Thomas Smyth moved through the darkness, surveying the interior of the Sparrow City Opera House. The sounds of gunfire had become sporadic. The Butcher, before launching his assault on the Trading Center against Mad Dog, must have anticipated the need to defend his base. The opera house was riddled with hastily constructed barricades and booby traps. Yet, Caban seemed to have gained the upper hand. The fighting had raged from the main hall all the way back to the ten-story building at the rear. Distant flickers of firelight, sparked by explosions, still danced within the building's windows.
Following the trail of bodies, Thomas reached the vicinity of the ten-story building's entrance, concealing himself in the shadows. Two refugees, fully armed, crouched behind defensive sandbags at the entrance, warily scanning their surroundings. Nearby, several others were scavenging the battlefield, rifling through the dead, retrieving equipment. Whenever they encountered an enemy corpse, dead or alive, a bullet to the head was standard procedure.
Thomas frowned. Caban, it seemed, had grown considerably more cautious and cunning after last night's events. His gaze fixed on the ten-story building. He needed a way inside. But the defenses were tight. Even cloaked in darkness, he couldn't simply stroll past them unnoticed. A large bonfire blazed behind the refugees, and more patrolled the building's interior, searching for hidden enemies.
After circling the building, an idea formed in Thomas's mind.
Ten minutes later, a violent explosion rocked the entrance of the ten-story building. The blast hurled the unsuspecting guards through the air, leaving the entrance in ruins. Surrounding windows, glass, and walls shattered, leaving a gaping hole in the exterior.
The explosion alerted the patrolling refugees inside, who rushed to assess the damage and brace for a counterattack. They assumed it was a final, desperate push by the Butcher's remnants.
They failed to notice that, in the instant of the detonation, while the blast wave shattered the entrance's glass and windows, a single pane of glass in a distant room, farthest from the blast, also fractured. The sound was lost amidst the cacophony of the explosion and shattering debris.
While the refugees on the first floor converged on the main entrance, Thomas climbed onto the windowsill, preparing to drop to the ground. Suddenly, he froze, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.
[Nightwalker] granted him a +50 boost to perception. Even in the absence of light, using the faintest ambient illumination, Thomas saw the floor below the windowsill covered in a dense carpet of caltrops.
Had he jumped, even his level 2 puncture-resistant boots wouldn't have saved him from a nasty fall. And that wasn't all. The caltrops were only the first layer of defense. Beyond them, Thomas spotted three tripwires, each stretching towards furniture two meters away.
"Bloody hell," he thought. "Who set this up? So insidious."
Caban or the Butcher? Neither was a saint.
Thomas had initially thought they were easily fooled, rushing to the entrance. It seemed they were prepared, waiting for someone to walk into their trap.
Carefully, he used his boot to clear a small landing zone amidst the caltrops and slipped inside.
He couldn't afford to linger. The refugees in this building exuded a palpable sense of danger. They were on a different level from any he'd encountered before. Their tactical awareness and combat proficiency were significantly higher. Whether this was due to Caban's leadership or some other factor, Thomas didn't know. He knew only that if he wasn't extremely careful, he might very well…
…die here.
He stepped over the tripwires and saw the refugees at the entrance beginning to withdraw. Thomas immediately melted back into the shadows, moving upwards. This time, he scrutinized every step, wary of further traps.
His ascent was surprisingly smooth. Caban's forces, having just won a battle and likely suffering losses, had only secured the first floor entrance. The others were still searching the building for hidden enemies.
By the time Thomas reached the eighth floor, he had a rough estimate of Caban's numbers. Excluding the guards at the entrance and those patrolling the first floor, there were approximately twenty refugees on the upper floors.
He even spotted Caban himself on the eighth floor. The man's distinctive shaved head, fur coat, and PKM machine gun made him hard to miss. Ben Walker had highlighted Caban's ferocity in the photos he'd sent.
Suddenly, someone noticed the signs of forced entry on the first floor. The broken window and disturbed caltrops were undeniable evidence.
"Boss, we found signs of intrusion on the first floor. Someone must have slipped in during the explosion when we were distracted!"
Caban chuckled coldly over the radio. "Alright, boys, we've got a rat in the house. Three-man teams, search every corner."
The twenty-plus refugees formed groups of three and began a systematic sweep of the building. Caban remained on the eighth floor. On the first floor, six men guarded the two staircases leading to the second floor, three men per staircase. One watched the left, one the right, and the third crouched with his back to the wall, weapon trained on the stairs. Tactical positioning.
Thomas, having overheard the report, had already slipped away.
On the sixth floor, a three-man team methodically cleared each room. One opened the door, two entered with weapons raised, covering left and right respectively, while the third covered their rear.
They swept the room with their flashlights: double bed, four-door wardrobe, dressing table, sofa. Their gazes finally settled on the window. They exchanged glances. The drawn curtains bulged slightly. A casual observer might have missed it, but closer inspection revealed the distinct outline of a human form.
