The crimson laser apertures of Interpol's tier-one snipers swarmed through the shattered window frames, tracking across the brickwork and locking onto Abir's chest rig. Over the tactical megaphone, Marcus Cruz's countdown cut through the downpour—"10... 9... 8..."
Arisa anchored her posture on the **H2R**, her right wrist twisting the throttle to keep the supercharger spooled. The mechanical beast strained against its anchors, desperate to challenge the tactical grid outside.
"The moment I hit five, close your visor and pin the line, my Queen," Abir commanded, his twin chrome Desert Eagles extended toward the threshold. "Do not look back, no matter what enters the airspace."
"5!" Cruz's voice boomed.
*Click—BOOM!*
Abir depressed the detonate toggle. The C-4 brick ruptured the volatile core of the fuel cylinder instantly. Thousands of liters of high-octane industrial fuel ignited into a towering wall of kinetic fire, ripping the massive iron loading gates clean off their hinges and launching them into the extraction zone.
The overpressure of the blast inverted two of Interpol's frontline tactical SUVs. The perimeter snipers were thrown from their elevated positions by the sheer thermal shockwave, their night-vision optics rendered completely useless.
Right on cue, Arisa dumped the clutch. With a deafening mechanical shriek, the black phantom launched directly through the center of the inferno, clearing the debris and hitting the wet asphalt at terminal velocity.
But Marcus Cruz wasn't broken. Shaking off the impact behind a smoking chassis, he bellowed into his comms, "Suppress the target! Target the rear assembly! Open fire!"
Tactical operators from the remaining units opened up with automatic fire, a continuous hail of copper-jacketed rounds chewing up the rain-slicked road behind the bike.
Abir emerged from the smoke, rotating his upper torso completely on the pillion seat. Operating with cold, fluid precision, he brought both Desert Eagles into alignment, executing dynamic counter-fire at the pursuing vehicles.
*BANG! BANG! BANG!*
Abir's tungsten-core rounds shattered the ballistic windshield of the lead interceptor, neutralizing the driver instantly. The out-of-control SUV veered violently, slamming into a concrete pillar in a shower of sparks. As the secondary vehicle attempted to ram them, Abir executed a physics-defying shift, dropping his center of gravity to stabilize the bike while punching three consecutive rounds directly into the cruiser's front axle casing.
The front suspension disintegrated. The SUV went airborne, spinning 360 degrees before flipping heavily onto its roof, sliding down the highway in a wake of torn metal.
Leaving the smoke and fire behind, the H2R screamed past 250 km/h toward the subterranean border bridge. Arisa maintained absolute control over the machine, while Abir monitored the rear horizon.
"Abir! We've cleared the primary city limits!" Arisa shouted through the comm-link. "But their orbital satellite arrays are still tracking our thermal signature!"
Abir snapped his visor open, the freezing rain striking his features. His jaw relaxed into that terrifying, trademark grin.
"Let them track a ghost, brother," Abir growled into the microphone. "We're done playing on asphalt. It's time the Devil takes the war to the open sea. Tell Rider to have the high-speed tactical interceptor vessel idling at the docks!"
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