Page 72 of Monstrosity
The final approach is done with engines off, coasting on momentum and darkness.
The dock comes into view—warehouses squatting against the water, boats bobbing at their moorings.
Lights are on, movement visible.
They're here.
Runes signals the teams to split.
Irish peel off toward the boats while we head for the main warehouse.
Everything depends on timing now.
We're fifty yards out when I see him—a guard having a smoke, bored and careless.
I'm off my bike before the engine's fully dead, moving on pure instinct.
The knife finds my hand like it belongs there, like it's been waiting.
The guard doesn't even see me coming—too busy checking his phone, the glow lighting his face.
Amateur move. His last one.
I come up behind him fast and silent.
My hand clamps over his mouth as the blade slides between his ribs, finding the gaps in bone like I've done this a hundred times.
Because I have.
He jerks once, a muffled grunt against my palm.
His eyes go wide, phone clattering to the concrete.
I hold him up as his legs give out, lowering him gently.
Can't have him making noise on the way down.
The blood pools black in the darkness, spreading like an oil slick.
First blood on me tonight, and the night's just getting started.
"Go, go, go," I whisper into comms.
We flow forward like shadows, brothers who've done this dance before.
Two more guards go down before alarms sound.
Then all hell breaks loose.
Gunfire erupts from multiple positions—they were ready for us.
Muzzle flashes light the night as we dive for cover, the easy infiltration becoming a firefight.
"Ambush!" someone yells, like we hadn't figured that out.
"Push through!" I order, returning fire. "Irish, what's your status?"
"Engaged!" Doran's voice is strained. "Fighting like bloody hell at the boats!"
