Chapter 4 - THE MEATPACKING SLAUGHTERThe meatpacking plant loomed out of the industrial fog like a jagged metal tomb. The scent of rust, old blood, and damp concrete hung heavy in the air.
Rain drummed hard against the corrugated iron roof as Marcus cut the chain-link fence at the rear entry. Cross's men spread out into a tactical wedge, but I moved alone, slipping into the shadows like smoke.
Rule one of the Vanguard: Never trust an ally who brings heavy artillery to a stealth extraction.
I breached the side loading door, cutting through the darkness with silent, lethal precision. Two guards were patrolling the main catwalk above the rusted hanging hooks. I didn't fire a shot. I cleared the distance between us using the shadows of the hanging plastic curtains, stepped up behind the first man, pulled his head back, and drove the tactical blade through the base of his skull.
Before his body hit the metal floor, I drew the suppressed Glock and fired two rounds into the second guard's neck. He collapsed without a sound.
Ten seconds. Two dead.
I dropped down a maintenance hatch leading to the lower level. The air grew frigid; frost coated the pipes lining the ceiling. The cold storage unit was running.
Down the long, white-tiled hallway, I heard voices—harsh, accented, military-style commands.
"Secure the package! The transport van is five minutes out!"
I crept toward the reinforced glass window of the main vault. Inside, tied to a metal chair in the center of the freezing room, was a small girl in a yellow raincoat. She was trembling violently, her lips blue from the cold, but she wasn't crying. Her small jaw was set tight, her brown eyes darting around the room, analyzing her captors.
My God, I thought, a sharp pain piercing my chest. She has my eyes. She has my fire.
Standing over her was a man in an immaculate grey trench coat. Commander Vance. Older, his hair silvered at the temples, but his face remained as cruel and unyielding as the day he ordered my execution.
"She’s resistant to the sedative, Commander," one of the scientists in a lab coat reported, holding a syringe. "Her metabolic rate is absurdly high. Just like Subject 47's."
"Subject 47 is dead," Vance growled, pulling a heavy silver pistol from his holster. "And this child is nothing more than the final key to unlocking the Vanguard's biological ledger. Administer the full dose."
I didn't wait for Cross's team to signal the breach.
I threw two flashbang grenades through the glass observation window.
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BANG! BANG!
The glass shattered into a million sparkling shards as white light and deafening thunder erupted inside the vault.
