A suffocating, tomb-like silence gripped the grand hall. Ten of Marcus Cruz's tier-one Interpol commandos advanced, their tactical movements rendered in eerie shades of emerald green through their night-vision optics. But because Rider had executed a hard manual sever on the main breakers, there were no active sub-nets or thermal leaks for them to track.
Then, splitting the absolute void, the dual muzzles of Abir's chrome weapons flashed in a blinding synchronized burst. *BANG! BANG!*
Before the green lenses could register the kinetic trajectory, the two lead operators took high-caliber rounds directly through their tactical visors, collapsing hard onto the marble floor. The unsuppressed thunder of the Desert Eagles boomed off the concrete pillars, disorienting the remaining team.
"Take cover! Inbound fire from twelve o'clock!" Marcus Cruz bellowed, throwing his frame behind a reinforced structural sofa.
The operators pivoted, blind-firing a continuous wall of suppressive rounds into the dark. Tempered glass, imported drywall, and crystal chandeliers disintegrated under the copper jacketed onslaught. But Abir was no longer on the ground plane. The moment he dropped the lead targets, he had scaled the structural columns, anchoring himself onto the high steel ceiling beams.
From his aerial perch, Abir monitored the sweep of their weapon-mounted tactical lights. He unclipped a specialized high-intensity flashbang from his utility rig, cooked the pin, and dropped it into the center of their formation.
The detonation was an absolute whiteout. Designed to disrupt standard vision, the intense lumens multiplied exponentially through the commandos' night-vision amplification tubes, instantly searing their retinas with blinding pain. They screamed, tearing the visors from their faces.
"Now, Rider!" Abir's command echoed from the rafters.
A concealed hydraulic panel on the right flank hissed open, and Rider stepped into the fray, leveling a heavy combat shotgun. *KA-BOOM! KA-BOOM!*—The massive spread tore through the blinded perimeter, throwing three more operators against the stone pillars.
Simultaneously, Abir launched himself down from the ceiling beam, landing squarely on the chest of a disoriented commando, the kinetic impact crushing the operator's tactical vest and ribs instantly. Abir rolled into a low stance upon impact, his twin weapons extending as he systematically neutralized the remaining active threats with cold, surgical precision.
In under two minutes, the entire vanguard cell was down, the hall painted in blood and spent brass.
At the far end of the smoke-filled corridor, Interpol Chief Marcus Cruz stood alone. His primary rifle lay fractured on the deck, and his left forearm was dripping crimson. Yet, his gaze remained unbroken, fixed with absolute defiance.
Abir advanced, his boots crunching on the shattered glass, stopping exactly five feet from the investigator. The chrome barrels of his weapons radiated heat, faint wisps of cordite smoke escaping into the dark.
"Abir Khan..." Cruz spat, wiping blood from his jaw. "You executed international federal officers today. There isn't a sovereign state on this planet that will grant you asylum now. You are a fugitive till your dying day."
"A fugitive runs because he's hunted, brother," Abir whispered, his gray eyes flashing with the cold amusement of a predator. "I stay because I own the territory. Marcus Cruz... I'm leaving you breathing only because your ledger isn't corrupt. Go back to your handlers and tell them—where the jurisdiction of law ends, the empire of Abir Khan begins."
With a swift, calculated arc, Abir brought the heavy butt of his weapon down on Cruz's temple, knocking the chief into immediate unconsciousness.
Suddenly, Arisa's voice cut through the localized comm-link from the subterranean depths. "Abir! The secondary Interpol perimeter just realized their vanguard went dark! They are positioning heavy mortar emplacements to level the entire estate! We have to clear the sector now!"
Abir exchanged a grim look with Rider. Rider gave a sharp nod—extraction was primed.
They bolted into the hidden access shaft, descending rapidly toward the lower hangar where the carbon-fiber beast awaited—the **Kawasaki Ninja H2R**. The fortress was compromised, but the Devil and his Queen were about to vanish into the night asphalt.
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