Chapter 033
1770 Words
With the four corner surveillance towers neutralized, the Venom Nest was effectively blind. The hidden fortress, nestled deep in the Appalachian foothills, had relied on its electronic eyes for too long. Three years of peace had bred a fatal complacency among the garrison.
As soon as the "All Clear" signal flashed, Ethan Blackwell (Blood Talon-1) ordered the advance.
To maintain the blistering pace required for the assault, Ethan gestured to Ivan, the man formerly known as Number Three. Ivan was a human mountain, a wall of muscle and scar tissue. Without a word, he grabbed the wheezing, overweight Nathan Black and hoisted him onto his shoulder as if he were a duffel bag.
The team moved like shadows. Ivan sprinted with the rest of them, the extra two hundred pounds of Nathan barely slowing his stride.
In less than forty minutes, Ethan Blackwell brought the entire strike team to the rendezvous point in the East Sector, merging with Kane Adler's group.
Nathan Black was dumped unceremoniously onto the grass. He was gasping for air, his face pale and slick with sweat. Even though he hadn't run a step, being bounced on Ivan’s shoulder like a ragdoll had nearly rattled his skeleton apart.
"Nathan," Kane said, his voice cutting through the dark. "What's the next move?"
Nathan took a few deep, rattling breaths, trying to steady his heart rate. He pointed a trembling finger at the red dot in the center of the blueprint.
"Here. This is it. We call it The Hive. It’s a cylindrical structure, seven stories of reinforced concrete. The ground floor is a massive, open-plan lobby. It’s always crawling with guards. But here’s the key intel: it’s a blind spot. There are absolutely no cameras inside The Hive. I was... paranoid. I didn't want footage of myself existing."
He traced a line up the building. "From the second floor up... it’s a nightmare. It’s a labyrinth."
"A labyrinth?" Ethan Skyler asked, frowning. "Clarify."
"It was my masterpiece," Nathan said, a flicker of twisted pride crossing his face. "Now, it's our biggest obstacle. A central spiral staircase connects floors two through seven. There are one hundred and twenty rooms in total. And they are identical."
"Define identical," Rex Dalton (Caleb Rourke) grunted.
"I mean identical," Nathan stressed. "No room numbers. No distinguishing marks. Same furniture, same wallpaper, same layout. If you stand in the hallway, the curvature of the walls messes with your depth perception. You lose your sense of direction within minutes. If you try to clear them room by room, you'll start hallucinating. Even my old partner, Nash Ryker, could only handle fifteen rooms before he got vertigo. And me? I used to sleep in a different room every night, chosen at random. If I'm right... that traitor is doing the same thing. He's hiding in one of those 120 rooms."
"Hiss..." Rex sucked in a cold breath, looking at Nathan like he was a lunatic. "You really are a sick bastard. But I have to ask again—if you were this paranoid, how did your 'trusted lieutenant' manage to stab you in the back?"
Nathan’s face crumpled. He looked down at the dirt. "Because... he's my brother. My blood brother. I raised him. I taught him the trade. I never thought my own flesh and blood would turn on me. He knew my only weakness was my family. If he hadn't underestimated my grip on the lower ranks, I'd be a corpse right now. But let's not talk about the past. Let's kill him."
Ethan Skyler analyzed the map. "If we have to search 120 rooms, we'll lose the element of surprise. If he realizes we're here, he can barricade himself in or rally the entire base to surround The Hive. We'll be trapped."
"There's only one way," Nathan said grimly. "We take the ground floor. Hard and fast. The main entrance is the only way in or out of the lobby—the walls are two feet thick. If we control the lobby, we control the choke point. Even if we wake the bastard up, we can hold the stairs. We turn the lobby into a kill box and hunt him down floor by floor. I can talk down the rest of the base once he's dead."
Kane exchanged glances with Ethan Skyler and Rex.
Rex grinned, his teeth white in the gloom. "We're already inside. Do we have a choice?"
Kane turned to Nathan. "Stop stalling. Show us the way in."
"Yes, Boss." Nathan wiped sweat from his eyes. "When I built this place, I installed a 'rat run'—an escape route only I knew about. There's a disused storm drain next to the East Sector monitoring station. It leads directly up into the first-floor bathroom of The Hive."
"Lead the way," Kane ordered. "Move."
The Hive. First Floor Bathroom.
The air in the bathroom was sterile and cold. In the furthest stall, marked 'Out of Order', the white porcelain toilet slid silently to the side on hidden hydraulics. Beneath it, a dark, gaping hole appeared in the tile floor.
Scrape.
A figure clad in black tactical gear vaulted out of the hole, landing silently. It was Ethan Blackwell (Blood Talon-1), his scarred face hidden in the shadows.
He signaled down the hole, then pressed his ear to the stall door. Silence.
He waved his hand. The invasion force began to climb out.
Ethan Blackwell slowly pushed the stall door open.
