Chapter 4 - Total BlackoutThe backup generators kicked in three seconds later, bathing the trauma wing in an eerie, sickly amber glow.
The digital clocks on the wall blinked zeroes. The central nursing monitors flickered, screen after screen turning into a wash of static before rebooting with a high-pitched whine.
Inside the suite, Vincent was instantly alert. The relaxed posture vanished, replaced by the coiled readiness of a predator in the dark. His hand drifted automatically toward his empty holster before he remembered he was stripped down to a blood-soaked undershirt.
“That wasn't a power surge,” Vincent said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “That was an EMP pulse or a hard grid shutdown.”
Nora stepped toward the wall panel. “The backup system should have kept the core monitors running. Something tripped the main breakers manually from the basement.”
Outside, the chaos erupted instantly.
The heavy glass doors of the trauma unit rattled as three masked figures dressed in black tactical gear burst into the hallway, assault rifles raised. Caleb and his men reacted with ruthless, lethal efficiency. Two of the intruders went down before they even cleared the doorway, caught in a barrage of silenced gunfire that shredded the drywall.
The third gunman threw a flash-bang grenade directly toward the nurses' station.
“Get down!” Caleb roared, diving behind a steel pillar.
Flash! Bang!
A blinding white light and a deafening shockwave shattered the remaining glass windows, plunging the corridor into white-hot chaos. Screams echoed from the lower floors. Alarms wailed, blending with the sharp pop of automatic gunfire echoing up the stairwells.
Inside the trauma room, the heavy blast doors absorbed most of the concussion, but the impact sent a tremor through the floor.
Vincent swung his legs off the side of the bed, ignoring the raw, agonizing pull of his stitches.
“Stay back!” Nora ordered, stepping in front of him despite her own terror. “Your stitches will burst!”
“They’re here for me, Nora,” Vincent said, his voice cold, flat, and lethal. He pushed past her with terrifying strength, his bare feet hitting the blood-stained floor. The man who had been helpless on the table ten minutes ago was gone; in his place stood the crime lord of Chicago, a man who built an empire on blood, grit, and absolute dominance.
“You can’t walk out there bleeding,” Nora argued, grabbing a heavy surgical tray as a makeshift weapon. “You’ll hemorrhage in thirty seconds!”
“If I stay here, they kill both of us,” Vincent retorted, grabbing her by the upper arm—not with the panic of a man terrified of touch, but with the steady, unyielding grip of a soldier taking a tactical position. His skin was warm, the panic of the past decade entirely burned away by the immediate threat of execution. “Can you handle a firearm?”
Nora stared at him, her eyes wide. “I’m a nurse, not a hitman!”
“The guard who dropped by the east stairwell left his Glock in the corridor drop-box,” Vincent said, his eyes scanning the dim hallway through the cracked glass. “We have twenty seconds before the next wave clears the stairwell. Are you going to help me survive this, or are you going to stand there and wait to be executed?”
Nora looked at the doorway, then down at her hands—hands that had spent years saving lives, now faced with the grim reality of taking them.
May you like
The hesitation lasted precisely one second.
“Lead the way,” she whispered.
