Chapter 4 - Smoke and Mirrors
"Clear the foyer!" a harsh voice barked through the dust-choked air of the living room.
Two armed operatives in matte-black tactical gear spilled through the broken window frame, their rifles sweeping the room. They didn't see me crouching behind the massive marble kitchen island that opened into the living space, nor did they immediately see Daniel, who had slipped into the shadows of the hallway corridor.
I reached into my pocket, pulled out my dead cell phone, and tossed it hard against the far wall of the dining room.
Clatter!
Both operatives snapped toward the sound, their lasers painting the dining table in red dots. "Movement in the dining sector! Moving in!"
As they advanced away from the living room, Daniel moved with the silent, lethal grace of a ghost. He stepped out from the hallway shadows, slamming the heavy iron poker across the back of the trailing operative's helmet. The man collapsed instantly without a sound.
Before the second operative could spin around, I lunged from behind the kitchen island, grabbed a heavy cast-iron skillet from the counter, and hurled it with all my might, catching him square in the chest and knocking him off balance.
Daniel closed the distance in a heartbeat, disarming the second man and dropping him with a swift strike to the jaw.
"Remind me never to get on your bad side," Daniel whispered, grabbing the fallen operative's assault rifle and spare magazines.
"Save the commentary," I hissed, grabbing the plastic bin with the twins. "Where's the garage exit?"
"Down the back stairs," Daniel said, his face tightening as another wave of pain washed over him from his untreated gunshot wound. He pressed a hand against his side; his fingers came away slick with fresh blood. He was running out of time.
We sprinted down the narrow concrete stairs leading to the subterranean garage. A sleek, black armored SUV sat idling near the automated exit bay—Daniel’s emergency vehicle.
Just as we reached the rear door of the SUV, the heavy steel garage door at the front began to rise with a grinding mechanical roar.
Commander Harrison Vance stood in the opening, flanked by four more armed guards. He wasn't wearing tactical gear; he wore his tailored gray coat like a general inspecting a conquered province.
"End of the line, Daniel," Vance called out, his voice echoing smoothly off the concrete walls. He didn't even look at me; his cold, calculating eyes were fixed entirely on his former operative. "You always were too sentimental for this life. Keeping children? Playing house? It made you weak."
Daniel gently pushed me behind the body of the SUV, stepping out into the open, raising the captured assault rifle with one hand while holding his bleeding side with the other.
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"I was never weak, Harrison," Daniel said, his voice ringing with a calm, terrifying authority. "I just finally found something worth fighting for instead of bleeding for a monster."
Vance smiled thinly, raising his hand to give the order to fire. "Kill them all."