One of the refugees gestured towards the wardrobe, then the curtains, and finally himself. The others nodded. They shifted formation, one man covering the center with his weapon, aiming between the wardrobe and the curtains. The other two approached the wardrobe and curtains simultaneously.
Ready, they yanked open both the wardrobe and the curtains. For a moment, their expressions relaxed. Empty.
Then…
Clang…
A spherical object rolled out of the wardrobe, hitting the floor with a metallic chime. The three refugees stared, their eyes widening in horror.
"Down! Grena—"
Boom…
The violent explosion reverberated through the building, jolting every refugee. They hadn't expected the "rat" to be so bold as to attack.
The refugees on the fifth and seventh floors quickly pinpointed the explosion to the sixth floor and relayed the information to Caban. Over the radio, Caban issued rapid commands.
"Seventh floor team to the sixth. All other floors maintain vigilance. Once your floor is clear, swap with an adjacent floor for a secondary sweep."
The seventh floor team rushed towards the sixth.
At the end of the fourth-floor corridor, a three-man team emerged from the last room, having heard Caban's orders.
"Stay sharp, everyone. The rat's likely on the sixth, but he could be here too. Don't get complacent."
Despite his words, his tone was light. Then, his gaze fixed on his teammates, his expression freezing.
From the shadows behind a large, frost-covered potted plant in the corner of the corridor, a dark muzzle emerged.
Thump-thump… Thump-thump… Thump-thump…
Three bodies slumped to the floor. Thomas hopped out from behind the plant, rolling his neck and shoulders. He'd been crouched for too long, his body stiffening. The results, however, were satisfactory.
He quickly looted the bodies, then pulled the pins on two grenades and carefully placed them on the chest of the uppermost corpse, face down. Satisfied, he melted back into the darkness.
This time, Thomas had no intention of blending in. The situation was different. Caban's three-man teams were clearly designed to prevent infiltration. If Thomas's hunch was correct, anyone appearing alone would be shot on sight.
Time passed. The search team on the sixth floor found nothing, their attention shifting to other floors. The fifth-floor team, having cleared their level, moved to the fourth for a secondary sweep. Unable to contact the fourth-floor team, they sensed trouble and informed Caban. They cautiously proceeded to the fourth floor.
As their tactical flashlights illuminated the end of the corridor, the three refugees gasped. Three bodies lay piled together.
One immediately radioed Caban, while the others cautiously approached the bodies, weapons raised, checking each room as they went. They reached the bodies without incident. Reinforcements arrived from the first floor, and the three refugees breathed a sigh of relief. The intruder had apparently left.
But when had he killed their comrades? And how, without a sound?
"What happened? How were they killed?" one of the reinforcements asked.
"Not sure. Let's take a look," the leader replied, turning over the top body and recognizing the face. "It's Kruff. Headshot…"
He was analyzing the cause of death when two metallic clicks echoed – the sound of grenade pins being released. Two lemon-sized spherical objects rolled off the corpse.
His eyes widened.
"Grenades! Run!"
The six refugees scrambled back, diving into the nearest room, hitting the floor, covering their heads.
Boom… Boom…
The explosions shook the room, sending dust raining from the ceiling. As they raised their heads, a dark muzzle pointed at them from beneath the double bed.
Brrrt… Brrrt…
A hail of silenced bullets erupted from the PP-91-01 Kedr-B. Even with body armor and helmets, at this range, Thomas's burst was lethal. Six more bodies littered the floor.
The two explosions reached Caban, who roared in fury.
"Damn it! Everyone with me! I'll see who dares to cross me!"
He charged towards the fourth floor, PKM blazing, his men following close behind.
Thomas crawled out from under the bed, opened the window, and then went to the door. He quickly planted a remote-detonated shaped charge in a concealed spot above the doorframe, opened it, and sprinted towards the stairs.
He'd barely reached the stairwell when he heard the thunder of footsteps from both above and below.
"Damn… They're fast!"
With no time to lose, he ducked into the nearest room. He immediately realized his mistake. The room was tiny, a cramped storage closet, barely three square meters. He could see the entire space from the doorway.
"I… Seriously…" Thomas cursed, acutely aware of how much he missed his virtual map. He'd never been this cornered. He was used to outmaneuvering his enemies, not being hunted. He felt exhausted, longing for the tactical advantage of his map.
But the enemy was closing in. Changing rooms was no longer an option. If he didn't think of something fast, he wouldn't have to think ever again.
He scanned the room, a plan forming.
After the successive explosions, Caban, enraged, had called all his men, except the four guarding the main entrance, to the fourth floor. The sound of their approaching footsteps sent shivers down Thomas's spine. But his expression remained calm. He'd faced death too many times to lose his composure now.
Caban, despite his fury, hadn't lost his head. He didn't enter the fourth floor himself but sent his men to investigate the site of the explosions. The original three bodies were mangled beyond recognition. The others quickly discovered the six bodies in the adjacent room. The sight of their comrades riddled with bullets, even after the battle they'd just fought, left them stunned.