Page 46

MAX

T he exoskeleton hummed as Max powered it up. Through the suit's enhanced optics, part of William's latest upgrades, he could see heat signatures inside—three Doomers moving on the upper floors, and twelve humans scattered throughout, deep in Yamanu-induced sleep.

"Strike One in position," he said into the comm.

"Strike Two in position," came the response from Bhathian's team across the city.

"Strike Three ready," Anandur confirmed.

"Strike Four standing by," Magnus reported.

Max checked his chronometer: 0059 hours.

The neighborhood slept under Yamanu's influence, a blanket thrall that would hold until he made another round through the four locations and released it.

If he did nothing, the thrall would eventually weaken and evaporate, but it might take days, and that was dangerous.

The less time the humans spent sleeping unnaturally, the better.

"Simultaneous breach in thirty seconds," Onegus's voice came through the command channel. "Start the countdown on my mark. Now!"

In addition to himself, Max's team included eleven Guardians in matching exoskeletons, their armor making them look like something out of a science fiction movie.

The recently added camouflage of a matte black surface absorbed light, turning them into shadows with substance.

He still wasn't entirely comfortable with the servo-assisted movement, but two days of intensive training had given him enough proficiency to work with.

"Ten seconds," he told his team.

Breach team Alpha, headed by Conrac was in charge of the basement and securing the explosives. Thar's team was tasked with securing the perimeter, and Zolen's breaking in through the back. Max and his team were about to charge through the front and head straight for the Doomers.

It had all been rehearsed enough times for each Guardian to know precisely what his task was, but things never went according to plan, and shit happened more often than not.

"Five seconds."

Max gripped the specialized battering ram with the suit's mechanical fingers like it weighed nothing. Even if the door was reinforced with steel, which many of the doors in this upscale neighborhood were, it wouldn't stand a chance.

"Three... two... one... Breach!"

The ram connected with devastating force, and the door exploded inward, torn from its hinges. Max flowed through the opening, his movements relatively smooth despite the bulk of the exoskeleton.

The interior was dark, but the suit's optics rendered everything in sharp clarity. Not that immortal eyesight needed the enhancement, but it was nice to see so clearly.

Expensive furniture, Persian rugs, the trappings of wealth hiding a nest of killers. Two human guards were slumped in chairs by the entrance, lost in Yamanu's thrall.

The suit's feed indicated that the basement and back teams breached successfully as well. The visuals superimposed on a corner of his visor were another benefit of using the suit. No comm confirmations were needed.

He leaped directly to the second-floor gallery, his men landing with loud thuds all around him. It was a calculated risk since their combined weight could overcome the gallery's structural supports, but the element of surprise was worth the risk.

Not even three seconds had elapsed since the door was breached, and the Doomers were already on them.

They were fast. But not fast enough.

Max's reflexes kicked in, the suit responding to his commands with just the slightest delay.

He leaped, bringing his arm up just in time to block a blow aimed at his head.

Without the suit's helmet, it would have likely knocked him off his feet, but with it, it would have been an inconvenience that may have given his opponent a momentary edge. Not something he was willing to do.

"Surprise, asshole," Max growled, driving his armored fist into the Doomer's solar plexus. The impact lifted the immortal off his feet, sending him crashing through a wall.

"Contact with two more Doomers, second floor, east wing!" Thar's voice came through the comm.

"Moving to support," Raith confirmed.

Max pursued his target through the hole in the wall. The Doomer should have been knocked out, but he was already rolling to his feet.

Tough bastard.

They collided in the center of what had been a library and reading room.

The Doomer was fast, trained, and enhanced beyond what his immortal strength should have afforded him.

Max suspected drugs, but even though they could make the guy stronger, faster, and more resilient, they couldn't protect his body from the massive damage of the amplified force behind every punch Max delivered.

The problem was that Max was slower with the suit, and the Doomer could simply outrun him, but the guy wasn't smart enough to exercise that option and charged.

"This is going to be fun." Max simply lifted him bodily and slammed him through a desk.

Wood exploded into splinters. The Doomer tried to roll away, but Max's suit electronics and algorithm let him track the movement. His armored boot came down where the Doomer's head had been a microsecond before, cracking the floor.

"Don't play with your prey," Onegus's amused voice came through the com. "Neutralize him and bag him."

"Let me have my fun, chief. An opportunity like this doesn't come often."

"You're not human," the Doomer snarled in accented English, his fangs fully extended.

"Neither are you," Max replied, catching the knife the Doomer threw at him with an armored grip. "But I'm better equipped."

He tossed the knife aside and head-butted the Doomer, the helmet crushing the warrior's nose in a spray of blood. As the Doomer reeled, Max followed up with a precisely measured strike to the temple—enough to incapacitate, not enough to shatter. He didn't want brain matter on his visor.

Besides, they needed to bring the Doomers in for interrogation.

The guy dropped like a rag doll.

"One down," Max reported, producing zip-cuffs designed to hold immortals. "Status?"

"Still engaged!" Thar said. Sounds of combat filtered through the helmet's speakers.

"Seems like I'm not the only one playing with my prey."

Max headed in the direction of the noise as fast as the exoskeleton allowed, its weight making stealth impossible.

