Following the fall of Lord Sterling in London, Abir Khan's profile was flagged as the absolute prime threat on global intelligence channels. But when the CIA and the Pentagon's black-budget divisions signed his localized termination order, the Devil didn't retreat into hiding; instead, he breached their sovereign soil—Washington D.C.
It was 0300 hours. Inside an abandoned, fog-shrouded shipyard along the Potomac River, Abir's private command transport sat idling. Inside the tactical control hub, Arisa's fingers flew across the terminal keys, a rare expression of urgency tightening her features.
"Abir! The **'Ghost Recon'** black-ops cell under CIA Director Omar has successfully locked onto our thermal signature, brother!" Arisa warned, her display flashing with intercept data. "These aren't regional law enforcement units. They are equipped with orbital satellite tracking and advanced night-vision tactical armor. We must evacuate this coordinate immediately!"
Abir sealed the tactical zipper of his black leather jacket, his movements methodical. He reached across the steel armory rack, securing his twin chrome **Desert Eagles** and locking the high-grain magazines into their housings. His gray eyes remained completely calm, hardened by an unholy resolve.
"Abir Khan doesn't alter his operational vector due to systemic pressure, brother," Abir whispered, his voice dangerously smooth. "If the CIA assumes the soil of Washington grants them immunity, they are about to face a violent re-education. Rider, is the perimeter set?"
"Affirmative, Boss!" Rider's voice crackled through the secure comm-link. "Our outer sectors are compromised by ten unmarked black SUVs. Roughly thirty tier-one contractors are breaching the primary iron gates right now, brother!"
Before the transmission could clear, four high-intensity flashbang canisters ruptured through the corrugated roof panels.
*💥 C-C-BOOM!*
The blinding overpressure and deafening sound wave engulfed the layout in a sea of thick, choking smoke. The CIA contractors breached the threshold, deploying in a tight wedge formation with suppressed M4 carbines raised, trusting their thermal optics to locate the targets.
But they didn't realize Abir had already adjusted his tactical night-vision visor, waiting silently atop a stack of steel shipping containers directly within their blind spot.
The unsuppressed thunder of the Desert Eagles shattered the silence. *BANG! BANG!*
The tungsten-core rounds bypassed the lead contractors' advanced ballistic helmets, dropping them instantly onto the concrete deck. Before the squad could adjust their firing arcs, Abir executed a rapid tactical descent, entering a high-velocity run-and-gun sequence.
*BANG! BANG! BANG!*
The specialized ammunition tore through their high-tier military vests with terrifying kinetic force. Within two minutes, the entire forward breach element of eight men lay neutralized, their blood staining the concrete floor.
Outside, a hidden CIA sniper attempted to lock onto Abir's thermal signature, but Arisa intercepted the laser designator, slaving a weaponized micro-drone directly to the sniper's coordinates.
*BOOM!*
The structural watchtower disintegrated in a ball of white-hot fire, collapsing into the yard below.
Abir stepped through the smoke, his heavy combat boot pinning the chest of the wounded tactical commander. The operative gasped for air, staring up into the detached, remorseless gray eyes of the predator above him.
"Tell Director Omar when you cross into the abyss, brother..." Abir growled, lowering the warm chrome barrel right against the man's ballistic visor. "Your black-budget soldiers are insufficient to contain a demon. I am coming directly for your command center. Washington belongs to the Devil tonight."
Without a millisecond of hesitation, Abir squeezed the trigger, executing the commander with absolute finality.
Outside, the distant wail of fifty secondary sirens began to echo, their tactical searchlights cutting through the river fog. Abir turned to his commander, his jaw locked in a grim smirk. "Bring the armored **Rolls-Royce Phantom** online, Rider, brother. Tonight, the streets of Washington D.C. will witness an absolute slaughter!"
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