300 hours. The world explodes.
The breach charge on the main roller door detonates with a concussive THUMP that shakes the armored SUV I’m sitting in. A cloud of concrete dust and twisted metal billows into the night air, instantly illuminated by the blinding white beams of the tactical lights mounted on Stavros’s rifles.
"Breach! Breach! Breach!" the radio crackles.
I watch through the bulletproof windshield as Stavros and his team flood into the gaping hole like a tide of black water. Gunfire erupts instantly—the sharp crack of enemy pistols answering the deep, rhythmic thud of Nikolaides assault rifles.
"Stay here, ma'am," the driver says, his hand resting on his sidearm, eyes glued to the chaos.
"Watch the rear," I order, unbuckling my seatbelt.
"Ma'am, the Underboss gave strict—
