𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝟐 | 𝟏𝟖+

Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ Sᴇᴠᴇɴᴛᴇᴇɴ: Wʜᴇʀᴇ ⵊs Hᴇ?

"Wait for my go..."

In the back of the car, I suit up. I holster two loaded pistols. One on each hip. I sheath knives within reach. The vest I slip on next is heavy with extra magazines. Frag grenades and flash bangs hang from my belt like deadly fruit, just waiting to be plucked and thrown at our enemies. And finally, an automatic rifle. Extended magazine. One hundred rounds of ammunition.

"Go."

I step out of the car. There's no tenderness in my heart, no mercy in my soul. Alonzo made another fatal mistake, threatening my family, again. Now it's time for him to pay the price, again.

I walk towards the main entrance, Amell and Ramos flanking me like twin shadows. Behind us, a thousand members of the crew follow, a sea of grim faces and determined eyes. We move as one, a single entity, an unstoppable force hell-bent on retribution.

At the gate, Rome stands waiting, Diablo at his side. The dog's eyes gleam in the darkness, twin pools of inky black. His jaws are parted, saliva dripping from his razor-sharp fangs–eager to rip out throats. Another man stands opposite Rome, his face a veil of stoic determination. Together, they swing open the front gate, the hinges groaning like the last gasp of a dying man.

I step forward into the base with my rifle raised to the sky.

I start firing repeatedly into the air.

For a moment, there's nothing but silence, a held breath that stretches out into eternity. And then, shouts echo through the compound, alarms blare, the floodlights flick on. The air is suddenly alive with the sound of gunfire. The chaotic symphony sets my heart racing and my blood singing with the thrill of the fight. I grip Ramos' hand tightly, our palms slick with sweat. With a nod of understanding, we break away from the group, sprinting across the field like two arrows shot from the same bow.

As we run, I spot a few of Alonzo's men in our path, their weapons raised and ready. But my aim is true. I squeeze the trigger and watch as they fall, one by one. Missing a shot is not an option. In this deadly dance, a single misstep, a single moment of hesitation, is death. Give your enemy even a fraction of a second to shoot back, and you're nothing more than a memory, a name etched on a tombstone.

We reach the first building, and I toss a flash bang through the doorway, the small metal canister clatters across the floor. Seconds later, a blinding burst of light and sound erupts from within. I move in, rifle first, sweeping the area. It's a dormitory. The doors hang open, the contents of the rooms scattered and toppled like the aftermath of a hurricane. Ramos and I move through the space, our footsteps echoing in the eerie stillness.

I notice a lone closed door on the left. I approach, with one hand gripping my rifle, the other reaching out, slowly turning the handle. As the door swings open, I step inside, my weapon raised, my finger hovering over the trigger. I hear a whimper. I turn to the left, my gun trained on the source of the sound.

Huddled in the corner, is a woman, her arms wrapped tightly around her children, their faces buried in her chest. I keep my weapon steady, my eyes scanning them for any sign of a threat. But they are unarmed. I lower my gun, step back, and jerk my head towards the door. They flee, their footsteps pounding against the tile floor.

Ramos and I scan every nook and cranny for any sign of Damien. But the rooms are empty. So we exit the building, stepping back out into the maelstrom of violence that rages across the field. Bodies litter the ground, the dead and the dying.

Rome's voice crackles in my earpiece. "I've got the guys lined up in the blue building to the east, Cat"

"On my way," I reply.