The Last Werewolf in History

Chapter2

The soles of his leather shoes crushed the shards of glass scattered across the ground, emitting a crisp, sharp sound. Qin Lie halted his steps, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across the chain-link fence surrounding the abandoned factory. A red pinpoint of light danced across the wall's surface, accompanied by a low, buzzing hum that seemed to bore directly into his eardrums.

Three dark figures scaled the perimeter wall. Silver cross emblems hung from their chests, gleaming with a cold, metallic luster in the moonlight. Qin Lie switched off his flashlight, his body gliding seamlessly into the deep shadows cast by a nearby shipping container. His breathing remained steady; his heartbeat, unchanged.

The red dot from a detection scanner swept across the exact spot where Qin Lie had stood moments before.

"We've got a hit," the leader of the group murmured, his voice hushed as his hand instinctively went to the holster at his waist.

Qin Lie stepped out of the shadows, a patrol baton clutched in his hand. "This area is off-limits."

The man spun around, raising his weapon and leveling the muzzle directly at the center of Qin Lie's forehead. "A security guard? Out here all alone in the middle of the night?"

"Just earning my paycheck," Qin Lie replied, taking a step forward—the sound of his soles scraping against the ground barely audible.

"Back off," the man warned, his finger tightening around the trigger.

Qin Lie did not retreat. He noted the man's index finger—the knuckle turning white from the tension. The distance between them was three meters. Close enough.

The man fired. Qin Lie sidestepped; the bullet grazed his shoulder before slamming into a concrete pillar behind him, sending a shower of sparks flying. Qin Lie whipped his patrol baton forward, bringing it down hard on the man's g*n-wielding wrist. The dull *thud* of bone fracturing rang out. The man screamed in agony, and his weapon clattered to the ground. Qin Lie surged forward, driving his knee into the man's chest and pinning the edge of his baton against the man's throat.

"Who sent you?"

Gasping for breath, the man fumbled with his free hand toward the comm-link in his ear. "Operation compromised... requesting backup..."

Qin Lie applied sudden, crushing pressure with his baton. The man's voice cut off abruptly; his eyes rolled back in his head—he wasn't dead, but he wouldn't be speaking again anytime soon. Qin Lie fished the communicator out of the man's pocket, crushed its internal chip between his fingers, and tossed the broken device back onto the man's chest.

"Get moving," Qin Lie ordered, giving the man a sharp kick.

The man scrambled to his feet, stumbling unsteadily toward the factory's main entrance. Qin Lie followed close behind, maintaining a distance of five meters. The factory's interior was pitch black, save for the faint moonlight filtering down through the high windows, casting an eerie glow upon the rows of rust-eaten shelving units. The air hung heavy with the scent of rust and machine oil.

From the second floor came the distinct sound of a rifle bolt being racked.

Qin Lie shoved the man into the aisle between the shelves, then dropped into a crouch himself. A bullet tore through the shelving unit; the sheet metal curled inward, sending shards of shrapnel flying. The sniper was up there—positioned in the northeast corner.

Qin Lie snatched up a wrench lying on the floor. It felt satisfyingly heavy in his hand. He moved along the shelves, hugging them tight; his footsteps fell upon the accumulated dust, leaving no prints behind. The sniper fired again, striking the exact spot where Qin Lie had been crouching moments before. Qin Lie kept moving, circling around to the back side of the shelving unit.

The sniper reloaded his magazine. The *click* of the mechanism rang out clearly.

Qin Lie burst from the shadows, the wrench raised high above his head. The sniper spotted him and swiveled his rifle barrel to track him—but it was too late. The wrench smashed into the sniper's collarbone. The man tumbled over the second-floor railing and crashed onto the concrete floor below.

The sniper tried to reach for his g*n. Qin Lie stomped down on his hand, grinding his heel into it with brutal force. The sound of splintering bone rang out. Writhing in agony, the sniper curled into a fetal position. Qin Lie snatched up the sniper rifle and checked the magazine. *Holy Silver* rounds. Five of them.

Suddenly, an alarm bell blared to life. A rotating red beacon began to spin, bathing the entire workshop in a pulsing crimson glow.

"Over there!" a shout rang out from the floor below. There were two more of them.

Qin Lie tossed the rifle aside and grabbed the sniper's combat knife. He began dragging the unconscious captain toward the stairwell. The captain was too heavy to haul up the stairs, so Qin Lie left him hidden behind the shelves on the ground floor. Qin Lie then ascended the stairs alone, his footsteps echoing through the vast, empty space.

The entrance to an underground tunnel lay at the top of the stairs. The iron door stood ajar, emitting a damp, musty odor from within. Qin Lie pushed the door open and stepped inside. The stairwell was narrow—barely wide enough for a single person to pass.

Someone was coming up from below. A flashlight beam danced wildly in the darkness.