Three
Justin clocked the power fluctuations in the room. They were too deliberate. They were a message that someone knew they were there.
Then there was a faint vibration through the floor.
This facility wasn’t abandoned. It was staged—a killing floor dressed as a trap. The whiteboard was bait, and they were the entertainment.
He hid behind a concrete barrier, waiting for what was to come, and tightened his grip on the weapon he’d pulled upon entry.
His suppressed Glock fit his hand perfectly, comfortably. It was an extension of him that never failed.
Then the first shot rang out.
A sharp crack split the hush—gunfire from the balcony, quick and surgical. Plaster exploded beside Anya’s shoulder, a warning shot that felt personal.
Justin lunged before the echo faded. “Down!” He snatched Anya’s sleeve and yanked her sideways as a second round shredded the air where her head had been—concrete bursting into a storm of gray dust.
They scrambled to the floor behind a line of overturned lab tables, the metal legs screeching loudly against the tile floor as they slid into cover.
Another shot came immediately.
Justin held his fire, his senses on high alert as he zeroed in on the source of the shot. It was perched on the balcony, nestled in the left corner, cloaked in a deep shadow. The shooter was skilled, executing a precise shot with a tight angle and minimal exposure. This was no amateur’s handiwork.
Anya didn’t bother asking questions. She had already dropped into a kneeling stance beside him, rifle leveled and voice calm despite the surrounding chaos. “Two,” she whispered.
Justin followed her line of sight. She was right.
A shadowy figure emerged from the far corridor, masked and draped in black tactical gear. He moved with the lethal grace of a seasoned predator, suppressed carbine ready, confidence radiating from every step.
They were hunters, not guards or security personnel.
Justin’s pulse slowed.
Silent Night had sent professionals.
“Balcony first,” Anya murmured.
“Agreed.”
She promptly sprang to her feet in a single fluid motion and fired. Her shot echoed through the hall like a cracking whip. The masked figure overhead flinched violently and jerked backward as the bullet whistled past, hitting the metal railing nearby and forcing him to duck for cover.
Justin leaned out suddenly, firing two controlled bursts that cut through the air. The suppressed rounds echoed softly, forcing the second attacker to dive behind a pillar near the corridor entrance in a frantic attempt to take cover.
Return fire erupted—loud and calculated. The attackers weren’t reckless; they were testing, probing, feeling out every angle. Justin’s mind raced. This was a chess match, not a shootout.
He hated that. “Left,” he told her.
Anya moved with silent precision, gliding three feet down the table to expand the angle. Her rifle zeroed in on the balcony once more.
The masked hunter popped up for half a second.
Anya confidently aimed her weapon and fired, precision and determination evident in her.
The man disappeared again.
Justin didn’t see whether she hit him. But the balcony went quiet.
The second attacker tried to slip past while they were distracted. Justin almost pitied him. Bad call. Justin stepped out and fired three rounds in a tight grouping that forced the man back behind cover again.
Silence returned. But not the comfortable kind.
Justin kept his weapon trained on the corridor. “Still two?”
“Yes,” Anya said.
“How sure?”
“Very.”
Seconds ticked by.
Then something strange happened. The second hunter stood up.
Not fully exposed—just enough to be seen.
Justin tightened his grip on the Glock.
The man didn’t fire. Instead, his voice echoed coldly through the hall: “Subject Morozov confirmed.”
Justin’s stomach churned with unease. She wasn’t just a target anymore—she was a subject.
Anya heard it too. Her expression hardened, but she didn’t lower the rifle.
The hunter tilted his head slightly, as if listening to someone on comms. Then he stepped backward into the corridor. And vanished.
Justin stared at the empty doorway.
“They’re leaving,” Anya said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Before he could answer, the lights blazed on—flooding the ruined facility with harsh white. Fluorescents buzzed to life, turning every shadow inside out, exposing the aftermath in merciless clarity.
Justin swore under his breath. “This wasn’t an attack.”
Anya’s eyes narrowed. “It was bait.”
A deep metallic clang echoed somewhere behind them.
Justin turned.
At the far end of the corridor, the steel door began descending from the ceiling. Slow. Deliberate.
“Move!” he shouted.
They sprinted toward the side hall, hearts pounding. The door clanged shut behind them, sealing off the way they’d entered. A deep, resonant thud echoed from deeper within the structure, followed quickly by another.
Anya glanced back once. “They’re closing the building.”
Justin nodded as he ran.
The corridor ahead narrowed into the laboratory wing. Old cabinets hung open, their contents long stripped away. Broken glass littered the floor beneath smashed windows.
