CHAPTER 302: CHAPTER - 302

Chapter - 302

Rick lowered his boot, which was currently grinding a mixture of wet shipyard gravel and industrial soot into a rug that probably cost more than the entire Morningstar Motel. He looked at the pattern—intricate silk weaving, deep crimsons and golds—and then at the muddy footprint he’d just left on it.

"My apologies," Rick said, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous penthouse. "I usually wipe my feet, but your elevator didn’t have a mat. Just six guys with machine guns. We made a mess."

Marnus Warner sat on the white leather couch like a king on a throne, his legs crossed, a crystal flute of champagne resting casually in his hand. He didn’t look at the rug. He looked at Rick, then at Sharon, his expression one of mild, detached amusement, as if he were watching a reality show contestant try to solve a puzzle they were clearly too stupid to understand.

"It’s fine," Marnus said, his voice smooth, cultured, and dripping with the kind of arrogance that only comes from owning the skyline you’re looking at. "I’ll have it burned. Along with everything else in this room after you’re dead. It’s tainted now."

He took a sip of champagne. "You smell like a fish market, Mr. Smith. Is that... eau de trout?"

"Clownfish, actually," Rick corrected, tightening his grip on the stolen assault rifle. "And a little bit of your security team’s blood. It’s an acquired scent."

Sharon stepped out of the elevator behind him, her gun raised, scanning the room with wide, frantic eyes. The penthouse was a glass box in the sky, offering a 360-degree view of the city lights below. It was breathtakingly beautiful and terrifyingly exposed.

In the center, Nadia hung suspended from the ceiling by heavy industrial chains wrapped around her wrists. Her toes barely grazed the floor. She was battered, her tactical catsuit torn, her face swollen. Wired to her chest was a complex mess of C4 blocks and blinking LEDs. She was conscious, her eyes fluttering open, groggy and pain-filled. She saw Rick, and a flicker of confusion, then pure, unfiltered hate crossed her face.

"You..." she croaked.

"Don’t start," Rick warned her without looking back. "We’re here to save you. Try to look grateful."

Surrounding the couch, standing perfectly still, were the six men. The Elite Guard. They were not the rent-a-cops from the lobby. They were not the tactical teams from the parking lot. These men were built like tanks, encased in matte-grey, articulated body armor that looked custom-molded. Their faces were hidden behind sleek, full-face helmets with glowing blue visors that hummed with electronic activity. The weapons in their hands were short, bullpup carbines that looked like they spat depleted uranium.

They didn’t fidget. They didn’t aim. They just... waited.

"You have five seconds to surrender," Sharon shouted, trying to project authority she didn’t feel. "This building is surrounded! There is no way out!"

Marnus laughed. It was a dry, dusty sound. "Lieutenant Vintner. Always the optimist. My building is not surrounded. My building is locked down. Johnson’s little hack got you into the elevator, but I control the airwaves now. No one is coming. And as for these gentlemen..." He gestured to the six armored figures. "...they are not paid to arrest you. They are paid to erase you."

[System Notification: Threat Assessment]

[Enemy Type: Cyber-Enhanced Mercenary (Elite)]

[Threat Level: Extremely High]

[Weakness: None Detected via Scan. Armor is resistant to small arms fire. Visors provide aim-assist and thermal tracking.]

Rick saw the notification and grimaced. "Great. Robocops."

He decided to test his new toy. He focused on the nearest guard, a behemoth standing near the wet bar. He channeled his intent, activated the skill, and let his voice boom.

"SLEEP."

The Voice of Command

rippled through the room, a subsonic pressure wave that rattled the champagne glass in Marnus’s hand.

The guard flinched. His head snapped back a fraction of an inch. The blue light on his visor flickered red for a millisecond... and then stabilized back to blue. He shook his head, as if clearing a buzzing fly, and raised his weapon.

[System Notification: Skill Resisted.]

[Target has auditory dampeners and neural stimulant implants. ’Voice of Command’ ineffective on Elite Tier enemies.]

"Well," Rick said, bringing his rifle up. "That was disappointing."

"Kill them," Marnus said, sounding bored.

The room exploded.

It wasn’t like the chaotic spray-and-pray at the motel. This was precision violence. The six guards moved with terrifying, synchronized speed. They didn’t run; they glided.

The first guard fired. It wasn’t a loud bang, but a high-pitched thwip-thwip-thwip as caseless rounds tore through the air at hypersonic speeds.

Rick dove right, tackling Sharon behind a massive, solid marble pillar just as the space they had been standing in was chewed into dust.

"They’re using railguns!" Sharon shrieked, huddled behind the marble as chunks of stone rained down on them. "Who has railguns

in a penthouse?!"

"A guy who hates Persian rugs!" Rick yelled back. He leaned out and fired a burst from his stolen rifle. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the chest plate of the advancing guard. It was like shooting a tank with a BB gun. "And they’re bulletproof! Perfect!"

"Aim for the visor!" Sharon yelled, popping out on the other side and double-tapping her SIG Sauer. Her aim was true. Two rounds struck the faceplate of the second guard.

The glass cracked, spiderwebbing, but it didn’t break. The guard didn’t even slow down. He returned fire, a stream of rounds shredding the expensive leather armchair Sharon had used for cover, forcing her to scramble backward across the floor on her elbows.

"Visors are reinforced!" she yelled. "We need heavier ordnance!"

"I’m fresh out of rocket launchers!" Rick checked his inventory mentally. Cash. Diamonds. Stolen watch. Lint. "Unless you want to bribe them to death, we’re screwed!"

They were being flanked. The guards were moving in a pincer formation, closing the net. Rick could hear their heavy boots crunching on the broken glass and debris. They were efficient, emotionless exterminators.

Rick needed an edge. He needed to change the math.

[System Notification: Quest ’The Tower of Babel’ in progress.]

[Tip: You have unlocked ’Aura of Dread’. While passive, it can be ’Overclocked’ for a short burst of intense, paralyzing fear. Cost: 50% Stamina.]

"Overclock!" Rick screamed in his head. "Do it!"

He felt a cold, dark wave rush out of him, a psychic shockwave of pure nightmare fuel. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. The shadows lengthened. A primal, reptilian hiss seemed to echo in the corners of the room.

The effect on the Elite Guards was immediate, though not catastrophic. They paused. The synchronized fluid movement hitched. The guard flanking Rick on the right stopped, his head turning slightly, looking at a shadow that wasn’t there. The one advancing on Sharon lowered his weapon an inch, hesitating.

It wasn’t total paralysis, but it was a window.

"Sharon! Flashbang!" Rick yelled, hoping she had one in her tactical vest.

"I don’t have a flashbang!" she yelled back.

"Improvise, fucking hell!"

"Who made you a cop?"

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