Chapter 12
The southern shipping yards were a sprawling, industrial maze of rusted steel containers and towering cranes, situated right on the edge of the freezing ocean. When Damian’s armored convoy tore through the broken security gates, the cinematic, bright morning light offered absolutely no cover. It was a brutal, exposed killing field.
Damian stepped out of his black SUV, slipping off his suit jacket and pulling a heavy tactical vest over his crisp white shirt. He drew a suppressed automatic rifle, moving with the fluid, terrifying grace of a predator who had spent his life surviving these exact environments.
"They are dug in around warehouse four, Boss," a bleeding lieutenant reported, pointing toward a massive structure. "They have elevated sniper positions."
"Do they truly believe... elevation... equates to survival?" Damian murmured, his voice calm despite the sharp cracks of gunfire echoing around them.
He didn't wait for his men to lay down suppressing fire. He moved independently, utilizing the shadows between the massive shipping containers. He moved with a speed and silence that defied his large, muscular frame.
A mercenary stepped around a corner, raising his weapon, but Damian was already there. He didn't fire; the noise would reveal his position. With a sudden, vicious surge of power, Damian drove the butt of his rifle brutally into the man’s face, shattering his visor and jaw in a single, devastating strike. He grabbed the unconscious man by the collar and dragged him back into the shadows.
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"Right flank is clear," Damian whispered into his encrypted comms. "Collapse their center."
The Hollis operatives, highly trained and fiercely loyal, executed the tactical maneuver flawlessly. The invading mercenaries, expecting a disorganized, chaotic response from a syndicate reeling from a broken engagement, found themselves pinned down and systematically slaughtered by an apex predator who operated with cold, flawless precision.
