Nathan steps closer. I shift to maintain my shot angle. Frost adjusts left without being asked, creating a crossfire. Flint hasn't moved from his position, but his rifle tracks Nathan's center mass. Three weapons, three operators, one target.
"Walk away, Savi. Take your friends and disappear. We'll let you go."
"Like you let those FBI agents go?" She circles slightly. "You killed three good people."
"Symbols of a corrupt system." His facade cracks, showing the fanatic underneath. "Just like I'll kill anyone who stands in our way."
His hand lifts toward his jacket.
"Gun!" I shout, but Savannah's already moving.
She shoots him twice—center mass—before his weapon clears the holster. Nathan staggers, looking more surprised than hurt, body armor visible through the holes in his shirt.
"You shot me." Genuine shock. "You actually?—"
Frost puts the third round through his forehead, dropping him instantly.
"Deadman switch," Frost says calmly, kicking a device away from Nathan's corpse. "Would have triggered explosives throughout the facility."
Savannah stares at Nathan's body for a heartbeat, then turns away. "The server room. We need to move."
No breakdown, no tears. She compartmentalizes like a professional.
The server room door yields to her device, and we're in—rows of humming servers, multiple terminals, the digital heart of Titan's operation.
"Two minutes," she says, plugging in her equipment. "I need to find the chemical manifests and distribution protocols."
"Bravo team, we need those trucks disabled," I call through comms.
"On it," Brady responds. "Count eight vehicles in the loading bay."
Gunfire echoes from above—Alpha team still engaged. Through the reinforced windows, security forces mass in the warehouse proper.
Flint takes position at the door, rifle braced. "They're stacking up out there. Preparing for dynamic entry."
Frost moves to the opposite corner, creating a crossfire angle. "Estimate twenty hostiles. They'll breach in under a minute."
The two of them work like mirror images—Frost checking his magazines, Flint adjusting his position slightly for better coverage. No wasted movement. No unnecessary communication.
"Got it." Savannah's eyes race across screens of data. "They're using chlorine trifluoride as the base—it reacts violently with water, creating hydrogen fluoride gas. But they've stabilized it with... Jesus. With compounds that delay the reaction by twelve hours. By the time symptoms appear, thousands will have consumed it."
"Can we neutralize it?"
"Not here, not without proper equipment. But—" Her fingers fly across keys. "The distribution system requires specific pressure and temperature controls. If I corrupt the delivery protocols, the chemicals become inert before they reach the water supply."
"Do it."
She works with fierce concentration. Frost and Flint hold the door, weapons trained on the entry point. Laser dots dance under the door frame—multiple shooters, lined up for breach.
"Forty seconds," Savannah says.
"They're moving," Flint reports, calm as discussing the weather. "Breaching team in position."
"Alpha team, we need a distraction," I call.
"Little busy," Max grunts, gunfire heavy over his transmission.
The door explodes inward.
