The guards went for their weapons, but they were too slow.
Another guard's face disappeared in a red mist, skull fragments shattered.
My Scales were faster, better trained, and more prepared, moving like deranged predators. Six leaped from the helicopters before they even touched down—dropping from a low hover and hitting the ground in a crouch with their weapons already up and firing.
Bullets tore through throats, sending arterial spray arcing across the landing pads.
Other guards caught rounds in their chest and crumpled like marionettes with sliced strings.
A Scale slid across the concrete, firing upward into a guard's groin and chest. The man's intestines spilled out.
Soon my Scales finished. Guard bodies twitched in pools of crimson and the rooftop went silent except for the slowing helicopter blades.
Our helicopter landed.
Reo looked at me. "Clear."
I reached down and pulled my two silver guns from their holsters. My Tiger’s blood ran along the tops of each barrel in a thin, reddish dark line—dried but still carrying her protective essence.
I turned them over in my hands. On the side of each gun sat a small switch with three settings.
One for fire.
Another for bullets.
And the last was for both.
I flicked them both to bullets.
Then I brought the guns to my lips, pressed them there, and closed my eyes.
I'm coming back to you, Tora.
Sighing, I opened my eyes and moved the guns from my lips. "Talk to me, Hiroko."
She already had her gun out and in her hand. "The rooftop has two entry points. A VIP elevator with polished gold doors and a glass entrance to the stairwell."
"Which one do we take?"
She pointed to the glass entrance. "Stairwell. There are no cameras on the rooftop or in the stair area, but the elevator has them. The moment we step inside the elevator, they'll know we're coming."
I rose. "Let's go."
The door opened, and we piled out.
The rooftop’s battleground hit me all at once.
The smell came first—copper and gunpowder, thick and warm, coating the back of my throat.
Then the visuals. Bodies sprawled across the concrete in unnatural positions. Limbs bent the wrong way. Jaws missing. Chest cavities opened up like hollowed fruit.
Blood was everywhere—pooled, splattered, smeared in long drag marks where men had tried to crawl before the last bullet found them.
Shell casings rolled under my boots, clicking against the ground like loose teeth.
The wind carried the stench of spilled intestines and burnt flesh.
And I breathed it in.
