We move down the hall, guns drawn, checking corners.
First door on the left—I kick it open.
Empty room. Mattress on the floor, empty beer cans.
Second door—Shiver kicks it.
Someone from the Copperhead Kings inside, mid-twenties, wearing his cut, reaching for his gun.
I fire. Silenced shot. Center mass.
He drops.
First blood.
The gunshot's quiet, but not silent and shouts from downstairs start coming.
"They know we're here," Shiver says.
"Good. It just means it’ll get interesting."
We push forward, clearing rooms as we go.
Third door—another CK brother, this one faster. He gets a shot off before Banshee puts two rounds in his chest.
The bullet hits one of our Reapers Rejects brothers in the shoulder. He grunts, but stays on his feet.
"You good?" I ask.
"Fine. Keep moving."
Fourth, fifth, sixth doors—more CK brothers, more gunfire.
The hallway's a killzone now. Bullets tearing through drywall, blood spattering walls, bodies dropping.
We reach the stairwell that leads down to the second floor.
It's blocked.
Three Copperhead Kings are at the landing, guns pointed up, using the corner as cover.
They open fire. Bullets ricocheting off metal railings, sparks flying, the sound deafening in the enclosed space.
I lean over the railing, fire down. One CK drops, clutching his throat.
Shiver throws a flashbang down the stairwell.
The explosion is blinding, deafening. My ears ring, my vision whites out for a second.
Then we're moving.
Charging down the stairs while they're disoriented.
Close quarters. Brutal. No room for finesse.
I grab one CK brother by the vest, slam his head into the concrete wall.
Once. Twice. His skull cracks.
