Chapter 36 - Shadows in the Treeline
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The freezing autumn air hit my lungs like shattered glass as Marcus and I slipped out through the concealed service tunnel that bypassed the main courtyard. We were dressed in full tactical night-gear, our faces painted black, completely invisible against the backdrop of the impenetrable forest. We moved with agonizing, deliberate slowness, communicating entirely through subtle hand signals.
The forest floor was a minefield of dry leaves and brittle twigs, but years of hunting the worst of humanity had taught me how to walk without making a sound. We flanked Sector Four, moving in a wide, sweeping arc to get behind the approaching heat signatures Davis was tracking from the command center.
"They are holding at the ridge," Davis whispered through the earpiece. "Two hundred yards from your current position. They are setting up a drone."
"Copy," I breathed into the microphone. "We have visual."
Through my night-vision optics, the world was a crisp, eerie green. I could see the eight men clustered behind a massive, fallen oak tree. They were heavily armed, wearing professional mercenary gear, completely out of place for standard syndicate thugs. Silas had hired elite contractors. It was an expensive, fatal mistake.
"Take the four on the left," I signed to Marcus, adjusting my rifle's suppressor. "On my mark."
Marcus nodded, bracing his weapon against the trunk of a pine tree, his breathing slow and steady.
I lined up the crosshairs on the man holding the drone controller. If they got an eye in the sky, they would see the vulnerable layout of the residential wings. I could not allow that. I exhaled slowly, letting the air completely empty from my lungs, finding that perfectly still space between heartbeats.
"Mark," I whispered.
May you like
The suppressed rifles coughed in perfect unison. The sound was no louder than a heavy branch snapping in the wind, but the results were instantaneous. The drone operator crumpled silently to the forest floor, his controller slipping from his lifeless fingers. Beside him, Marcus’s target dropped just as efficiently.
Panic instantly erupted among the remaining six mercenaries. They scrambled for cover, their professional discipline shattering in the face of an invisible, silent enemy. They began firing wildly into the darkness, chewing up the tree trunks, but we were already moving, slipping back into the shadows to reposition for the next strike.
