Chapter 33
The rain didn’t cleanse sin; it only made it slippery.
I parked the SUV five hundred yards from the perimeter, hidden beneath the carcass of a rusted crane. The Hades Complex rose before me like the skeleton of a dead beast. Broken smokestacks, corroded metal walkways, windows dark as empty eye sockets. It was a fortress of scrap.
I moved forward. I was no longer Cassian Varro. I had no name, no past, no future. I was nothing but the mechanics of slaughter.
Two sentries at the north gate. Smoking. Weapons hanging loose from their shoulders. Amateurs. I approached through the shadows, moving between stacks of old containers. The rain muffled the sound. I closed to within ten feet. Drew the Ka-Bar knife. Black blade, non-reflective.
I moved fast. The first sentry never saw me coming.
I covered his mouth with my left hand and buried the knife at the base of his skull, severing the brain stem.
He dropped without a sound, dead before he hit the ground.
The second one turned, eyes wide as his companion collapsed.
He opened his mouth to scream. I threw the knife.
It spun once and buried itself in his throat. The scream died in a wet gurgle.
I retrieved my blade. Wiped the blood on the dead man’s clothes. Dragged the bodies into the shadows. Clean entry.
I passed through the gate. The inner courtyard was a labyrinth of heavy machinery.
Movement on the upper walkways. Snipers.
I raised the rifle. Looked through the thermal sight.
The silhouettes glowed white against the cold blue background.
Puff. Puff. Two shots. Two bodies dropped onto the metal grates. The storm swallowed the sound.
I reached the main entrance to the furnace building. A double metal door, crudely welded shut. I placed an adhesive C4 charge on the lock. Small. Directional. I stepped back. Detonated.
BOOM.
The door blew inward. The element of surprise was over. Now it was brute force.
I entered through the smoke. The interior was vast, lit by orange service lights. The smell of rust and oil was suffocating. A siren began to wail, a shrill cry echoing off the metal walls. “Intruder! Sector 4!”
Men emerged from all sides. From behind pillars, from the walkways above, pouring out of side rooms. There were many. Twenty. Thirty. It didn’t matter. They were obstacles. Solaia was the objective.
I raised the rifle. The world slowed down. Tunnel vision. A man ran at me, firing blind. Two to the chest. One to the head. He went down sliding. I spun right. Another man. Fired. He dropped.
I pushed down the central corridor. The noise was deafening. AK-47 fire crackled around me, bullets ricocheting off metal, throwing sparks. An impact hit my chest. The vest held. Another on my leg. A graze. Irrelevant.
I swapped magazines on the move. The empty mag hit the floor, the fresh one clicked home. “Varro’s here! Stop him!” someone shouted.
They tried to surround me. I lobbed a flashbang into a group taking cover behind a forklift. BANG. The flash blinded them. I pushed through the white smoke. Fired. Fired. Fired. Brutal efficiency. No wasted ammunition. No hesitation. I was Death walking.
I reached a metal staircase. A big bald man appeared at the top with a shotgun.
He fired. Buckshot hit the railing next to my head, sending metal shards into my face.
A cut opened on my cheek. Hot blood ran down.
I didn’t stop. I charged up the steps, firing upward.
Hit his knee. He went down screaming. I stepped on his chest as I passed, finished him with a point-blank shot without looking down.
At the top of the stairs, a long corridor. Improvised cell doors on both sides. Ivanov stood at the far end, holding a radio. He saw me. His eyes went wide with terror. He hadn’t expected me to get this far. He hadn’t expected me to be alive.
“Kill him!” he shouted, backing toward an armored door at the rear.
Four men came out of the side cells, forming a human barrier. My HK416 clicked empty. No time to reload. I let the rifle drop on its sling. Drew the Benelli M4 from my back. The semi-automatic shotgun was a hallway-clearing tool.
I moved in. BOOM. The first man flew backward, his vest useless against the impact. BOOM. BOOM. The second and third dropped. The fourth came at me with a knife. I deflected with the barrel, broke his nose with the stock, and fired into his gut.
The corridor was clear. The floor was slick with blood and spent shells. My breathing came in harsh wheezes. The cut on my face burned. My left shoulder throbbed where a bullet had grazed it, searing skin and tissue. But I felt no pain. Pain was information my brain chose to ignore.
I walked to the door Ivanov had gone through. Heavy. Naval-grade steel. Locked from the inside. Solaia was in there. I could feel her. Her scent seemed to seep through the metal. Or maybe it was just my madness projecting her presence.
I pressed my ear to the door for a second. Muffled shouts. Ivanov’s voice, hysterical. “...he’s a demon! He killed everyone! Bring the girl! We’ll use the back exit!”
I stepped back. There was no back exit on that level. I’d studied the steel mill blueprints. They were cornered. And a cornered animal is dangerous.
I grabbed the last C4 charge from my bag. Bigger than the first. Enough to bring down the wall if I needed to. I pressed the explosive onto the door hinges. Inserted the detonator.
I retreated behind a concrete column. Held the detonator in my hand. My hand was covered in blood. Strangers’ blood. My own. I looked at the steel door.
“Cover your ears, Sol,” I whispered, though she couldn’t hear me.
The silence before the explosion was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.
The sound of my own pulse in my ears. The sound of the rain outside.
I was about to walk into hell to get my wife back.
And if she was hurt... if they’d touched her one more time...
I wouldn’t leave anyone alive to tell the story.
I pressed the button.
KABOOM.
The door ripped from its hinges, flying into the room in a cloud of smoke, fire, and dust. I moved through the breach. Shotgun raised. Finger on the trigger. The monster had come home.