It was midday when James finally came upon it.

  The bunker sat ahead, but it wasn’t just the pre-war structure he had expected. The outer perimeter had been expanded, the land around it clear-cut, stripped of natural cover. New buildings had been constructed—watchtowers, barracks, and supply depots—all signs that MGI had continued growing long after the war.

  James lay prone in the undergrowth, his rifle scope trained on the compound.

  32 guards.

  He had counted them carefully, tracking their rotations, their habits. Some moved in disciplined formations, others stood lazily at their posts. They were comfortable, believing the automated turrets and motion sensors made them untouchable.

  Arrogant.

  James smirked. They wouldn’t be so confident much longer.

  A pair of turrets stood at the main entrance, sweeping the field in slow, rhythmic arcs. Three sniper nests were perched along the rooftops, while patrol teams of four moved between structures.

  It wasn’t impossible to crack.

  But it wasn’t easy, either.

  James exhaled slowly and glanced at the sky. The sun was still high, the heat pressing against his back.

  No, not yet.

  He’d wait for nightfall.

  Darkness was his ally. Their worst mistake was believing daylight made them safe.

  By the time the moon rose, they would be dead, and James would be inside.

  As night fell, James made his move.

  The compound was bathed in artificial light, but there were gaps—blind spots where the towers didn’t quite overlap, shadows where the floodlights failed to reach. He moved through one of these pockets, silent as a wraith, his vibroblade humming softly in his grip.

  Reaching the outer fence, James crouched low and sliced through the chain-link, the blade parting metal. He slipped inside, staying low, his steps deliberate.

  The first target was a sniper post.

  The guard was perched atop a two-story building, rifle propped up, scanning the perimeter. James stayed close to the wall and climbed, his enhanced strength allowing him to bend the thin metal siding, creating footholds where none existed.

  But the sound—too much noise.

  The sniper’s head snapped around faster than expected, instincts sharper than James had anticipated.

  But not fast enough.

  James lunged over the ledge, his blade driving deep into the girl’s throat before she could even register what was happening.

  Her eyes widened, a gurgling noise escaping her lips as blood spilled down her uniform.

  She tried to struggle, but James twisted the knife, cutting deep, severing the vital arteries.

  She slumped against him, hands clawing weakly at his armor before she finally went still.

  James pulled the blade free, and he slowly let her body slide to the rooftop.

  One down.

  He wiped the blood off his knife and turned his gaze to the rest of the compound.

  James picked up the sniper rifle, pressing it against his shoulder, his glowing blue eyes scanning the compound through the scope. He found the second sniper, his target resting lazily against the railing, unaware that death was watching.

  But James didn’t fire.

  He exhaled slowly, assessing. Taking out one sniper wouldn’t change much—it might even draw attention. The turrets were the real problem. If they stayed online, they’d shred him the moment things got loud.

  His eyes flicked toward a nearby building—AC units buzzed against its rooftop. Server room.

  That was his way in.

  James slid down from the rooftop, disappearing into the shadows below. He moved quickly, keeping low, his steps precise.

  Then he saw them.

  Two guards stood near the side of a building, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders, cigarettes glowing between their fingers. They were talking, relaxed, oblivious.

  Perfect.

  James crept forward, his body blending into the darkness as the wind carried their conversation toward him.

  “—I’m telling you, man, we don’t get paid enough for this shit.”

  “Relax. No one’s getting through this place. We got snipers, turrets, motion sensors—”

  James moved.

  Before the first guard could react, James' blade punched through the base of his skull, severing the brainstem in an instant. His cigarette dropped, the ember flaring as his body slumped forward, lifeless.

  The second man turned, his eyes widening—but James was already on him.

  He slammed his palm against the man’s mouth, muffling his scream, then drove his knife between his ribs, twisting upward.

  A sickening wet gasp escaped as the man struggled, his hands grabbing at James’ arm, feet kicking weakly against the ground. His body shuddered—then went still.

  James eased him down, making sure the death was silent.

  Then, methodically, he dragged both bodies deeper into the shadows, covering his tracks before moving on.

  Reaching the server building, James crouched against the wall, pulling out his hacking module. The small device latched onto the exterior panel, its screen flickering as it cracked into the turret control systems.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The progress bar crawled forward, the machine working fast, bypassing old security protocols.

  A minute passed.

  A small beep sounded.

  James smirked as a new option appeared:

  [TURRET OVERRIDE ENGAGED]

  [KILL SWITCH READY]

  He pressed a key, arming the function, ready to disable every turret the next time they tried to shoot.

  Now, it was time to clean up the rest.

  James scaled the next sniper tower, creeping over the ledge.

  This one wasn’t like the first. He wasn’t alert. He didn’t hear the blade until it punched through the back of his neck.

  James ripped it free, wiping the blood off against the man’s sleeve.

  James grabbed the sniper rifle from the corpse at his feet, his breathing steady as he lined up his next target.

  The third and final sniper was perched atop a distant tower, completely unaware of what had happened to the others. James inhaled deeply, exhaled slowly, then squeezed the trigger.

  The crack of the shot shattered the silence.

  The bullet ripped through flesh, tearing a hole clean through the sniper’s throat. Blood sprayed as the man jerked violently, his body collapsing against the railing, then tumbling off the tower, hitting the ground below with a sickening crunch.

  The compound erupted into chaos.

  Radios crackled to life, voices shouting over one another.

  "What the hell’s going on!?"

  The radio of the dead sniper at James’ feet buzzed.

  He picked it up without hesitation, disguising his voice just enough.

  "There was a mutant trying to come in."

  A pause.

  Then, a rushed response.

  "Shit—where?!"

  James didn’t answer.

