When Hadassah thought going after the criminal CEO, Orian Moon, was going to be her biggest feat yet. The hunter becomes the hunted.
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Hadassah Moor makes the f...
The reports keep pouring in. My men and I have breached the compound from all sides, my forces swept through, creating chokepoints, forcing the last of Gaza's soldiers to the inner ring. Where Gaza himself is holed up in a secure bunker. Prior to the invasion, we collapsed the emergency tunnels that would've led him to safety faster than we could reach him. He was well-prepared for any threat.
But he wasn't prepared for me.
The entire compound is protected by a broad embankment raised as a fortification surmounted by a parapet. The multifunction walls with watch towers are now swarming with my snipers, observing from the defensive boundary of the ramparts. Soon, this entire compound will be a grave filled with the stench of rotting carcasses, a burning mirage of eternal damnation. And it was Gaza who lit the fire that brought me here, a reaper ready to collect new souls.
We are now three levels in. At the edge of the epicentre.
My troop and I travel in close-quarters, moving crouched and fast. We advance close together, arranged for the tactical concentration of force. Armed with automatic weapons with various optics and detachable accessories, fitted with an under barrel grenade launcher.
Gaza's foot soldiers are all equipped with AK-103 assault rifles. Russian.
I hold up a fist. The two rows behind me halts.
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Shoulder to the wall, I peer around the corner. The tsuka, the hilt of the sword, is extended from my rear. The last corridor to the vault where Gaza's being kept is accessed by a ingress fortified with a retinal and biometric palm scanner, which means we need one of them alive. The passage is long and brimming with die hard loyalists ready to protect him to the bloody end.
I give the signal and we all put on our full-face gas masks. I unclip a smoke grenade from the covert tactical vest; the device is rigged with an external fuse. I ignite it before I expose myself and fling it—the grenade goes hurtling through the air before it explodes with a clangourous bang, bursting with white phosphorus that rises like a living vaporous being, ready to devour everything in sight. It spreads quickly, ravenously and densely. A fog growing into an instantaneous white cloud of concealment.
We breach. We storm through, charging inside weapons blazing, scattered bright flashes illuminate the pale haze. A cacophony of gunshots ricocheting like we're in the heart of a thunderhead. An orchestra of sporadic gunfire followed by mindless screaming in blind desperation. More shots thunder through the smoke, screams tearing through, their lives evaporating with their last breath. They are just target practice at this point; the gas clogging up their lungs, distracting them with a fit of frame-wracking coughs.
