Chapter 9 - The Traitor's Price-9
The tactical operator reached into his heavy utility vest and pulled out a small, rectangular strip of gray plastic explosive—a localized linear breaching charge designed to shear through reinforced glass frames without causing a structural collapse. He pressed the adhesive strip along the seam of the steel frame, connecting a wireless detonator to the base.
"Get down!" Liam screamed, lunging back toward the console desk.
He threw his large frame over my body, pinning me flat against the floorboards just as the room erupted in a blinding flash of orange fire and a deafening, concussive BOOM.
The reinforced glass door didn't just shatter; it exploded inward in a million lethal projectiles that sprayed across the server room like shrapnel. The heavy metal cabinet Liam had wedged against the door was blown off its tracks, crashing into the first row of server racks with a terrifying scream of tearing metal and short-circuiting wires.
Thick, acrid gray smoke flooded the room, blinding us and choking our lungs.
Through the haze, I heard the rapid, rhythmic pop-pop-pop of submachine guns as the tactical team cleared the doorway, firing into the smoke to suppress any resistance. The bullets tore through the fiberglass panels of the console desk above our heads, showering us in a rain of white dust and sparks.
Liam didn't hesitate. As the first operator stepped through the smoke, his weapon lowered to scan the floor, Liam launched himself upward from beneath the desk like a coiled spring.
He slammed his shoulder into the operator’s chest, driving him back into the shattered frame of the door. The operator’s weapon fired wildly into the ceiling as Liam grabbed his wrist, twisting the gun out of his grip with raw, adrenaline-fueled strength. Liam drove the small utility knife into the soft tissue beneath the operator's tactical vest, causing the man to scream in agony and drop to his knees.
But before Liam could secure the dropped submachine gun, the second operator stepped into the room, raising his weapon and aiming it directly at Liam’s head.
"Liam! No!" I screamed, reaching up from the floor and grabbing the heavy interface cable connected to the console desk.
With a desperate, violent heave, I tore the cable out of its port, dragging a heavy, high-voltage diagnostic terminal off the desk with it. The heavy steel terminal box crashed down directly onto the second operator’s extended arms, shattering his wrists and forcing him to drop his weapon with a howl of pain.
But the victory was short-lived.
A heavy boot slammed into my side, catching my fractured ribs with a brutal force that turned the world into a spinning vortex of pure white agony. The air left my lungs in a ragged gasp, and I fell back against the concrete floor, completely paralyzed by the pain.
Ethan stood over me, his face twisted into a demonic mask of triumph. He reached down, grabbed the collar of my shirt, and dragged me up to my knees, pressing the cold barrel of a silver compact pistol against my temple.
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"It’s over, Clara," Ethan hissed, his breath hot and smelling of stale alcohol against my neck. "Look at your brother. Tell him to drop the gun, or I will paint this entire wall with your brains right now."
I blinked through the tears of pain, looking across the smoky room. Liam was standing near the shattered doorway, holding the first operator’s submachine gun raised, his eyes locked onto Ethan with a freezing, desperate intensity. But he couldn't fire. Not with the pistol pressed flush against my skull.
