26 - Ambush

26 - Ambush

Thompson eased the car to a stop a block away from the abandoned facility on Berkeley Street. The structure loomed ahead—tall, worn down, its faded walls covered in graffiti and grime. Overgrown weeds swallowed the pavement leading up to the entrance, and a rusted metal fence surrounded the perimeter. Everything about the place screamed desolation, but something about it also felt... off.

For some reason it was quiet. Not that they weren't expecting some form of silence but Thompson couldn't help but feel like it was too quiet for his liking. Something about all of this didn't sit well with him at all.

Thompson turned off the engine and exhaled. "We need to be careful," he muttered. "I'm not sure what we're walking into in here and the last thing I would want is for us to be blindsided."

Hera was already ahead of him, pulling out her phone and dialing. She waited, her fingers tightening around the device when the call failed to connect. She tried again. Nothing.

She glanced at Thompson, concern flickering in her eyes. "Do you think they're in trouble?"

He pulled his gun from his holster, checking the magazine before securing it back. "They can hold their own."

Hera didn’t seem convinced, but she nodded. They had a mission to complete.

As they approached the entrance, Hera's sharp gaze snapped upward. Two small, round security cameras were perched on the upper corners of the facility, their red lights blinking faintly.

She gestured subtly. Thompson followed her line of sight and smirked. "You know what to do."

Hera pulled out her silencer, aimed, and fired. The bullets hit their marks with precision, shattering the lenses. The cameras sparked and fizzled before going dark.

No alarms. No movement inside.

For now.

They exchanged a brief nod before moving toward the entrance, their senses sharp, their weapons ready.

Hera and Thompson stepped into the facility, moving with controlled precision. The air was thick with dust and the faint, sterile scent of chemicals, like the place had once been an industrial lab. Rows of abandoned workstations lined the walls, their metal surfaces rusted and covered in grime. Cabinets hung open, their contents long ransacked. Faint emergency lights flickered overhead, casting eerie shadows along the cracked tile floor.

Thompson kept his gun raised as they maneuvered past overturned desks and broken equipment. “Stay sharp,” he muttered.

Hera, scanning every darkened corner, nodded. Her grip on her weapon was firm, her breaths controlled. They moved in sync, clearing room after room—old offices, storage areas, even what looked like a breakroom with shattered vending machines. But so far, nothing. No guards. No signs of struggle. Just a hollow emptiness that made her stomach tighten.

Then, at the end of a dimly lit hallway, a heavy metal door. Unlike the others, this one was locked.

Thompson knelt down, inspecting the electronic keypad beside it. “This looks new,” he murmured. “Too new for an abandoned building.”

Hera’s pulse quickened. She turned her attention to the small ventilation grate above the door. A faint hum of movement. Breathing. Someone was inside.

Thompson glanced at her. No words were needed. He stood, squared his stance, and kicked the door. The lock groaned but didn’t give. He kicked again, harder this time. Metal screeched, and with a final, forceful slam of his shoulder, the door burst open.

Inside, tied to metal chairs, sat three people—a man and two women. Their clothes were wrinkled and dirty, their wrists red and raw from the ropes binding them.

Hera stepped forward, holstering her gun as she hurried toward them. “We’ve got them,” she breathed.

Hera worked quickly, her fingers fumbling as she loosened the bindings around the diplomats' wrists. The two women whimpered in relief as the restraints fell away, rubbing at their raw skin. The man, however, remained rigid, his eyes darting between her and Thompson with barely concealed alarm.

Thompson took a step back, pulling out his phone. His fingers moved with practiced ease as he dialed Jacob. Pressing it to his ear, he turned slightly, scanning the dimly lit basement as he spoke.

“We found them, sir.”

The response came immediately—loud, urgent.

"Thompson! You need to get out of there now! It’s a trap!"

Hera’s hands faltered. She turned her head toward Thompson, feeling a sharp pulse of unease at the urgency in Jacob’s voice.

Thompson’s entire posture shifted. His grip on his phone tightened. “What?”

Jacob’s breath came fast, ragged. “I just received intel—the place is riddled with Calvary members. You’re surrounded.”

Hera’s stomach twisted. She glanced at the male diplomat, suddenly more aware of the tension in his body, the sheer panic in his eyes.

Her hands moved to the duct tape covering his mouth. She peeled it away, expecting a gasp of relief. Instead, the man barely inhaled before whispering, his voice raw with dread—

“What have you done?”

The words barely left his lips before a deafening sound rocked the entire building.

A destructive boom ruptured the air, swallowing every sound in its wake. The explosion ripped through the basement, sending shockwaves through the walls. The force sent Hera flying backward, her body weightless for a split second before crashing onto the hard concrete. A sharp burst of pain shot through her skull, and her vision flickered.

The room was chaos. Smoke and dust filled the air, reducing everything to shadowed outlines. A ringing sound pulsed in Hera’s ears, drowning out every other noise. Through the haze, she saw the diplomats sprawled across the floor, groaning in pain. Thompson was somewhere to her right, his silhouette barely visible through the thick dust.

Her limbs felt heavy, sluggish. She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out beneath her. A deep, suffocating dizziness threatened to drag her under.

She barely registered the flickering emergency lights or the way the ground trembled beneath her. Something wasn’t right. The explosion had been close—too close. If it had been any stronger…

A voice, distant yet urgent, called her name.

“Hera!”

It sounded like Thompson. Or maybe Jacob. She couldn’t tell. Her head pounded, and her vision blurred again, her body sinking into the cold ground.

Footsteps. Multiple. Heavy boots moving toward them.

The last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was a shadowed figure stepping through the smoke.