"Bisma gets grazed by a sniper bullet and realizes these mercenaries operate far beyond standard mafia tactics."
"Keep your tactical positions locked down and do not expose yourselves near the concrete support pillars," Bisma whispered into his comms unit, his dark eyes scanning the pitch-black corridors of the abandoned subway tunnel near Central Station.
The air down in the subterranean depths smelled heavily of stale dampness, old iron rails, and the lingering residue of sulfur from decades of municipal disuse.
Bisma held his suppressed pistol tightly in his right hand, moving forward with silent, calculated steps as the thick darkness swallowed every natural contour of the underground station.
The emergency lights had been disabled weeks ago, leaving only the faint, eerie glow
