Wolfpack

Chapter 7： The Price of Blood

A cold point pressed against my temple sent a shiver down my spine and raised every hair on the back of my neck. I dared not move. Slowly, I raised both hands and twisted my head around—and almost had a heart attack when I saw who was holding the gun. A Chinese policeman was standing right behind me!

I’d never been so relieved to see a cop in my life. From the look in his eyes, I knew he wasn’t particularly friendly, so I hurriedly blurted out, “Don’t shoot—I’m Xing Tian, not one of them! I know your captain, Qin Zhong. We were just talking on the radio.” I was practically stumbling over my words.

He hushed me with a finger to his lips. “Shh—I know. I’m Deputy Captain Liu Li of the SWAT team. You did well.”

“There’s still another one—a sniper, on this floor!” I warned him.

“I know,” Liu Li said calmly. “I took him out already.”

“Oh… you got him. By the way, how did you get up here?” I was genuinely curious.

“He climbed,” he answered.

“…Wow.” I poked my head toward the window and looked down. Climbing ten-plus stories with no gear—he was a monster.

“What are your plans now? It’s just you up here?” After my curiosity about his ascent faded, I pressed on what really worried me: why was he up here alone?

“Seven of us came up this stairwell; the rest are covering the other floors. I cleared out the sniper so that my own marksmen can move in, then we’ll go in.” His praise surprised and gratified me. “For a student, you did outstanding work.”

“Please be cautious. I still have a friend down below,” I said, voicing my concern.

“We will. Don’t come down. Find a hiding spot,” Liu Li ordered, then slipped back into the stairwell.

I stared after his agile silhouette for a moment, then snapped back to reality. The robbers’ positions were chaotic now—once the assault started, stray gunmen might come up here or someone might check for their sniper and bump into me. I needed to move further up. I gathered my pistol and climbed to the 15th floor, thinking it would be empty there. I curled up under a desk to rest.

After a while, the walkie crackled: “Boss, the men assigned to catch that kid are missing. No response from the sniper up here!”

“Don’t send anyone else. I’ll come check myself. Hold the floor below. Someone’s infiltrated,” barked a voice—and I saw a shadow hurry past my door on the corridor.

Crap. I must’ve crept onto their leader’s floor. What was he doing up here? My luck was unreal. I taped up my wounds, readied my crossbow and pistol, and waited. Soon the same figure rushed back, muttering in English—thankfully I understood:

“Damn it… that bastard! Hey Lin, the sniper’s neck’s been snapped. It couldn’t have been the kid—there’s a cop in here. Be careful!”

He dashed into the next room. Then I caught snatches of their conversation over the radio:

“Slaughterer, Buck, find that kid! I want him dead! And take out those SWAT, too.”

Who were they talking to? They hated me that much? Did they really think they could wipe out so many special police?

“Yang, we were only supposed to protect you,” said a deep foreign voice, unmistakably non‑Chinese. “But you turned against the Chinese government without warning us, so we want no part of your schemes. We stayed out of respect for old ties.”

“Heh heh. You know, I find that kid interesting—his performance on the monitor was… delightful,” a cold, blood‑lusty voice chimed in. Two Westerners, no doubt.

“Fine, if you won’t help, I’ll do it myself,” snarled the one called Yang.

I slipped away from the 15th floor. I didn’t want to mess up at the last second. I climbed higher—21st floor. Above that was the rooftop garden and terrace. Surely no one would be up there?

Exhaustion and blood loss made my head swim. Through my haze, I thought I heard footsteps ahead—on the roof? No way. I shook my head to clear it, peered around, and saw a small man in a suit step out onto the terrace. I sat back down, determined not to interfere—I just needed to stay hidden.

Moments later, he returned down the stairs, muttering: “Lin, we got word. They’ve rescued the hostages; we’re pulling out our men. Plant the receiver—once someone comes up, blow the first floor so no one can follow.”

“Boss, the receiver’s ready. The police…” Lin’s voice cut off abruptly on the radio.

“Lin? Lin?” The boss shouted. Switching channels, he said calmly, “Buck, Slaughterer, mission’s done—time to leave.” Then he pulled a small device from his pocket and extended its antenna. I recognized a remote detonator. My heart sank—he planned to destroy the first floor and kill any remaining hostages. My friend Deok was still down there.

Without thought, I raised my pistol and fired at the device in his hand—but I missed. Startled, he recoiled and dropped it. Before he could bend for it, he wheeled and fired three shots at me. I dove into the nearest office and pressed myself to the floor. Seconds later, an explosion rocked the building as the grenade went off below. The shockwave slammed me against the far wall like a boxer’s punch; debris and dust pummeled me as if they were bullets. I lost consciousness for a few agonizing seconds. When I came to, my ears rang and I couldn’t tell where my pistol had gone. Stars danced before my eyes.

Instinctively, I groped for the blades at my waist. I grabbed the dagger and the cavalry saber, trying to stand—but the world spun. I tried twice more, staggering to the wall each time before collapsing. At last I steadied myself enough to rise. I shook my head to clear my vision—and saw that small suited figure burst into the room, pistol raised and trained on me.

I had no time to think. I flung the saber aside, grabbed the dagger, and lunged. The blade struck his right hand, but not before he squeezed off a round into my right thigh. Pain bloomed behind my leg as the bullet tore through me. Yet my dagger found its mark in his neck-side, severing vessels—blood spurted like a firehose, coating my face. His eyes went wide, and before he could react, he drew an M9 combat knife and drove it toward my midsection. I caught his wrist with one hand even as the blade grazed my hip, and with the other drew my Strider MT “Tiger Tooth,” stabbing his left hand until he screamed and dropped his knife. With ruthless precision I slashed at his neck, nearly decapitating him.

Only then did I see him clearly: short and scrawny, oversized head on a thin neck, black-skinned with a single straight brow—pure evil in human form. Before I could even catch my breath, applause echoed from the corridor outside.