Chapter 8 - The Siege of Blackwood IslandBlackwood Island sat three miles off the rocky Maine coast, shrouded in perpetual fog, anchored by a monolithic Victorian-era psychiatric hospital that had been abandoned by the state in the 1980s and secretly converted into an off-the-books detention facility by corrupt political elites.
The Hail Global helicopter touched down in the overgrown courtyard behind the asylum, its rotors kicking up a vortex of dead leaves and frozen mud.
Victor jumped down first, followed by Marcus and four tactical operatives. The iron doors of the facility loomed before them, reinforced with modern electronic keypads and security cameras.
"Cut the power," Victor ordered.
An operative stepped forward with a localized EMP generator, pressing it against the main electrical junction box. With a sharp hiss and a shower of blue sparks, the building’s exterior lights flickered and died, plunging the courtyard into pitch-black darkness, illuminated only by the strobing red lights of the helicopter.
"Move in," Victor barked.
They breached the heavy iron doors with a hydraulic wedge, the metal groaning before bursting inward.
Inside, the air smelled of damp stone, old medicine, and industrial bleach. They swept through the ground-floor corridors in a tight tactical diamond formation, boots echoing against the cracked tile floors.
"Cell block C is downstairs," Marcus muttered, checking his digital tablet map. "Sensor readings show human heat signatures in sub-level two."
They descended the concrete stairwell into the damp bowels of the asylum. Heavy iron-barred doors lined the corridor on both sides. Most were empty, their rusted hinges sagging open like broken jaws.
At the end of the hall stood a reinforced steel door with a sliding observation hatch.
Victor sprinted down the corridor, ignoring the shouting guards who rounded the corner from the security station.
Bang! Bang!
Marcus and the tactical team returned fire instantly, neutralizing the two guards with synchronized precision before they could raise their submachine guns.
Victor reached the heavy door, ignoring the electronic keypad. He grabbed a heavy crowbar from an operative’s hand, wedged it into the locking mechanism, and threw his entire body weight against it.
Crack!
The steel bolt sheared off. Victor yanked the door open and stepped inside the freezing, windowless cell.
In the center of the room, strapped to a medical gurney with leather restraints, lay a woman. Her face was pale, her cheeks hollowed, her dark hair matted with sweat. An intravenous drip hung from a rusted metal pole beside her, pumping a clear sedative into her arm.
"Elena," Victor whispered, rushing forward and snapping the leather straps with his bare hands.
May you like
The woman’s eyelids fluttered open. She looked up at Victor with glazed, terrified eyes. "Maya... Leo... are my babies... are they safe?"
"They're safe," Victor said, his voice cracking for the first time in a year as he pulled her frail body into his arms, wrapping his own jacket around her shivering shoulders. "They're waiting for you in the penthouse. We're going home."
