Chapter 457: Explosion
Her gaze slid past his shoulder to the ventilation grate in the corner of the lab, where the faintest scrape of metal whispered against metal. "Your arrogance will be your epitaph."
Before the words fully left her lips, she snapped her head forward, smashing her forehead into Gerald's nose.
Cartilage crunched. Gerald staggered backward, the syringe spinning from his grip. In the same breath, Emily brought her knees up, threading her bound wrists beneath her legs and flipping them to the front. The rope still bit into her skin, but now she had room to move.
She snatched the metal tray from the examination table and swung it into the left guard's face. As he reeled back clutching his shattered nose, she dropped low and yanked the pistol from his belt.
"Stop her!"
The gunshot cracked through the sealed laboratory. Emily didn't aim for flesh—she aimed for the ceiling sprinkler. Water exploded downward in sheets, instantly blurring everyone's vision. She rolled behind an equipment cart, leveling the barrel at the cultivation chamber's control panel.
"Don't move! Five rounds left—more than enough to blow every viral sample you have. Gerald, tell your men to back off!"
Gerald pressed a hand to his bleeding nose, eyes bloodshot with fury. "You think I won't call your bluff?"
Emily smiled, water streaming down her lashes.
"Oh, you would. But you can't afford to."
In the heartbeat of their standoff, the ventilation grate exploded inward. A shadow dropped like a hunting cat—Fiona, drenched in blood, her left arm wrapped in a crimson-soaked bandage. She'd clearly fought her way back from the cliff ambush. She hit the floor without breaking stride, chopping the nearest guard's throat with the edge of her hand, seizing his submachine gun, and unleashing suppressive fire.
"Ms. Natasha! Move!"
Emily didn't hesitate. She bolted toward Fiona.
But Gerald slammed the alarm. All four laboratory doors slid open simultaneously, disgorging a dozen armed guards. Bullets sparked off metal casings. Emily dove back behind cover, magazine empty.
"Damn it!" Fiona shielded Emily with her body, the submachine gun spitting fire, but there were too many. She fought backward step by step. "Ms. Natasha, the duct! I'll cover you!"
"We go together!"
Emily grabbed a fallen stun baton, jamming it into an approaching guard's carotid the instant he closed in. He convulsed and dropped. She seized his pistol, firing with surgical precision—every shot to a kneecap or gun hand.
She had limited strength. Every bullet had to count.
Gerald crawled toward the main console, fingers flying over the keys. "Initiate self-destruct! If I can't have it, no one will!"
Red alarm lights strobed. The countdown flashed onscreen: 00:10:00.
"You maniac!"
Fiona kicked an incoming guard across the room and hauled Emily up by the wrist. "Ms. Natasha, we have to leave now!"
But the exits were locked down by gunfire. A stray round grazed Emily's shoulder, blood soaking through fabric. Her movements slowed, breathing labored. Fiona shoved her behind a support column, positioning herself as a human shield. Her marksmanship was lethal, her close-quarters combat even more so—every strike carried killing intent—but the enemy kept coming in waves, and fresh wounds bloomed across her body.
"Fiona, leave me—"
"Shut up!"
Fiona didn't even turn, crushing a guard's windpipe with the rifle stock. "Where the hell is Charles?"
00:06:23.
Just as Emily's magazine clicked empty and a guard's barrel pressed against the back of her skull, the main door exploded inward. Charles stormed through in black tactical gear, assault rifle blazing, punching a spray of blood through the guard's chest.
"Emily!"
His voice came out shredded, pupils contracting violently at the sight of her bloodied shoulder. But he didn't slow. He moved with nearly feral precision, clearing enemies with ruthless efficiency. Every shot found a vital—as if he wanted to tear apart everyone who'd dared touch her.
"Mr. Windsor, right flank!" Nathan burst in from the side with the shadow guard, forming a pincer with Fiona.
Charles reached Emily and crushed her against his chest, hand trembling as it pressed her bleeding shoulder. "Where else? Tell me where else you're hurt."
Emily sagged against him. "I'm fine... What took you... so long..."
Charles's eyes reddened. He swept her into his arms. "My fault. Let's go home."
Fiona carved a path ahead, her combat prowess unleashed in full. She snapped two guards' necks barehanded, seized their weapons, and dual-wielded through the firestorm, cutting a blood-soaked corridor through sheer force of will.
00:02:15.
"Everyone out! Now!"
Charles bolted for the side emergency passage with Emily cradled in his arms. Fiona became the shield, taking rounds meant for their backs. Blood flowered across her spine, but she didn't even flinch—just spent her last round on a pursuing guard.
Gerald crawled toward the console, trying to abort the self-destruct, when a stray bullet tore through his thigh. He screamed, collapsing, watching Charles carry Emily away. Mad laughter bubbled from his throat. "You won't escape! We all die! We all—"
The words died.
A second bullet struck the cultivation chamber's cooling system. Liquid nitrogen met superheated circuitry in a catastrophic chain reaction. The blast hurled Gerald into the reinforced glass. Shattered panes impaled his chest.
Charles felt the heat wave surge behind him. He curled tighter around Emily, his back absorbing the shockwave's edge. Fiona lunged forward at the last second, using her flesh to block the flying shrapnel.
"Go!"
The emergency door warped from the blast. Nathan and his men wrenched it open. Charles, Emily limp in his arms, was first through. Fiona followed, tactical vest soaked crimson, footsteps still rock-steady. She turned and fired into the advancing flames, detonating the lab's gas lines.
The second explosion was apocalyptic. The entire underground facility began to collapse. Charles sprinted through the passage with Emily's head lolling against his arm, her face paper-white, breathing almost imperceptible.
"Emily, don't sleep. Look at me. Talk to me. Please..."
She didn't respond.
The exit loomed ahead. Fiona kicked the twisted door off its hinges. Blinding daylight poured in. Charles practically stumbled out, gently lowering Emily onto the waiting ambulance gurney, fingers clamped around her wrist, desperately searching for that threadbare pulse.