"Then tell Zuan to order more body bags," Bisma replied cold, ducking beneath the workbench as a heavy machine gun on the street below opened fire, ripping the facade of the building into dust.
The storm of lead tore through the exterior masonry with horrific, deafening violence. High-caliber rounds pulverized the brickwork, sending a thick, blinding cloud of concrete powder, shattered plaster, and red brick dust swirling into the living room. Windows vanished in a spray of razor-sharp glass shards that whistled through the dark like thrown blades.
Bisma didn't flinch. He stayed low behind the reinforced steel workbench, pressing his back against the cool metal as bullets chewed through the plaster just inches above his head. He could hear the heavy mechanical thump of an automatic wea