Then he felt another vibration roll through the walls. This time, it was ventilation.
Justin looked up.
The ceiling grates were opening.
“Airflow changing,” Anya said.
“Yes.”
“For gas?”
“Maybe.” He didn’t like “maybe.”
A soft whirring sound followed.
Justin’s eyes locked onto the camera dome perched in the upper corner, its sleek black lens glinting ominously. The new hardware gleamed, a silent sentinel, ever watchful.
“They’re recording,” he said.
Anya followed his gaze. Her jaw tightened. “They want to see how we move.”
Another steel door began dropping ahead of them—slow, deliberate, inescapable. Justin knew they’d never reach it in time.
He fired into the track mechanism. Sparks burst. The door stuttered but kept moving.
“Not enough,” Anya said.
“Working on it.”
Justin scanned the room, adrenaline spiking. An office loomed ahead—desk, shattered cabinets, and a reinforced window glinting with the only promise of escape. “There.”
Anya sprang into action. She swung the butt of her rifle with all her might, the impact reverberating through the air as the glass cracked, though it held its ground.
Justin joined her, his elbow colliding with the fragile corner. The glass exploded outward in a dazzling shower of shards. The icy night air surged in.
Beneath the window, a narrow service courtyard lay sprawled, its concrete surface dusted with snow and dotted with stubborn, lifeless weeds. Just one story high—survivable.
Behind them, the door continued descending.
With a swift move, Justin launched himself through the window, landing with a thud in the soft, powdery snow below. Despite the impact, he remained poised and alert, his gun sweeping across the courtyard with precision. Clear.
Anya landed beside him a moment later.
Above them, the broken window glowed red from the emergency lights inside.
Devon’s voice crackled in Justin’s ear. “Franks.”
“Go.”
“I lost interior cameras thirty seconds ago.”
“They sealed them.”
A pause. Keys clicking. “Thermal still shows residual heat signatures in the building,” Devon said.
“Hunters?”
“Unknown.”
Justin glanced back at the shattered window. “They’re gone.”
“What?”
“They wanted us inside long enough to observe.”
Silence on the comm. Then Devon said quietly, “That tracks.”
Anya lowered her rifle slightly. “They used Alexei.”
Justin looked at her. “They knew he wasn’t here.”
“Yes.” Her voice carried no emotion. Which meant the emotion was there. “They wanted to see how I’d react.”
“And?”
She turned toward the tree line. “They saw.”
Justin didn’t argue. Because she was right.
Devon spoke again. “Jesse wants a full debrief. Site Bravo. ASAP.”
“Copy.”
The line went dead.
Justin started toward the tree line. “Let’s move.”
The trees swallowed the facility quickly once they crossed the service yard.
Justin trailed half a step behind Anya as they navigated the towering pines. It wasn’t because she needed protection—she was more than capable on her own—but because this position allowed him to scan the surroundings with the broadest perspective.
She moved with the confidence of someone who had spent her life charging headlong into danger rather than retreating.
Every step was deliberate, every motion purposeful.
The rifle remained rock-steady against her shoulder as she nimbly navigated over fallen branches and squeezed through tight gaps between towering trunks.
In the heart of the woods, where every rustle and snap seemed to echo, Anya moved with an uncanny silence. Her stealth was a testament to her exceptional training, setting her apart from the other operators who couldn’t help but disturb the tranquil forest.
The road appeared ahead through the trees.
Justin slowed as he reached the edge of the brush, crouching silently beside the ditch line. His eyes scanned the empty road ahead—no headlights, no thermal signature, just the whisper of wind rustling through the branches. softly, he muttered, “Vehicle’s half a mile west.”
Anya didn’t take her eyes off the tree line across the road. “Yours?”
“Yes.”
A beat passed as she studied the shadows between the trees. “Keys?”
“In my pocket.”
“Then you’re driving.”
Justin glanced sideways at her. “That’s a vote of confidence.”
“It’s a tactical decision.”
Of course it was.
“If Silent Night tracked your arrival,” she continued, “they already know the vehicle.”
“So we abandon it?”
“No.”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly. “We control the timing instead.”
Justin almost smiled. Fair answer.
They crossed the road together and headed west along the tree line instead of walking on the asphalt. The night had fully settled into the mountains now—cold, quiet, and so deep that sound traveled farther than people often realized.
Five minutes later, the SUV came into view beneath a stand of skeletal trees.
Justin paused to scan the area. No footprints besides his own. No fresh tire marks. No signs of movement. “Clear.”