Chapter 7 - THE SIEGE OUTSIDEOutside the high wrought-iron gates of the Ferrer estate, the night air was suddenly split by the deafening roar of heavy armored personnel carriers. The elite private security force hired by the Ferrer family—a private mercenary army numbering over a hundred heavily armed veterans—had rushed to the scene in response to the lockdown alarm.
Captain Vance, Alexander’s top military strategist, stood on the roof of a tactical command vehicle parked just fifty yards outside the main gates. Through his night-vision binoculars, he watched the panicked mercenaries disembarking from their transport trucks, fanning out with assault rifles drawn, ready to blow the estate's reinforced perimeter open with C4 charges.
"Commander," a tactical radio operator reported from inside the mobile command hub. "The Ferrer private guard has surrounded the outer perimeter. They’re positioning breaching charges on the main gates."
Alexander Vance’s voice crackled calmly over the secure military channel from an undisclosed location miles away. "Let them plant the charges. Do not interfere until the countdown reaches zero."
"Copy that, sir. Standing by."
Back at the gates, the commander of the Ferrer mercenary squad shouted orders over the comms. "Plant the charges! Blow the reinforced hinges! Leave no survivors inside—orders from the patriarch himself!"
Three mercenaries rushed forward, slapping heavy magnetic C4 blocks onto the massive steel hinges of the estate's main entrance. They scrambled back behind cover, raising their detonators.
"Three... Two... One... Detonate!"
KA-BOOM!
A blinding flash of orange fire and a shockwave ripped through the night air. The heavy iron gates shuddered violently—and then settled right back into place, completely undamaged. The blast had merely scorched the paint.
The mercenary commander stared in absolute shock. "What kind of alloy is that?! That charge could blow open a bank vault!"
Before he could process the failure, a series of sharp, metallic clicks echoed from the perimeter walls. Dozens of automated anti-personnel defense turrets—hidden inside the estate’s landscaping and perimeter light poles—suddenly pivoted downward. Their bright green targeting lasers locked instantly onto every single mercenary in the courtyard.
"Warning," an artificial voice echoed from the estate's exterior loudspeakers. "You have breached a restricted autonomous defense zone. Drop your weapons immediately, or lethal engagement will commence."
The mercenaries raised their rifles in panic, but before they could fire a single shot, a barrage of non-lethal high-frequency sonic pulses erupted from the perimeter walls.
CRACK-BOOM.
The invisible wave of sound hit the courtyard like a physical freight train. Over a hundred heavily armed mercenaries dropped their weapons simultaneously, clutching their heads, screaming in agony as their eardrums rang and their equilibrium shattered completely. Within ten seconds, the entire private army was sprawled across the pavement, neutralized without a single drop of blood being shed.
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Captain Vance lowered his binoculars on the command vehicle roof and smiled grimly into his radio.
"Perimeter secured, sir. The cavalry never even had to leave the base."
