“Contact front!”Dev barked, his voice sharp over the comms.His team returned fire, shots thunderous in the confined space.Splinters rained as rounds shredded plaster.
Hogan pressed shoulder to shoulder with Kai, their rifles barking in tandem.“Push left!”he shouted.Ricky dropped low, spraying suppressive fire.Bateman vaulted a fallen chair and drove his boot into a barricade, shoving it wide enough for Oren to lob a flashbang through.The blast rocked the hall, screams echoing as the defenders reeled.
“Go!Go!”Hogan roared.
They surged through, cutting down dazed Bratya gunmen.The hall stank of cordite, blood, and fear.In the chaos, Luca cried out—a round clipping him across the ribs.He staggered back, crimson soaking his side.
“Owie!Next time, I’ll stay in the van,” Luca hissed, grimacing but forcing himself upright, rifle still in hand.
“Copy that,” Marsh replied over comms, tone dry but laced with concern.“Next time you run my board, I’ll take your place, and I won’t get shot because my Eli would not be happy about that.Until then, keep breathing, genius.”
“Fuck you,” Luca grunted, though a grin tugged at his lips despite the pain.
The fighting pressed on.Every room was another battle, every doorway another kill.Women and children were herded out under Surge’s protection, his voice rough with fury as he barked orders to his men.The Bratya fell, one after another, until the last screams guttered out.
Silence, except for the panting of exhausted men.
“Status,” Bateman demanded.
“All clear,” Dev reported.
“South clear,” Surge confirmed.
Hogan scanned the blood-smeared hall, rifle loose in his grip, then finally exhaled.It was over.All of them piled outside, regrouping by the mangled gate Torch had slammed through.
Then Torch’s voice burst over the comms, eager, manic.“Please tell me we’re clear.Please.Please.Please.”
Surge sighed, a mix of exasperation and inevitability.“Any friendlies left inside?”
“Negative,” Bateman said, firm.
“Fine,” Surge muttered.“Torch, it’s yours.”
“Chaahooo!”Torch’s triumphant cry echoed as his armored truck rumbled across the lawn.He lobbed grenades through shattered windows, fired rockets into the foundation.Explosions ripped the mansion apart, flames climbing higher with each detonation.The heat rolled over them in waves, scorching, relentless.Torch cackled gleefully, circling the mansion like a predator, tossing charge after charge until the walls gave way.
The teams regrouped outside, dragging the wounded to vehicles.Luca hissed in pain as Marsh patched him with quick hands, swearing he’d never leave his screens again.Ricky clapped him on the shoulder, earning a glare.
They stood together as the mansion collapsed inward, fire clawing at the night sky.Ash drifted on the wind, glowing like dying stars.Sirens still at a distance but definitely drawing closer.
“We should go,” Dev muttered, staring into the inferno.
“Why?”Niko asked, wiping blood from his cheek.
Dev smirked.“Didn’t bring any marshmallows.”
The line cracked the tension, weary laughter bubbling up around the group.Engines revved, headlights cut through the smoke, and they rolled out together—leaving the Bratya’s stronghold burning to the ground, a pyre marking both victory and the promise of more battles to come.
****
The warehouse had neverfelt so alive.Even with the blood and smoke still clinging to their clothes, the place pulsed with a strange kind of energy—part relief, part triumph, part exhaustion.Weapons were stacked along walls, wounded patched and re-patched, men slumped into chairs with beers or coffee.Torch was still buzzing, recounting every explosion with sound effects and wild gestures.The air stank of antiseptic, sweat, and victory.
Hogan hadn’t let Kai drift more than an arm’s length from him all night.Not once.Every time Kai moved, Hogan’s hand brushed his back, his arm, his shoulder.If Kai leaned against a wall, Hogan leaned beside him.If he sat, Hogan dragged a chair close enough their knees touched.At the warehouse, when the others celebrated, it must have looked obvious—Hogan shadowing Kai like his own damn reflection.Some of the guys grinned about it, but nobody said a word.Maybe they all understood why.
Bateman and Surge had already gone, loading the rescued women and children into vans, determined to escort them personally and make sure the authorities were actually doing their job.Dev stuck around with the team, called it babysitting with a smirk, but there was a softness in his eyes when he said it.He, like the rest of them, needed to know those victims were safe.
There was banter, retellings of close calls and ridiculous shots.Ricky swore his aim had saved Bateman’s ass.Bateman didn’t argue, which was almost praise.Luca clutched his side, scowling through pain, and Marsh teased him over comms about his dramatic groaning.Even Ty and Oren, normally the quiet ones, cracked tired grins, listening to Torch relive blowing the mansion sky-high.For a moment, everyone wore the same look—satisfaction.They had hit the Bratya where it hurt, and it showed.
Then Hogan’s voice cut through the noise.“Enough.Time to go.”
