Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE OF HORRORSThree heavily armed mercenaries came charging down the west wing hallway, assault rifles raised, tactical vests strapped tight. Professionals. High-tier private security hired from international syndicates.
They expected a disoriented old man crawling out of a dungeon.
Instead, they walked into a slaughterhouse of shadows.
Before the lead guard could yell a warning, I dropped into a low slide, swept his legs out from under him, and ripped his sidearm from its holster. Two quick, silenced shots echoed down the corridor. The other two guards dropped instantly before they even had time to take the safety off their rifles.
I didn't slow down. I stepped over them, stripping a tactical radio and a master keycard from their belts.
"Grace," I spoke into the miniature comms earpiece linked to the basement. "Stay put. I'm clearing the house. Don't open this door for anyone except me."
"Dad... be careful," her voice whispered, trembling. "He has federal judges on his payroll. The police won't help us."
"Let them come," I replied coldly. "Right now, God is busy, and I'm handling the paperwork."
I kicked open the grand mahogany double doors leading to Julian’s private study. The room was empty, but a laptop sat on the massive mahogany desk, its screen glowing brightly.
On it was a live-streaming security feed of an underground medical lab located three miles away at an abandoned shipping port.
May you like
And right in the center of the screen, resting in a sterile plastic incubator, was a newborn baby boy crying helplessly.
A digital countdown timer blinked above the incubator: 18 MINUTES UNTIL AIR-EXCHANGE PURGE.
