Sliding down the sandy incline, Genesis moved like stealth itself—sound swallowed by the wind.
Viper came in low, boots hitting sand without a whisper. The air was thick with dirt and tension, visibility down to zero.
“Left,” he growled. Law peeled off without a word, rifle already rising. Memphis ghosted to the right, his bulk impossibly quiet for a man his size.
Three targets ahead.
Two armed, one scanning the ridge. Viper slid in behind a rusted, abandoned Chevy, brought his SIG Sauer M17 up, and squeezed. The lead man crumpled. The second turned, too slow—Law’s suppressed round took him center mass.
The third never saw Memphis.
A blur of dark hair and muscle, Memphis slammed the man back into the vehicle’s frame. The impact rattled metal.
The KA-BAR blade flashed—quick, clean. One jab to the ribs, another shoved up under the jaw. The body dropped, still.
“Clear,” Memphis whispered, voice low and rough.
“Move,” Viper ordered and advanced.
Law and Memphis fanned out—the rest of the unit followed.
The checkpoint burned in green tint through Viper’s NVGs—figures fanning wide, positioning for a trap that had already failed. He holstered his weapon and drew his blade.
This fight needed silence—clean, quick, controlled.
A shadow lunged from his blind side. Viper pivoted, caught the wrist, and drove his knee up. Bone cracked. The perp grunted and struck his arm.
Viper’s blade popped free—matte black, Army issue—but he caught it midair and buried it in the man’s throat. The sound was wet and final.
“Watch your backs,” Law said over comms, voice calm as steel.
Viper turned—two hostiles closing fast on Law’s flank.
Memphis moved first. His M1911 barked once, twice. Both targets hit the dirt. The silence that followed was heavier than the shots.
Memphis and Law took on three other perps—skilled, fast, brutal.
Viper scanned the area before he was lunged at.
The man came out of the dark fast.
Viper met him halfway, fist slamming into his throat, then snapping an elbow across his jaw. The impact rocked him back, but didn’t drop him.
Silver flashed low—a knife. Viper caught the wrist, twisted hard. A pop. The perp screamed, a strangled sound. The blade hit the sand. He drove the man backward, shoulder to chest, pinning him against the dirt.
A knee came up. Viper blocked, shifted his weight, and slammed a forearm across the man’s face—nose broke. Blood sprayed warm onto his sleeve.
The man lunged again, cold, lethal. Viper moved with him, used the momentum to spin and drive him down hard. Sand exploded around them. The perp’s hand clawed for Viper’s holster—bad move.
Viper trapped the arm and head-butted the fucker.
The fight bled into silence, only their breathing rough. The man tried to surge up again—too slow.
Viper’s knife came free in a single, practiced motion, dark and steady in his hand. One thrust under the ribs. Quick. Clean.
The man jerked once and went still.
Viper rose, breath sharp and uneven before he forced it steady, pulse still heavy in his ears.
