Chapter 38 - Breaking the Vanguard
The night air in the Queens railyard was biting and laced with the metallic tang of rust and diesel fuel. Rows of rusted shipping containers cast long, jagged shadows beneath the amber glow of distant highway lights. The strike team moved with terrifying precision, boots crunching quietly on gravel as they advanced toward the derelict maintenance warehouse at the center of the yard.
At the head of the formation stood Julian Vance. His face was scarred from the Boston explosion, his eyes hollowed out by years of bitter exile. He held an assault rifle loosely in his gloved hands, a manic grin twisting his lips as he stared at the warehouse doors.
"Burn it to the ground once we clear the inner office," Julian hissed into his comms mic. "I want Mercer to watch his entire world turn to ash before I put a bullet in his skull."
Before the mercenary captain could acknowledge the order, a deafening explosion ripped through the perimeter fence behind them.
Sparks rained down into the dark as the automated security floodlights snapped on with blinding intensity, instantly blinding half the strike team. From the shadows of the containers stepped Luke Mercer, dual sidearms raised, firing with cold, mechanical accuracy. Two mercenaries dropped before they could even unholster their weapons.
"Contact! Contact north sector!" shouted the mercenary captain, scrambling for cover behind a concrete barrier.
Chaos erupted in the railyard as gunfire echoed off the metal walls. But this wasn't a battle—it was a trap. Vance and his syndicate enforcers pinned the mercenaries from the flanks, while Elena, positioned on an elevated catwalk above the yard, provided overwatch with a suppressed tactical rifle, neutralizing every attempt by the enemy to flank their position.
Julian gritted his teeth, ducking behind a steel bulkhead as bullets ricocheted off the metal inches from his head. "Find them! Flush them out!" he roared, completely losing his composure as his elite team was dismantled piece by piece in a matter of minutes.
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Luke stepped out from behind a stack of pallets, his movements fluid and unhurried. He walked right into the center of the courtyard, the gunfire quieting as his men secured the remaining survivors.
"Looking for me, Julian?" Luke’s voice carried effortlessly across the silent railyard, cold as winter ice.
