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Sixteenth floor nearly breaks us. Full tactical team lies in wait. Charlie takes a round in her vest. The impact throws her back. Brett catches her before she hits the ground.
“Multiple threats!” Jenny’s voice crackles through comms. “Watch your six!”
The Rufis move like liquid death. Their targeting systems find weak points in body armor. Joints. Gaps. Soft tissue.
Screams echo. Blood sprays. Brass shells rain down on marble floors.
My magazine runs dry. Muscle memory takes over. The empty mag drops. A fresh one seats home.
Keep moving. Keep killing. Keep climbing.
Twentieth floor brings close combat. My rifle jams. No time to clear it.
The first attacker rushes me. His knife slashes air where I was. My combat knife clears my sheath. Blade meets flesh. Blood flows.
A second hostile tackles me from behind. Pain explodes through broken ribs. The world goes red.
Roll. Strike. The knife finds his femoral artery. Hot blood coats my hands.
More come. Always more.
Hands grab my vest. Head butt breaks a nose. Elbow strike crushes a throat. Each movement brings fresh agony.
A Rufi unit bounds past, taking down two hostiles. Its mechanical jaws crush bone and armor alike.
“Twenty-second floor!” Jenny’s warning comes sharp and urgent. “Heavy weapons!”
“Rufis, breach and clear!” Blood runs into my eyes. “Everyone else, watch your six!”
The mechanical hounds surge forward. Their frames absorb the first wave of fire. Smoke grenades fill the hall.
We move through the chaos like avenging spirits. Each shot finds its mark. Every strike brings death.
Close quarters turn lethal. No room for rifles now. Combat knives flash in fluorescent light.
My blade opens throats. Punctures lungs. Severs arteries. The rage guides every thrust.
A hostile gets lucky. His knife slides between my ribs. Fresh pain blooms.
Grab his wrist. Twist.Bones snap. Drive my blade up under his jaw. Through the roof of his mouth. Into his brain.
“Penthouse level.” Jenny’s voice cuts through the battle haze. “Wolfe’s got a chopper inbound.”
Bodies litter the hallway behind us. Blood makes the floor treacherous. Shell casings clatter under our boots.
The team forms up.
What’s left of us.
Jon’s limping. Blood soaks his trousers. Charlie favors her left side. Mac bleeds from multiple wounds.
Jenny’s untouched.
Six Rufi units are still operational. Their frames show damage, but their targeting systems remain true.
One floor separates me from Ember.
From Wolfe.