  Instead, he was already scanning the compound, searching for the one who had shouted the initial alarm. His eyes locked onto a man in heavier armor, barking orders, trying to bring the scattered guards under control.

  There.

  James fired.

  The first shot punched through the commander’s chest, sending him staggering back, blood spraying from the exit wound.

  The second shot finished him, ripping through his sternum and snapping his spine in half.

  The commander collapsed, motionless.

  The moment his body hit the dirt, panic took hold.

  Some ran for cover, others scrambled to return fire, but they weren’t organized anymore.

  James ditched the sniper rifle and jumped from the sniper nest.

  The moment James’ boots hit the dirt, bullets tore through the air around him, slamming into the sniper nest he had just abandoned. The wooden structure exploded into splinters, chunks of metal and debris raining down.

  He didn’t stop moving. Stopping meant dying.

  His HK416 was up. The time for quiet kills was over. He sprinted low, weaving through the chaos, and spotted two guards taking cover behind a sandbag emplacement near a storage crate.

  James dropped to one knee, exhaled, and fired three quick shots.

  The first guard’s helmet snapped back, a bullet punching through his visor. The second man barely had time to flinch before James’ next two rounds tore through his chest, sending him sprawling backward, his body twitching in the dirt.

  Alarms blared through the base, floodlights pivoting in his direction.

  “Contact! Contact! He’s inside the perimeter!”

  James bolted for cover behind a parked truck, his mind calculating the fastest way to eliminate the highest threats.

  A guard rushed around the corner, rifle raised. Too slow.

  James lunged forward, grabbing the barrel of the man’s weapon and forcing it aside. Before the guard could react, James slammed his combat knife into his gut and ripped upward, eviscerating him. Blood sprayed across the truck’s side panel as the man crumpled, his screams cut short by a final twist of the blade.

  James kicked the corpse aside, moving toward the center of the compound.

  More guards were mobilizing, scrambling to reinforce defensive positions. A group of four took cover behind a metal barricade, laying down suppressive fire.

  James spotted an oil drum stacked near their position—red-painted, with a warning sign.

  He smirked.

  James ripped a grenade from his belt activated it and threw it in a high arc. The guards never saw it coming.

  The blast rocked the entire area, sending flames and shrapnel flying. The oil drum detonated in a blinding fireball, launching bodies through the air like ragdolls.

  One man screamed as he burned, rolling frantically, his skin peeling in the heat. Another had been torn in half, his intestines spilling across the pavement.

  James sprinted forward, dodging gunfire as he pushed toward the bunker’s main entrance.

  Turrets whirred to life, their targeting systems locking onto him.

  As they tried to fire the kill switch went off.

  The turrets shorted out, their barrels sagging lifelessly.

  Guards froze in confusion—an instant of hesitation that James took full advantage of.

  He leveled his rifle and unloaded into the closest cluster of men.

  One took a bullet straight through the forehead, his head snapping back violently. Another caught a burst to the throat, blood spraying as he choked on his own severed windpipe.

  The third tried to run.

  James put one into the mans leg blowing it clean off. He left the main to suffer.

  A guard came around behind him and James’ shoulder jerked forward violently, a sharp, burning agony ripping through muscle.

  The bullet had hit his right shoulder, cutting through flesh and sending a bolt of searing heat up his arm. Blood dripped down his sleeve, but he ignored it, his body already moving to compensate.

  His adrenaline drowned out the pain.

  James rolled into cover, swapping magazines. The guard charged him—stupid, desperate, thinking he was wounded enough to take.

  James sidestepped, dodging the wild swing of a combat knife, then grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted hard. The bone snapped like dry wood, and before the guard could even scream, James slammed the man's knife into his temple and dropped both the man and the knife.

  The compound was now in full-blown panic mode.

  Some guards were fleeing, others desperately regrouping.

  James pressed forward, mowing through them with ruthless precision.

  A man ran at him with a riot shield, thinking it would save him.

  James sidestepped, spun around, and slammed the butt of his rifle against the back of the man’s helmet. As the guard stumbled, James hooked his leg and drove him face-first into the ground.

  Before the man could recover, James stomped on his head, crushing it against the pavement.

  A second guard tried to tackle him, but James dropped low, twisting his body and slamming his knife into the man’s femoral artery.

  The guard collapsed, screaming, bleeding out in seconds.

  The last group broke—James could hear their frantic shouts.

  “Fall back! He’s cutting us down!”

  One of them was trying to radio for reinforcements.

  James pulled his rifle up and shot him in the throat before he could finish the call.

  The remaining guards were done fighting.

  Two of them dropped their weapons, hands up.

  James didn’t even hesitate.

  Two quick shots. Head. Chest.

  They collapsed instantly.

  James reloaded, his rifle still smoking, his breathing slow and even.

  The entire outside perimeter was a slaughterhouse.

  Bodies lay scattered across the compound. Blood soaked the dirt. The fires from the earlier explosion still burned in the distance.

  James touched his wounded shoulder, his fingers coming back red.

  Didn’t matter.

  He looked up at the sealed bunker doors, the massive reinforced slabs standing between him and the people who made him.

  James reached into his pack, pulling out a Helixion mine—a shaped charge designed to punch through reinforced steel like it was nothing.

  He slapped it against the center seam of the massive bunker doors, the small device adhering with a quiet whirr as it activated.

  James backed up, blood still dripping from his shoulder, and tapped the detonator.

  Boom.

  The mine erupted in a concentrated explosion, a blinding flash followed by a concussive shockwave. The sheer force of the blast sent the heavy steel doors rocketing inward, smashing into the corridor beyond. The sound of twisting metal and crumbling concrete filled the air as dust and debris spilled out like a choking cloud.

  He stepped forward into the smoke, rifle raised.