He found Thar and Raith locked in combat with the remaining two Doomers in an upstairs hallway. The exoskeletons should have made it a walk in the park, but these Doomers were obviously on some enhancing drugs that made them stronger, faster, and more determined to keep fighting.

They were also smarter, using their unimpeded speed and confined space to limit the exoskeleton's advantages.

Max charged ahead like a battering ram.

The Doomer engaging Thar saw him coming and tried to evade, but Max's momentum was unstoppable, and they went through a wall together, plaster and wood exploding around them.

They tumbled into a bedroom where two humans were obliviously asleep in their beds. Max exploded downward, driving the Doomer into the floor hard enough to crack through it. A quick strike to the jaw, enhanced by the suit's augmented force, and the second Doomer was out.

"Clear!" Raith called from the hallway. "Third target subdued!"

"Basement team, report," Max ordered as he secured his prisoner.

"Holy shit, boss." Conrac's voice was tight with stress. "You need to see this."

Max's blood chilled. "The explosives?"

"Enough to level six city blocks. And it's all rigged. Dead man's switch on the wall. If we'd come in hot without knowing..."

"Don't touch anything," Max ordered. "I'm coming down."

He found his team in a basement that looked like a terrorist's wet dream.

The walls were lined with military-grade explosives, enough to turn the concert venue into a crater.

But worse was the detonation system—sophisticated, with multiple redundancies and what looked like a pressure switch connected to the door, which mercifully his guys carefully bypassed.

"Can you disarm it?" Max asked.

Darven, their explosives expert, was already removing the exoskeleton gloves to examine the system. "Maybe. Give me twenty minutes of absolute silence. I need you all to clear out."

"You've got it." Max switched channels. "Strike One to Command. We have the concert cell secured. Three Doomers in custody. Explosives are rigged with anti-tamper devices. Darven is working on it. The ones in the other locations are probably rigged too. Proceed with caution."

"Copy that, Strike One," Onegus said. "Strike Three has already reported a similar setup. Strikes Two and Four report clean captures and explosives secured. Theirs weren't rigged."

Max allowed himself a moment of satisfaction. Three cells down, one to go. But they weren't done yet.

"Movement!" Thar's voice crackled through the comm. "Someone's coming—shit, they're not affected by the sleep!"

Max's head snapped up. A fourth Doomer? They'd only counted three on surveillance.

"Positions!" he barked, moving toward the stairs. "Conrac, stay with Darven. Allow no one through this door till he says it's safe. Everyone else, with me!"

They met the newcomer in the mansion's foyer— definitely a Doomer.

Max expected him to turn around and flee, or pull out a gun and shoot, but the guy unexpectedly charged right at him instead.

What the hell?

Maybe the drugs they were on addled their brains.

As if to confirm his suspicion, the Doomer laughed maniacally. "The Brotherhood will always win, you alien scum. You think you've won? This is just the beginning."

Max wanted to laugh. The idiot really thought they were alien invaders? It was almost worth it to let him escape so he could bring the news to his bosses.

The Doomer moved fast, but Max was ready, his armored fist meeting the guy's face with devastating force that had him flying backward. He landed on his feet though, blood streaming from his ruined nose. "I will kill you! Demon!"

"Look who's talking." Max engaged again.

The fight was different—this Doomer was craftier, using techniques Max had not encountered before. He went for joints, trying to damage the exoskeleton's servo mechanisms.

"The bombs here are nothing," he hissed, going for psychological warfare. "There are many more. We have hundreds of cells, thousands of bombs. You can't stop us."

Max knew it was a lie, an attempt to distract him. But for a split second, doubt crept in. What if they'd missed something?

That momentary pause was all his opponent needed. The Doomer's fangs found a gap where only a thin membrane covered his neck. Pain flared as they penetrated, drawing blood and about to pump venom.

Not going to happen.

Max triggered the exoskeleton's electrical discharge. Another upgrade from William. It coursed through the armor's surface, channeled directly through the Doomer's fangs, and everywhere he was touching the suit.

The guy convulsed as his nervous system overloaded.

"Shocking, isn't it?" Max quipped as his opponent collapsed, twitching.

He made a mental note to personally thank William for this feature.

"Command, we have one more Doomer to add to our collection. He wasn't on our intel."

"That's concerning," Onegus said. "There might be another cell we are not aware of. Bag him. We'll sort it out later. Make sure the explosives are disarmed."

The additional Doomer had taken Max's mind off that issue, but now he was back to stressing over that.

The next fifteen minutes passed like hours while Darven worked on the explosives.

In the meantime, Max and his team stored the Doomers in a specially reinforced transport van.

They, along with the sleeping terrorists in a second transport, would be taken to a warehouse where Julian would scan them for trackers, and their clothing and devices would be stored in secure, signal-blocking containers.

All the Doomers were injected with tranquilizers to keep them under till they could be placed in holding cells in the keep's dungeon.

It occurred to Max that they might be running out of space there.

Good times.

"Got it," Darven finally announced, sagging with relief. "We can get in and start moving the explosives out."

"Outstanding work," Max said. "Strike One to all teams. Concert cell fully secured."

They loaded the explosives into a truck that would proceed to a warehouse located far from any populated areas.

As dawn approached, Max stood in the empty mansion, surveying the damage. Broken walls, shattered furniture—the detritus of violence. But no bodies.

All in a night's work.