Benjamin stood in the dimly lit corridor of Moriarti's stronghold, his ears tuned to every sound of chaos erupting outside. The muffled gunshots, shouts, and occasional clang of metal hinted at the war being waged just beyond these walls. His men were holding their ground, buying him the precious time he needed to finish what Moriarti had started.
His hand tightened around the pistol he carried, but it was Clara's voice that echoed in his mind, urging him forward. The memory of her fearful eyes when they last parted sent a surge of resolve through him. This wasn't just a rescue—it was a reckoning.
He moved silently, stepping over a guard he had taken out moments earlier. Blood stained the concrete floor, a grim reminder of the stakes. As Benjamin pushed open a door to what appeared to be a control room, he caught sight of the screens displaying the warehouse's many corridors. And there, on one of them, stood Moriarti.
The man seemed eerily calm amidst the chaos, sipping a glass of wine as if the bloodshed outside was merely a mild inconvenience. Benjamin's lip curled in disdain. Moriarti had underestimated him, and that would be his fatal mistake.
Suddenly, Benjamin's earpiece crackled. "Boss, we've secured the south exit, but resistance is heavy," came Gregory's voice. "Have you found him?"
"I'm about to," Benjamin replied, his voice cold. "Hold your position."
With that, he moved deeper into the building, following the route to where Moriarti had been spotted. Every corner he turned brought fresh challenges—Moriarti's men were fiercely loyal, but they weren't a match for Benjamin's ruthless efficiency. His bullets found their marks, and his movements were swift and calculated.
Finally, he reached a large metal door, slightly ajar. Inside, Moriarti sat behind a massive oak desk, the picture of composure. He looked up as Benjamin entered, a sly smile spreading across his face.
"Well, well," Moriarti drawled, setting his glass down. "The infamous Benjamin D'Angelo, gracing me with his presence. To what do I owe the honor?"
Benjamin didn't waste words. He raised his pistol, the barrel aimed directly at Moriarti's heart. "Let's skip the games, Moriarti. You've made your move. Now it's my turn."
Moriarti chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Always so dramatic. But tell me, Benjamin, are you sure you're ready to end this? Because once you pull that trigger, there's no going back."
Benjamin's jaw tightened, but before he could respond, a sudden explosion rocked the building. The force of it knocked him off balance, and the room filled with smoke and debris. Moriarti seized the opportunity, lunging toward a hidden exit.
Benjamin cursed, scrambling to his feet. He fired a shot, but it missed its mark, striking the edge of the doorway as Moriarti disappeared into the shadows. The heat of the flames spreading through the warehouse added to the urgency of the moment.
He chased after his adversary, but Moriarti had planned his escape well. By the time Benjamin reached the outer courtyard, all that remained of Moriarti was the faint hum of an engine disappearing into the night.