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Eyes that once held life are now left vacant and glassy.
What a fucking waste.
I swallow hard, my heartbeat intensifying as I scan the area for the nearest threat.
There’s no sign of them, but I’m not foolish enough to think they’ve left.
For fuck’s sake, there are vehicles outside.
Glancing back for a split second, I look at Doom and Boulder, “Go slice their tires. All of them.”
They give me a quick nod and head back out of the warehouse, but as soon as the door shuts, gunshots ring out.
Amara grumbles, hiding behind a desk. “They’ve spotted us.”
Instinctively, we all scatter, seeking cover behind stacks of paper, desks, and machinery.
Anger boils my blood.
I hate the position this attack has put Astra in, at the coffee shop alone and unprotected.
I know she’s not foolish enough to leave, and she’ll do what she can to stay safe.
Right now, I have to focus on what’s happening in front of me.
The bullets hammer into the metalwork around us, and the impact echoes around the warehouse.
I grip my gun tighter in response, feeling the chill of its metal cut deeper into my palm.
A stench begins to waft through my nostrils and I realize it’s not getting worse as we make our way further into the warehouse, using objects to shield us from the gunfire.
A man clad entirely in black appears from the shadows, his mask a grotesque caricature of a grin. It reminds me of aScreammask, but there are subtle differences.
He tosses something toward us, but it’s coming in so fast I can’t make out what it is.
Amara sees it and screams, “Duck and cover!”
Her voice barely registers before we all fan out, running like someone trying to escape a swarm of wasps.
A thunderous bang fills the room and gunfire continues.
A horrid ringing in my ears blocks out everything as the world tilts sideways, my senses overwhelmed by the blast.
Smoke fills the room, clouding my vision.
I’m back on my feet before I even realize I hit the ground.
The ringing continues, but I have to keep moving. It’s a fucking madhouse in here.
There’s a crash from my left.
A grunt and a shout—I recognize the voice as Amara’s.
Gritting my teeth, I charge in her direction, my boots slipping on spent casings and slick red puddles. “Amara?” I holler, but it’s like calling her name underwater.
My ears are shot to hell and the ringing continues.
Suddenly, a silhouette looms up from the suffocating smoke.
