Chapter 7 - Into the Slaughterhouse
The breach of the Swift plant was silent and lethal. Emmett’s men, trained like special forces operators, slipped through the rusted chain-link fences and bypassed the outer security cameras using looping software Tommy had prepared.
Emmett led the alpha team through a side loading dock. The air inside the factory was freezing, smelling of old rust, damp concrete, and dried blood from decades of industrial slaughter. Shadows danced along the high ceilings as they moved deeper into the labyrinthine structure.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness.
“Hey! Who’s there?” a guard yelled.
Marco silenced him with a single, suppressed shot before the man could raise his weapon. But the body hit a pile of metal pipes with a loud clatter, echoing through the empty halls.
The alarms blared instantly—a shrill, mechanical shriek that shattered the silence.
“Go! Go! Go!” Emmett roared, abandoning all stealth.
The facility erupted into a chaotic, close-quarters firefight. Victor’s mercenaries poured out of the upper walkways, firing down with automatic rifles. Concrete chips flew through the air like shrapnel as Emmett’s team returned fire, moving from pillar to pillar with ruthless efficiency.
Emmett was at the front of the stack. He moved with a terrifying composure, his heavy pistol barking in the darkness, dropping enemies with precise, lethal shots. He didn't stop to take cover; he pushed forward, driven by the memory of Luna’s tear-stained face and the silver locket resting against his chest.
They reached the heavy freight elevator that led to the basement levels. The doors were locked from the inside.
“Marco! Set the charges!” Emmett commanded.
Marco slapped a strip of linear breaching foam against the steel doors, blew the electronic lock, and stepped back. The blast tore the doors off their hinges, revealing a dark, yawning shaft with a maintenance ladder leading down into the depths.
“Alpha team, hold the upper level! Don't let anyone pin us down from behind!” Emmett ordered, grabbing the ladder and sliding down into the darkness of basement level one. Marco and three other men followed immediately.
The lower levels were even colder, the walls coated in a layer of grime and ice. They moved through narrow corridors lined with rusted meat hooks hanging from overhead rails—a grim reminder of the building’s past.
As they reached the entrance to basement level three, a heavy iron door blocked their path. Behind it, they could hear the hum of massive computer servers and the desperate, muffled weeping of a woman.
Emmett kicked the door open with a force that shattered the frame.
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Inside, the room was bathed in the eerie blue light of dozen server racks. In the center of the room, tied to a heavy steel chair, was Diana Harper. Her face was bruised, her clothes torn, but her eyes flared with a desperate hope as she looked up and saw Emmett Cross standing in the doorway.
But standing right behind her, his hand wrapped around her throat and a revolver pressed against her temple, was Victor Brennon.
