision goggles glowing a faint, eerie green.
Crack. Crack.
Two center-mass shots dropped him instantly.
“Flank the door! He’s in the threshold!” Marcus screamed from down the corridor.
Three more men rushed forward, their weapons blazing blindly into the control room. Plaster and wood splinters flew in all directions, but I was already moving, sliding across the dusty linoleum floor and taking cover behind an overturned filing cabinet.
This was my territory. I had fought wars in the dark while these corporate mercenaries were still playing soldier in training camps.
I fired twice more, taking out the flashlight of the second operative and plunging the hallway back into total darkness. Panic is a contagious disease, and in the dark, professional soldiers quickly realize they are nothing more than targets in a shooting gallery.
“Fall back! Fall back!” one of them yelled, stumbling backward over his fallen comrade.
“Nobody moves!” I stepped out from behind the cabinet, my voice cutting through the smoke like a razor blade.
May you like
I raised my pistol, aiming squarely at the center of the group huddled near the stairwell. Marcus stood at the front, his face pale, his hands raised instinctively as he stared down the barrel of my gun.
“You’re out of moves, Marcus,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Drop your weapons.”