But as the door creaked a fraction, his eyes widened.
Standing directly in front of him, staring blankly at the stall door, was a behemoth of a man. He must have weighed over three hundred and fifty pounds—a towering wall of fat and muscle that blocked out the light.
The fat man blinked slowly. He looked at the hole in the floor. Then he looked at Ethan.
"Who are you?" the fat man rumbled, his voice deep and slow, like stones grinding together.
Ethan Blackwell smirked. "Your undertaker."
Without hesitation, Ethan launched himself forward. He spun, his right leg whipping out in a vicious roundhouse kick aimed at the fat man's throat.
It was a killing blow. Fast. Precise. Designed to crush the windpipe instantly.
THUD!
The kick connected, but not with the throat.
The fat man’s left hand had snapped up with impossible speed, catching Ethan’s ankle in mid-air.
Both men froze.
Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. He hadn't used full force—maybe 40%—but that kick would have shattered a normal man's arm. This guy caught it like a baseball.
There was no time for shock. Ethan twisted in the air, his Tang Blade flashing upward, aiming for the fat man's heart.
The fat man moved again. Despite his massive bulk, he backflipped. A three-hundred-pound man moving with the agility of a gymnast. The blade sliced through empty air.
BOOM!
The fat man landed, shaking the floorboards.
Outside in the lobby, the guards looked up from their card games. One of them chuckled.
"Sounds like Jumbo is practicing his monkey jumps again."
"Hahaha! That i***t never quits."
Inside the bathroom, Ethan Blackwell knew the situation had gone critical. He couldn't let this guy make another sound.
But the fat man, Jumbo, didn't scream for help. He just stared at Ethan with eyes that were suddenly bright with excitement. He let out a low, challenging growl and charged like a rhino.
"Damn it," Marcus Grady (The Fox) hissed, stepping out of the stall behind Ethan. "No time for kung fu movies."
He drew his pistol.
Pfft.
The silenced shot coughed.
Jumbo tried to dodge, his instincts screaming, but Ethan Blackwell was already there to cut off his escape. His blade flashed horizontally.
Thud. Schlick.
Two sounds. One bullet to the skull. One blade to the kidney.
Jumbo wobbled, a look of confusion on his face, and then collapsed. Ethan caught him before he hit the floor, easing the massive body down silently.
But the scuffle had been heard.
The bathroom door handle turned.
"Jumbo?" a voice called out from the lobby. "What are you doing in there? Pissing or dancing?"
As the door opened, Ethan Blackwell moved. He leaped up, grabbing the top frame of the door stall, swinging his legs up to hook onto the overhead pipes. He hung upside down like a bat, perfectly positioned above the entrance.
A guard walked in, g*n slung lazily over his shoulder.
He stepped right into the trap.
CRACK.
Ethan’s hands shot down, grabbing the guard’s head. With a violent twist and the momentum of his body swinging down, he snapped the man’s neck instantly. He tossed the limp body toward Marcus and gently closed the door.
"Nice," Marcus whispered, giving a thumbs up. "The East Wing Overlord hasn't lost his touch."
Kane climbed out of the hole, followed by Harvey Shaw and Ivan. He glanced at the two bodies, his face impassive.
"Silencers on," Kane ordered. "Formation. Ethan, open the door. Harvey, Ivan, take point."
Ethan Blackwell cracked the door open again.
Harvey Shaw and Ivan burst out, diving into a roll, their movements synchronized and deadly.
Outside, a guard saw the movement. "Hey, Jumbo is doing gymnastics agai—"
He stopped. His brain registered that Jumbo wasn't wearing tactical black. And Jumbo certainly wasn't two people.
"CONTACT!"
But the warning died in his throat.
Kane, Marcus, and the rest of the Talons flooded out of the bathroom like a tide of black water.
The lobby was a scene of relaxed domesticity turned into a slaughterhouse. Thirty-nine guards were present—some playing cards, some sleeping, some cleaning weapons.
They were elites, mercenaries who had survived countless battles. They reacted fast. Hands went for weapons, tables were flipped for cover.
But Kane’s men were monsters forged in the hell of Death Row. They were predators released from a cage.
Pfft-pfft-pfft-pfft.
The air was filled with the rhythmic coughing of silenced pistols. It was a m******e.
Harvey Shaw moved with mechanical precision, double-tapping targets with icy efficiency. Ivan used a shotgun, the booming roar suppressed but still terrifying, blasting enemies off their feet. Kane moved through the center, his dual pistols spitting death.
Before a single alarm could be raised, before a single machine g*n could be fired in return, the lobby was painted red. Thirty-nine bodies hit the floor in under ten seconds.
The smell of cordite and fresh blood filled the air.
Kane stood amidst the c*****e, smoke drifting from his muzzle. He scanned the room, his eagle eyes checking for movement.
"Clear," he stated calmly. "Secure the exits. We own the ground floor."
- Writer
