Chapter 150
Raven
"CONTACT! SHOTS FIRED IN THE SMOKE!"
"Was that Jenkins?!"
"Mark! Sound off!"
Silence.
"Fuck! FUCK! She's in there!"
"I can't see shit, man! I can't—"
"Hold positions! She can't see any better than—"
I shot the voice. Single shot. Center mass. The Kevlar stopped it, but the impact dropped him to his knees, gasping. Second shot to the exposed knee joint. He went down screaming.
The remaining guards stumbled backward, rifles sweeping blindly through the white haze.
"Thermal's useless!"
"Gas masks! Where are the fucking gas masks?!"
"Too late for that shit!"
"You worthless fucks!" Bear mask's voice cracked through the chaos from somewhere safe behind the guards. "She's just one person! Get in there! RUSH HER!"
"Then YOU rush her!" a guard shouted back. "We're not dying for your trafficking ring!"
"I'm PAYING you to—"
"Miranda's dead, you idiot!" Another guard. "Contract's void! We don't work for corpses!"
Beautiful. The social contract disintegrating in real time.
"Listen to me!" the team leader barked, his voice cutting through the panic. "We're not going in there blind. THEY are."
A pause. Then understanding rippled through the guards.
"Oh, fuck no—" Pig mask started.
"Everyone with a mask!" the team leader shouted. "You want to live? Get into that smoke and flush her out! NOW!"
"Are you INSANE?!" Wolf mask shrieked. "That's suicide!"
"No," the team leader said, voice cold as ice. "Refusing is suicide."
Three gunshots cracked through the air.
Three masked bodies hit the floor. Clean headshots. Professional.
The message was clear.
"Anyone else want to debate?" the team leader asked pleasantly.
The remaining masked guests stared at their dead colleagues. Then at the guards. Then at the wall of white smoke.
"Move," the team leader ordered. "Or die here. Your choice."
Pig mask was the first to break. He grabbed a champagne bottle and stumbled toward the smoke, whimpering. Others followed—some grabbing table legs, broken bottles, decorative swords ripped from walls. Thirty-plus people, driven forward like cattle to slaughter.
"Here's the deal," the team leader called after them, voice carrying through the smoke. "You get close to her, make noise, flush her out. We'll handle the rest."
"You mean you'll shoot US!" Bear mask stopped at the edge of the smoke. "We're BAIT!"
"Bait that gets to live if it does its job," the team leader confirmed. "Now MOVE!"
More shots. These ones aimed at feet. At legs. Driving the crowd forward like sheep.
They stumbled into the smoke, screaming, cursing, begging.
And I smiled beneath my rabbit mask.
Perfect.
---
The first figure to emerge from the smoke was Wolf mask, clutching his crystal decanter like a talisman. His eyes were wild, scanning desperately through the white haze.
He saw me.
For exactly half a second, relief flooded his face. "Thank God, I—"
I shot him in the foot.
He went down shrieking, and the guards—tracking the sound—opened fire.
Not at me.
At the noise.
Bullets tore through Wolf mask's body. Three rounds. Five. A dozen. He jerked like a puppet, his screams cutting off into wet gurgles.
"CEASE FIRE!" someone shouted. "You're hitting the—"
"KEEP FIRING!" the team leader roared back. "I don't care WHO we hit! She's in there!"
More figures stumbled through the smoke. Pig mask, Bear mask, Raven mask—all clutching improvised weapons, all realizing too late what was happening.
"They're shooting at US!" Pig mask screamed. "We're the TARGETS!"
"RUN!" someone else shouted.
But there was nowhere to run. Behind them, guards. Ahead of them, me. To the sides, more guards.
The panic was delicious.
I moved through them like a ghost. Step, pivot, slash. My knife found throats, hamstrings, femoral arteries. Not always fatal—just disabling enough to make them scream.
And every scream drew more gunfire from the guards.
"She's over there!"
"No, THERE!"
"Fuck, I can't tell who's who!"
The guards were shooting at shadows now. At sounds. At their own desperation. In the chaos, masked guests and guards alike were dropping.
A hand grabbed my ankle.
I looked down. Raven mask, crawling through his own blood, trying to pull himself away from the carnage. His designer mask was cracked, revealing terrified eyes.
"Please," he wheezed, voice breaking. "Please, I didn't—we were TRICKED! They USED us!"
"And you used children," I said, crouching beside him. "Funny how that works."
"I never—I don't—" His words dissolved into sobs. "They shot us! THEY SHOT US!"
"I know." I tilted my head. "Betrayal stings, doesn't it?"
Behind him, more screams. More gunfire. The guards were executing anyone who stumbled out of the smoke now, masked or not, couldn't tell the difference.
"You were saying?" I prompted, pressing my knife against his throat.
"I just wanted—I was just—" He choked on blood and terror. "Please, I have money, I have—"
"You have nothing."
I drove the knife through his hand, pinning it to the floor. His scream joined the symphony of the dying.
"But don't worry," I whispered, standing. "You'll have company soon enough."