Chapter 4 - Breach of ProtocolThe heavy oak front door didn't just open—it shattered inward in a shower of splintered wood and flying brass screws.
A flashbang grenade sailed through the shattered frame, landing squarely on the living room rug with a blinding white flare and an ear-splitting concussion that knocked me off my feet. My vision blurred into swirling patches of white and black, and a high-pitched ringing pierced my eardrums.
"Clear! Room clear!"
Through the haze of acrid smoke, heavy combat boots swarmed into the house. Figures dressed head-to-toe in matte-black tactical gear, their faces obscured by reinforced gas masks and night-vision visors, poured through the entryway. Their assault rifles were raised, sweep-checking every corner of the room with terrifying, military-grade precision.
"Target secured! Primary objective spotted!" one of them barked into a shoulder-mounted comms unit.
I struggled to push myself up off the floor, my head pounding as if a drum were beating against my skull. "Get away from my children!" I roared, lunging forward blindly.
A heavy, gloved hand caught me by the collar and slammed me brutally against the living room wall. The impact knocked the remaining wind out of my lungs. A cold, black rifle barrel pressed firmly against my temple.
"Stay down, civilian," a synthesized, metallic voice growled from behind the gas mask. "Interference will result in immediate termination."
Through my blurred vision, I saw Lily screaming, her voice lost in the roaring tinnitus in my ears. Two tactical operatives swooped down on the couch, grabbing both Lily and Tommy despite Lily’s desperate, scratching attempts to fight them off.
"No! Let go of my brother! Daddy! Daddy, help us!" Lily’s piercing screams tore through my heart.
"Lily! Tommy!" I thrashed against the operative holding me, but his grip was like a hydraulic clamp.
Then, stepping calmly through the shattered doorway, unbothered by the smoke and chaos, came a man in an expensive tailored grey suit. He wore no tactical gear, only a sleek silver lapel pin shaped like a double helix. His silver hair was combed back with clinical neatness, and a warm, grandfatherly smile sat unnaturally on his weathered face.
He stopped a few feet away from me, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses.
"David, my dear boy," the man said smoothly, his voice carrying an upper-class British accent that made my blood run cold. "I'm so sorry about the mess. But your wife has been harboring company property for far too long."
My eyes darted across the room. Elena wasn't fighting the guards. She was standing by the kitchen island, calmly smoothing down her trench coat, her expression completely blank.
"Elena..." I choked out, blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. "Tell me this isn't true. Tell me you didn't lead them here."
Elena slowly turned her head to look at me. Her eyes were devoid of any emotion—no warmth, no guilt, no remorse. Just cold, calculating survival.
"I'm sorry, David," she said evenly. "The syndicate offered full immunity and a fresh identity in exchange for the viable gene carriers. You were a wonderful husband, but collateral damage is a necessary part of the protocol."
May you like
The man in the grey suit chuckled warmly, clapping his hands together once.
"Brilliant as always, Dr. Vance," the man smiled, turning his attention to me. "And as for you, David... thank you for keeping our specimens warm until we could finally pick them up."
